Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(21)

“He’ll be fine,” Aelia says in a tired voice. “We need to move him to his nest.”

“What? He needs a doctor!” His skin is still blistered and singed, his breathing labored.

Aelia just laughs and turns to the girl, Niamh, who’s come in with more vines. “Can you text the others and tell them we’ll need to add one more to the list for tonight? We have some introductions to make, I think. And go find James—he’s still asleep in my room.”

She’s obviously not listening to me. Is she nuts?

I tuck the towel tighter around my torso and reach down, trying to turn Faelan over to get a better look at his face.

“Uh,” Aelia says, “you may not want to do that.”

And just as she’s warning me, Faelan’s eyes fly open. His fingers reach out and grip me by the throat, a guttural noise coming from his chest as he flips me onto my back, climbing over me. All in half a second.

“See,” I hear Aelia say through my pulse thundering through my head, “he hates being woken up.”

I blink and gag, tugging at his arm, trying to squirm to get him off me, but his grip is ironclad around my neck, his weight pressing down on me.

Aelia slides a finger over his cheek, saying in a seductive voice, “Hey, Faelan. Don’t kill the newblood.”

He snarls down at me, a total stranger. A monster. His gaze is blank and milky white; his face and neck are burned, skin twisted on the left side. My vision blurs as he squeezes out my life, pressing me into the floor.

And then suddenly he’s gone and I’m gasping, choking on the burned air again. As I sit up, I realize he’s slumped against another male figure. “Well, hello there,” the new guy says. “You’re that girl who was a lost dove, aren’t you?” he asks, like I’m more interesting than Faelan’s burned body. He’s got a British accent, and as my vision clears I see he’s only wearing boxers. With heart-eyed emojis on them. He’s smiling that same sardonic smile that Aelia had on her face a second ago.

“Name’s James,” he says. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are a bit full. And I hear from Ben that your touch has some side effects. As we can see.” He nods to the wounded guy in his arms, then winks like he’s cute, and I feel like kicking him. What is so freaking funny about this situation right now? I nearly killed Faelan!

“Let’s get our resident wet blanket back to bed,” Aelia says, “where he can recoup a bit.” She and Niamh help James carry the large and limp Faelan out of the room.

I manage to get to my feet and follow them. But once we’re outside, in front of the door to Faelan’s cottage, James pauses and glances at me, then at Aelia, like he’s worried about something.

“Wait out here,” Aelia says. Then they all disappear into the small house.

I stand in a daze, staring at the green door. And as the stillness of the morning falls over me, the soothing sound of the waterfall in the background and the smell of sea air in my nose, the events of the last several minutes start to flick through my head in a panicked rush: the smoke-filled room, the charred surroundings, Faelan’s burned body on my floor, his milky eyes when he attacked me.

I feel like someone punched me in the face repeatedly. What just happened? Was it my fault? What did I do to burn it all? How am I not dead? None of it feels real.

Aelia and James emerge from the cottage before I can make sense of anything. That Niamh girl isn’t with them.

“It’s been a laugh, ladies,” James says, “but breakfast is calling, and I need to get to the set before they start the gossip about Rihanna’s new haircut without me. Plus, I’ve got lines to memorize for today’s shoot.” He flashes a quick grin at me, then moves in to give Aelia a blush-worthy kiss before he slips away.

“Your boyfriend works in Hollywood?” I ask her.

She just giggles. “He’s not my boyfriend, sweetie. James is a shade. They never reach status around here. Just keep it zipped to my dad that you saw the plebe with me.”

I’m not sure what she means, but it sounds vaguely racist. She kissed the guy right back, tongue and all. Is she telling me she French kisses all the peasants for fun?

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” she says in a bright voice as she hooks her arm through mine. She hugs me to her side, leading me toward the main house. “You poor thing. You must be so hungry after all that.”

“Is Faelan going to be all right?” Cold fear seeps through me again as the question slips out. And embarrassment is tangled with it. The charred skin, the white eyes—if I did that to him . . . me . . . I must be a monster.

“Oh, he’ll be fine. He just needs a nap.” She pats my arm. “He’s a downer, anyway. He’d probably have you on lockdown until he’s sure you’re not like the last female offspring from Brighid’s tree.”

What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I start to ask her to explain, but she keeps on talking.

“But bitches need to stick together, right? Can’t let the men push us around or they might get the idea that they’re in charge.” Then she winks and starts talking about some blog post on feminism she read this morning.

I tuck the information in the back of my mind and make a note to ask Faelan about this other “female offspring.” If I ever see the guy again.