Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(93)
She started to laugh until she saw his face—pale and set, teeth gritted in obvious pain.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said tersely, but then he coughed, holding on to his ribs and wincing, and she saw a bubble of crimson appear at the corner of his lips.
Hell. She wasn’t a healer like Barbara, but even she knew a punctured lung when she saw one.
“We have to get you to the hospital,” she said, feeling a pulse of panic starting at the base of her throat. She’d been so terrified when he was fighting Kesh, and so relieved when they’d made it through with only minor injuries. Trust Marcus not to mention a little thing like a broken rib. Or ribs.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. “Tonight is almost the full moon; we have to get the Water of Life and Death to the Selkies and Merpeople as soon as possible.” He gave a brief chuckle, cut short by a gasp for breath. “Ow,” he said. “I can’t believe that sentence just came out of my mouth.”
“That’s not the only thing coming out of your mouth,” Beka said in a grim tone, using a tissue to blot away another bead of blood. “Pull over.”
“Beka—”
“Pull the damned car over right now,” Beka commanded. “Or would you rather start practicing saying ribbit?”
She couldn’t do anything about whether or not Chewie’s missions had been successful. There was, however, one thing she could fix. Even if it cost her the title of Baba. It would be worth it.
Marcus eased the car to the side of the road, ignoring the blare of a horn and raised middle finger from the battered green pickup that had been on their rear bumper. In the backseat, Kesh let out a muffled protest from underneath the blanket they’d thrown over his duct-taped body.
“I ought to turn you into a toad anyway, just for telling me you’re fine when you’re not,” Beka said. “Unless you consider having a piece of your ribs intersecting your lungs ‘fine.’ I sure as hell don’t.”
Marcus gave an abbreviated shrug, stopping when the motion obviously caused him pain. He turned to face Beka, moving slowly and carefully. “I’m fine for now,” he insisted. “Believe me, I’ve been in worse shape before. I’ll go to the emergency room when we’ve dealt with the others.”
Beka shook her head, taking the Water of Life and Death out of its box and reverently removing the cork from the polished turquoise glass bottle that held its precious liquid. The bottle was etched with arcane symbols that seemed to shift and change as she watched them, and a shadow swirled around the inside as if a genie lived within it. From the open neck came the scent of summer and exotic flowers and the ocean at the moment of dawn. Next to her, Marcus caught a whiff and gave an involuntary sigh.
“Here,” she said, holding it out for him. “Take a sip. Just a small one. It ought to be enough to heal your wounds.”
Marcus stared at her. “Is that allowed?” he asked. More muttering came from the backseat and he leaned back carefully and thumped the blanket until it subsided. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Beka grimaced. “You fought to save a Baba Yaga from an evil Selkie prince and his followers; that should earn you dispensation. If it doesn’t, well, I’ll deal with the consequences.” Nothing the Queen could do to her would be worse than living with herself if Marcus died. Not just because he’d been fighting on her behalf, but just . . . because. It was Marcus, dammit. And the Queen had allowed Barbara to share the Water with her new husband, Liam, so he might live an extended life at her side. It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but she didn’t care.
“Here,” she said again. “Drink.”
Marcus stared into her eyes, his expression stern. “You first.”
“Don’t you trust me?” Beka asked, shocked.
He snorted, clutching his side. “Ow. You idiot. I followed you into battle with a bunch of seals and Mermaids. If that isn’t trust, I don’t know what is. But you need that Water far more than I do, and I noticed that you still haven’t had any either. So I’ll drink if you do, and not otherwise.” His features might have been carved out of granite.
Beka gritted her teeth. Why was it the man could never just do what she asked without disagreeing with her? “I’m not bleeding all over my vehicle, or coughing up lung tissue,” she said. “Unlike some people I can name. I’ll have mine later.”
Marcus cocked his head to one side, considering her as if she were some kind of puzzle to be figured out. She could see his pupils contract when he figured it out.
“You’re afraid there won’t be enough,” he said quietly. “So you’re leaving yourself for last. And giving me your share, because you think I deserve it more than you do.” He leaned forward and brushed a wisp of hair off her face tenderly. “You just don’t get it—you deserve the world on a platter. I just wish I had it to give to you.”
Beka sniffed. There was something in her eye. Sand or dust or something. That was it. She’d never had anyone look at her like that. Never had anyone who treated her like she was precious and valuable. She knew better than to get used to it, but still, it felt pretty wonderful.