Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(49)
Did she just pull from me? She must have, she—
Pain shoots again, a needle jabbing my skin under her palm. A slight burn fills the spot before spreading out and coating my torso with a hum of warmth.
It’s her. She’s alive. My relief is palpable, a lifting of the million pounds that landed on my back the second I walked into that alley tonight.
I close my eyes and make myself breathe through the growing sting, beginning to let my skin receive the life energy under my back and arms, everywhere I’m touching green.
“It’s working,” I hear Aelia say somewhere in the distance. “Her wounds are healing. She’s going to be okay . . .”
Every part of me is suddenly focused on the touch of a hand on my skin as Sage’s palm begins to twitch. Her fingers flex against me. Then they slide up my chest, slowly, painfully. I clench my teeth against the sting replacing her touch.
Her body shifts closer. The heat spreads, the stinging becoming a fever that fills my skin, sinking deep in my lungs, sending my heart racing. My pulse thunders in my head until it’s all I hear. It pounds and aches in my skull, and the searing fire growing in me seems to echo each beat in my chest. I can’t see, can’t breathe.
I only feel. Her body at my side, pressing in now, the pain fading into the background.
The spice of her energy fills my nose, and her hand plays at my neck, thumb sliding over my jaw as she turns my face to hers. Her sweet breath hits my cheek, and the rhythm in my chest, the rhythm of my heart, merges with the rhythm of her lungs.
My muscles weaken, my skin blazes, and something inside my mind slips, something in my soul breaks loose, and everything in me wants her lips on mine.
I move to find her, turning my body to match hers. My hands catch her waist, and I slide my palm up her side, smelling blood, smelling her heat. I grip the back of her dress in my fist and pull her into my arms, my mouth tingling to feel her skin, her lips and mine nearly touching as my own energy wraps around us, hers tugging on it, taking it inside herself. And the only thing in my head is how desperately I want to kiss her, and kiss her, and—
I’m yanked back and smacked with a chilled hand. “Snap out of it!” Aelia says. No, she’s not cold, she’s just not as warm as Sage, she’s—
“Sage!” I croak out, opening my clouded eyes, trying to sit up, trying to find her. “Is she all right?” My wits click back into place and I shake my head, clearing it of the muddy energy.
“What were you thinking?”
I can’t see right. Sage is a blur beside me. “Answer me!”
“She’s fine, dumbass. You, however, look like crap.”
“I’m okay,” I say, mostly to reassure myself. “But I need food.”
A heavy blanket is tossed over me. The smell of earth and grass fills my nose as the soothing energy of life filters through my skin. I blink back the burning pain, and my eyes start working again. I lift a hand to touch my chest, feeling the seared skin as it unwinds and smooths out once more, the life around me healing it, and I realize that the blanket is made of growing things, dirt in the weaving having grown emerald sprouts. Sprouts that are slowly curling in on themselves and dying.
“Holy Dagda, Faelan,” Aelia says. She’s tucking the blanket around my lap. “You are such a male—you almost sucked face with her! Seriously. She could’ve melted you to the bone.”
“I’m fine,” I say again.
“Yes, yes,” Lailoken says with a laugh. “Fine indeed, young buck.”
“Oh gods, this is nuts,” Aelia says. “You could’ve been killed.”
“Mr. Winter can contain the flame just fine,” Lailoken says. “It’s been written that way from the beginning. Hasn’t it, Mr. Winter?”
“Stop calling him that!” Aelia growls.
A groan comes from the demi beside me, and we all focus on her again. She grips her head like she’s in pain.
“We need to get her back to the Cottages as soon as possible,” I say.
“You should feed more first,” Aelia says, eyeing me. “While we’re here in the wood.”
The wise man starts clanging his bottles, looking for something. “Pishposh, the boy is stone. His bones are solid as iron.”
“I’m grand, Aelia,” I say. And surprisingly it’s true—or at least mostly true. I’m not hurt or drained as much as I should be. “I can rest later, but we need to get the demi to where she can be guarded better.” I’m relieved Sage is with us, relieved that she’s back, but I want to keep it that way.
She’s gone silent, curled in the fetal position on the dead clover where we were just lying side by side. Her chest gently rises and falls; the skin at her neck is scarred a little from Kieran’s stupidity. But her cheeks are rosy, and she’s peaceful.
My gut tightens, thinking of her body pressed against mine. It was all of ten seconds, but there was something about the moment—something I don’t want to think about—that I can’t have in my life. I clear my throat and reach for my torque, then my shirt, pulling them back on, trying to distract myself. I need to stay focused.
“But!” the wise man says. “You will bring this flame back to me soon.” He sounds surprisingly normal. And while he was irritated by Sage’s presence when we first got here, he now seems to be looking at her with a strangely protective eye. I wonder what’s changed. He picks up one of the bottles and holds it out to me, shaking it in my face. “Give her this in her tea tomorrow morning, yes, yes, and don’t leave her alone when she sleeps. Be ever so very careful with her. It’s what you’ve been called to. And as we know, flames need tending always, to keep them from being snuffed out—or devouring the fields.” He laughs like he finds himself hilarious.