From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(81)

Nor was I.

The pad of heavy footsteps coming from the bedroom had me dropping the ring box and leaping out of the chair. Lincoln appeared in the doorway, looking disheveled and groggy but alive. "Charlie," he croaked.

"You're awake," I said, going to him. I kept my arms folded over my chest and dug my fingernails into my palms to stop myself from going to him.

He slumped against the doorframe, his shoulders stooped and tangles of hair falling over his eyes. "Barely." He touched the bruise on his forehead and grunted.

I blinked back tears and bit the inside of my cheek to hide my grin. It was so good to see him alive and talking, even if he looked like he'd just survived the apocalypse. "You should rest some more."

He suddenly looked up at me and stumbled forward. I caught him as he put a hand out to the doorframe. He managed to stay upright, but I clung to him as tightly as he clung to me. His shirt was still open from when Dr. Fawkner had unbuttoned it and I pressed my cheek to his chest. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart was the most wonderful sound I'd heard all evening. I closed my eyes and drew in his smoky scent.

His breathing fanned my hair on the top of my head, and he lightly stroked my neck. "You're unharmed." His voice rumbled in my ear, more gravely from the smoke, but no less rich.

"Yes."

"Gus? The others?"

"Gus is wounded but not badly. Cook and Seth are fine. General Eastbrooke is dead."

He seemed unsurprised and I realized he must have known the general was our villain once he saw his coachman in the kitchen with the gun that had shot Gus, and the explosive device that had caused so much damage.

"How long have I slept?" he asked.

"Not long." Reluctantly, I pulled away. He reached for me, but I caught his hand and held it instead of letting him draw me close. He looked exhausted. The shadows around his eyes were almost as dark as the bruise on his forehead. "You must rest, Lincoln."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I need to—"

"No." I put up my finger. "The only thing you need to do is rest. Dr. Fawkner said so. The danger has passed and everything is being taken care of."

"You're beautiful when you're ordering me about."

I sucked in a breath. Be strong, Charlie. Don't give in. "Did you keep notes on where the supernaturals have gone, or is it all in your head?"

"Both. There's a coded document in the middle drawer of my desk. It lists the names and locations of them all."

"And the code?"

He tapped his forehead.

"That's not very helpful. What if you'd—?" I bit my lip because it threatened to wobble.

"The code is kept in a safety deposit box in my bank. It's one of many. If anything ever happens to me, remember to check it. The bank details are in my wall safe." He nodded at the painting of an idyllic country scene on the wall. "I change the code to that regularly, but the current code is your birth date."

I blinked.

"I'll keep you informed every time I change it," he went on. "None of that's necessary now. My memory is fine. I'll write down the cipher and you can decode my list." He walked to the desk, steadier than I expected, but sat heavily.

He reached for the inkstand but paused when he saw the engagement box had been moved. He picked it up and cradled it in his palm before setting it down again in its original position near the back of his desk.

A few minutes later, he handed me the paper. The code was ridiculously long. "Your memory is better than fine," I said.

"Unless this doesn't work and you end up with a laundry list instead."

I smiled with relief. If he was making jokes, he must be all right. "Go to bed, Lincoln. You look tired and I suspect your head aches."

He bristled. I may have insulted his manliness, but I didn't care. "I don't want to sleep. I want to talk to you."

"There'll be no more talking tonight. Tomorrow. I promise."

He lowered his head and I touched his chin. He looked up at me, hopefully.

"Goodnight, Lincoln."

He eyed the sofa. "I'll stay out here with you, to help with the code if necessary."

If he didn't look so weak, I'd thump him. "Do you need help getting to the sofa?"

"I can manage." He rose and stepped away, then paused. "I think I do need help. If you could put your arm around me…"

It was a bald faced lie and I knew it. What's more, if the slight curve of his lips was an indication, he knew that I knew it. Even so, I tucked myself into his side and put my arm around his waist. He circled his arm around my shoulders, but didn't put any of his weight on me, and allowed me to steer him to the sofa.

I positioned two cushions at one end and he lay down, his legs dangling over the edge at the other end. I helped him off with his shoes only to stop at the sight of the bandages wrapped around his feet. I'd forgotten about the cuts he'd inflicted by walking over broken glass in this very room.

I rested my hand on the top of one his feet and swept my gaze up to his face. He quickly closed his eyes, but I knew he'd been watching me. Oh, Lincoln, you're a broken, battered mess.

I resisted the urge to kiss him, although it wasn't easy. I lit a fire in the grate and returned to the desk. It took some time to use the code to write out all the names and new addresses of the supernaturals. When I finished, I glanced at Lincoln. He slept in exactly the position I'd left him, his arms crossed over his chest. The color had returned to his face and his breathing sounded steady, thank God.