Burned (House of Night #7)(99)

So how about you and me get back to our bodies. They are both waiting for us, right?"

Another shudder of pain went through him. He was breathing in shallow, panting breaths, but he opened his eyes to meet mine. "You should go back. I'll follow you after I rest a little while."

Panic fluttered around inside me. "Oh, no. I'm so not leaving you here. Just tell me what you need to get back."

He blinked a few times and then his broken lips curled in a hint of his cocky smile. "I don't exactly know how to get back."

"You don't what? Stark, seriously."

"Seriously. I don't really have a clue."

"How'd you get here?"

His lips curled again. "Through pain."

I snorted. "Well, then getting you back should be easy 'cause you have some pain going on here."

"Yeah, but back there I have an ancient Guardian in charge of keeping me on the line between life and death. I don't exactly know how to tell him it's time for me to wake up. How are you getting back?"

I didn't even need to think about it. The answer was as natural as breathing. "I'm going to follow spirit to my body. It's where I belong, back there, in the real world."

"Do that." He had to pause as another wave of pain engulfed him. "And after I rest, I'll do the same thing."

"No, you don't have an affinity for spirit like I do. It won't work for you."

"It's good that you still have your elements. I wondered about that, what with your tattoos being gone."

"Gone?" I turned my hand over and, sure enough, there were no tattoos filling my palms with sapphire filigree. Then I glanced down at my chest. The long pink scar was there, but it, too, was tattoo free. "Are they all gone? Even the ones on my face?"

"All that's left is the crescent," he said. Then he grimaced in pain again. Clearly beyond his exhaustion level, he closed his eyes, and said, "Go ahead and follow spirit home. I'll figure something out. When I'm not so tired. Don't worry. I won't leave you - not really."

"Oh, hell no. I'm not losing another boy with some kind of abstract I'll-see-you-again Zoey thing. That's not working for me ever, ever again."

He opened his eyes. "Then tell me what to do, my queen. And I'll do it."

I ignored the "my queen" stuff. I mean, I'd heard him call me that earlier, and then again to Kalona. I wondered briefly if that had been before or after the immortal had started smacking him in the head, then I focused on the "I'll do it" part of what he'd said. So, he'd do what I told him . . . but what the heck did

I need to tell him to do?

I looked down at him. He was so messed up - even worse than he had been when he'd taken the arrow meant to kill me and burned the crap out of his chest, almost dying. Again.

But then he'd gotten better pretty much on his own. He'd had to. I'd been messed up, too.

I drew a deep breath, remembering the whole Mother Hen lecture Darius had given me when I'd wanted Stark to feed from me so he could heal quicker. He'd explained that between a Warrior and his High Priestess, the bond was so strong that Warriors could sometimes sense emotions from their High Priestesses. I glanced down at Stark's bruised face. He'd definitely been able to do that. When that happened, they could also absorb more from their High Priestesses than their blood - they could absorb energy.

Which was exactly what Stark needed - energy to heal - energy to return to his body.

This time he wouldn't get better on his own and, thank the Goddess, I wasn't messed up anymore.

"Hey," I said. "I know what I want you to do."

His eyes fluttered open, and I hated the pain that I saw reflected within them. "Tell me. If I can do it, I will."

I smiled at him. "I want you to bite me."

He looked surprised and then, even though it obviously hurt him, his cocky smile was back. "Now you ask me? When my body's totally messed up. Great."

"Don't be such a guy," I told him. "It's because you're body's totally messed up that I'm asking you.

"I'd make you think differently if I was well."

I shook my head at him and rolled my eyes. "If you were well, I'd smack you right now." And then, moving carefully, trying to be as gentle as I could, I slid him off my lap. He tried to stifle a groan. "Sorry!

I'm so sorry I'm hurting you." I lay down beside him and started to pull him into my arms, wanting to hold him close to me as if I could absorb his pain.

"It's okay," he gasped. "Just help me onto my good side."

Good side? I wasn't sure whether I should laugh or burst into tears, but I helped him turn on his side, the one that didn't have the shattered shoulder, so that we could face each other. Tentatively, I moved closer to him, thinking that I should maybe slice down my arm so he could drink from me more easily without moving too much.

"No." His hand twitched, trying to reach out to me. "Not like that. Come closer to me, Z. The pain doesn't matter." He paused, then added, "Unless you can't because of my blood. Does this make you need it?"

"The blood?" I realized what he was saying and blinked in surprise. "I haven't even noticed it." Seeing his wry expression, I went on, "I mean I noticed that you're bleeding all over. I didn't smell it."