Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(50)

I take the bottle from him and slip it into my pants pocket. “Thank you for your help, sir. Truly.” I squat down beside the sleeping demi and pick her up, cradling her in my arms again as I rise. She actually feels heavier. Or maybe I’m just more drained than I thought.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Aelia asks me.

“Let’s go.” I head for the door, shifting Sage in my arms. She’s definitely heavier, and her arm feels less bony against my chest.

Lailoken opens the door with a wave of his hand. “Toodle-oo!”

As Aelia and I step back out into the clearing, the door slams behind us.





TWENTY

SAGE

Something moves against my arm. My mind surfaces from sleep in a rush, awareness filtering in. The feel of soft pillows under me, the smell of soil, of damp green things—it’s soothing and lovely.

I open my heavy eyelids, but everything is blurry. I can’t see right. Am I still in the alley? No, it smelled like soot and smog there, and nothing was comfortable.

Memories appear like cloudy puzzle pieces: the creatures slinking from the puddles, the dark-haired guy, he . . . he—cut my neck!

I sit up in a rush, hand going to my neck where the strange raven guy was gripping me. Am I in a forest? I’m surrounded by trees. And under my fingertips there’s a thin bumpy line of skin on my neck—a scar?

Faelan told me about a dark prince, and I laughed, I thought it was so funny, that Faelan was crazy, or I was crazy, someone had to be crazy, because guys called the Dark Prince are only in books and movies that nerds like Ziggy talk about. They’re vampires or wizards, and that stuff is . . . well, it’s totally real apparently, so I’m just—holy shit, how can I be okay after what that raven guy did? My blood was on his face. I died! I know I did, I remember—

Something moves beside me again, stopping my tirade of thoughts.

I turn and blink at a shirtless Faelan, who’s lying next to me, his eyes beginning to open. His body is only a foot away. He’s so . . . wow. I must’ve been too panicked yesterday to fully take in all those muscles. And that tan. And, oh my, he has a lot of scars on his chest . . .

He props himself on his elbows, brow furrowed in concern. “Is something wrong?”

I open my mouth, but no words manage to come out. Why am I in bed with him? I look around and realize we’re not in a forest; we’re in his room. I’m in that nest thing where he was naked and snuggly with Aelia’s friend. How did I get here, and why isn’t he wearing a shirt?

I look down at myself, relieved to see I’m wearing a tank top and pajama shorts. But how did I get into them? “Where’s my dress?” I ask stupidly. I should be asking how I’m alive. I should be asking how I got from the alley to here.

He sits up all the way and moves closer. “Your dress had too much blood on it. I had to toss it in the bin.”

“Blood?” I know what he means, but my mind is having trouble processing. I was covered in blood. But I’m still alive.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” He studies me.

His intense green eyes make me shift farther away. Grass tickles my palm as I grip the side of the nest. I shake my head. “I remember a guy—or a raven—he was a raven that turned into a guy? I think he tried to kill me, but . . .” I touch my neck again. “I don’t understand what happened.”

Faelan’s gaze follows my fingers. “You were hurt. I’m sorry about the scarring. The wound was open too long for it to heal properly.”

“How am I not dead right now?” Because I know beyond a doubt I should be. But I don’t even have stitches or bandages. Just a scar?

“As a demi, your spirit anchors to your flesh more firmly than a human’s does. Thankfully, despite your unpredictable nature, your spirit held even after your body gave out, longer than normal. Hopefully, you won’t be dying for a dozen centuries or more.”

I bark out a laugh. And another. But then my throat clogs and tears spring into my eyes.

“You think I’m joking?” he asks.

“I think this whole thing is insane,” I say, my voice cracking. I know I’m about to cry so I turn and scramble over the side of the nest, tumbling into the ferns, attempting to get farther away. I’m going to live for centuries? Me. How does a person let that sink in?

“Whoa, woman, where ya going?”

He jumps down after me, but I back up, hands held out to warn him off. I focus on steadying myself, realizing my legs are weak. The trees around me spin a little.

“You’re okay,” he says. “There’s nothing to get in a tizzy about.”

I shake my head and make myself breathe through the tangle of emotions welling up. “A tizzy? You just keep throwing stuff at me like I know how to swallow it all. This circus is going to have me drooling into my soup and sipping tea with the Mad Hatter in the hydrangeas.” When he just frowns, I add, “You’re making me nuts!”

He studies me cautiously for a few seconds before he finally says, “Okay, look. We’re good to get started on the training, so let’s begin today, going through some preliminary information. You can collect yourself in your room, and then in an hour or so we’ll meet back in the greenhouse to begin. You’ll get clarity. That’s what you’re looking for, right?”