Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(74)

“A special place only we can be—”

“Where no one can hurt me?”

“You’re safe with me.” I sat down near him, but far enough away I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him. He looked at me skeptically for a minute before sliding his legs around and bringing his knees to his chest; the movement left a giant smear of blood behind on the ground. I couldn’t take my eyes from it.

“Why do you look so old?”

I forced myself to look away from the blood and focus on his face.

“Magic,” I stated simply. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, trying to figure out what to say. Although, at sixteen he would know everything, so much more than I even knew now.

“Magic? What magic?” His voice gave him away. I knew him far too well to know when he was covering something up.

“You told me about the magic, Ryland. You told me about your kiss.” I had apparently chosen to say the wrong thing because he instantly began to panic, his arm flinging around to cover the mark on his shoulder.

“What kiss? I have no kiss; he took it away from me!” His voice was high and screechy again, the panic ricocheted off the white walls.

“The kiss, Ryland. The mark on your shoulder. You showed it to me...” I tried in vain to keep my voice even, but I knew it didn’t work.

“He took it away from me!” Ryland screamed again like he hadn’t even heard me. “He called me unworthy! I’m unworthy to bare the kiss. See. See! It’s gone. All Gone!”

Ryland removed his hand from his back and shoved it toward me, the fingers stretched out in manic desperation. I looked at the hand, at first seeing nothing but white calloused skin, until it began to fade and change. I felt the change in me as my heart rate increased, and my vision shifted. The fingers were no longer white and beautiful; they were covered in blood. My mouth dropped in a panic as I looked at the smears of dark red.

I couldn’t stop the part of me that wanted to see the real Ryland. I couldn’t stop the desperate need to see him as he really was, and so my eyes lifted to his face.

Ryland sat on the floor in front of me, his dripping hand still extended toward me. The bruises from the press conference were darker and stood out vividly on his face and neck, many appearing where there were none before. The gash that ran down his face was wider and swollen in an angry red. Blood and sweat had matted his hair, causing the curls I loved so much to droop. Bruises and cuts covered his torso and chest, some oozing green fluid, and even more of them, a deep shade of blue. His right arm hung lifelessly to his side, trails of red flowing freely down the limb, over his fingers, and onto the floor.

I screamed and scrambled away from him. My hand flew to my mouth in an effort to cover the sound, but it was too late; the damage had already been done. Ryland screamed at the same time, and flung his younger body down to the ground, back into his ball. The action revealed his back to me, and I futilely fought the scream that rose in my throat. The shoulder where his kiss once lay, faced me, revealing an ugly red hole where Edmund had dug the mark out.

Ryland’s cries filled my ears and pierced my soul in a way I couldn’t ignore. Through my tears, through my shaking body, I crawled across the white space to him. My hands hovered uselessly over his body as Ilyan’s words echoed in my ears. At that moment though, I didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around him as he had me so many times before, and I gathered him onto my lap. His frame was so small; it only caused my tears to flow more. It took a moment for his body to relax and his arms to wrap around me. I slid my arms over his back, the warm wetness of his blood spreading over my skin.

I just sat there, holding him and shushing him. We sat like that, the smell of blood and tears swirling around us. Eventually, he untwined his body from mine and moved away, lifting his red hands to cup my face. I looked into his young eyes, my heart breaking with the reality of what was happening to him.

“I love you, Joclyn.”

I balked. His face was young, but his voice was mature. My tears turned to sobs as I lifted my hand to his face, his own blood leaving my handprint against his cheek.

“Ryland?”

“I love you, Joclyn, but I can’t stay here. I have to protect you.” His hand slid over my skin to cover my eyes, and I knew when I opened my eyes again he would be gone. So I didn’t open them.

“I love you, Ryland.” I spoke the words to no one. My voice caught and I repeated it to myself over and over as I sank to the ground and savored the memory of his touch, his voice, no matter how brief the contact had been. I sobbed and moaned until the blackness took me and the connection gratefully ended.

---

I woke up screaming.

I sat up, kicking the covers off me aggressively as I looked at my hands and arms, in search of the blood I knew to be there. I panted and scrubbed and screamed. I barely registered that someone was there with me until a warmth began to spread through me, the panic receding. I let the warmth take over me, let it calm me down. Although it wasn’t the warmth I really wanted, it would do for now.

My mind became clear as I continued to stare uselessly at my hands, part of me still wondering where the blood had gone. I was like Lady Macbeth, scrubbing and clawing madly at nothing. Out Damn Spot. Out, I say! Except this wasn’t a play, the blood was real; it just wasn’t on my hands anymore.

“Calm… Joclyn… calm.” Ilyan’s arms wrapped around me as his magic left my body. He pulled me to his chest, his hand running down my hair. “I’m here; it’s okay.”