Great.
Hands shaking, she reaches up and tries to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Shit-shit-shit,” she mutters, then pushes up what’s left of my shirt, her flesh meeting mine. Too warm and real.
More than I deserve.
She examines my wound. Rips my shirt wider to inspect the rest of me, tracing the lines of those red veins of death with her damn beautiful eyes.
“I’m—s-sorry.”
“Save your breath,” she growls, her attention fixed on my bare torso.
If I had more control over the hallucination, I’d have her looking into my eyes until the very end.
I use the remaining dregs of my strength to lift my hand and cup her face.
She pulls a sharp breath and finally meets my eyes, hers swimming with something I think I searched for my entire life. “Don’t look at me like that,” she bites out, dropping her gaze to my wound. “You’re not dying.”
My hand falls from her face. Energy spent.
You’re wrong there, luv …
Perhaps I say it aloud because she snarls, then straddles me. All the breath shoves from my lungs as I look up into her fierce eyes, wishing all my dreams came true when my heart wasn’t sputtering out.
When hers wasstill beating.
“I’m not dead!” She snatches my hand, flattens it, then splays it across her chest, right atop her hammering heart that’s pecking at me—hard and fast.
All this proves is that my imagination is being really fucking kind to me.
“Creators,” she mutters, then digs her fingers into my wound, shafting me with avery reallance of pain. Like she just scooped up my loose guts with a flaming spoon. “I’M NOT DEAD, DAMMIT!”
I think I roar, though in truth, I don’t have the breath to make such a sound—staring so hard at her face my eyes start to ache. I map the freckles on her cheeks, all exactly where they’re supposed to be, her big eyes hardened by a jarring amount of determination. The same look she gets when she’s working on those damn stones, but more intense.
Finally, I look at the freckle above her lips—too right. Tooperfectfor me to dream up.
Meaning—
A pained sound moves up my throat.
“Butyou’llbe dead. Very soon, if I don’t do something to fix you. Your innards are almost spilling.”
“You—F-ffflames—”
Her hand slaps across my mouth, pinning it shut. “Save your energy,” she growls, the urgency in her voice binding me so tight it’s hard to breathe. “I’m going to mend you, but I need you to trust me.”
I don’t think she realizes how much power she has over me right now. She could ask for my soul and I’d put a fucking bow on it.
I manage a nod.
Her eyes cloud with something that looks a bit like shame before she brings her wrist to her mouth and bites deep, pulling back as glossy red wells to the surface of the crescent wound. She hesitates, mutters a few curse words, then thrusts her hand forward and presses the wound to my lips, coaxing her blood to dribble on my tongue. Filling my mouth with a metallic spill of warmth that’s tinged with the taste of smoke. Like her essence is …burnt.
I frown. Try to mumble my confusion against her flesh.
“Shut up and swallow!”
Her voice breaks against the command.
Eyes locked with hers, I abide, letting my muscles contract. Her blood moves down my throat like an oil slick catching light as it sinks, becoming hot—
