It’s the cave Cielo showed me in his head.
The singing cave.
He sets me down on the moving mossy floor once more, but before I can find the strength to protest, there’s the telltale sound of a flame erupting, and though I’m not sure how much time is passing, it’s not long before the glow illuminates the cave.
Through the fog in my vision, I can see things that are definitely unnatural—a workbench along the far wall, a table, remnants of an old meal, and something like a bed.
Cloths are hanging on natural pegs, and something smells medicinal.
“Cielo,” I rasp.
He turns and comes to me, kneeling beside me. His palm is velvet soft and oddly cool as he brushes my hair off my forehead.
“My Dante. Waaait,” he says.
I’ve been waiting. But I know he’s doing this for me. He’s shattered every rule he was terrified to break because of me. And I don’t know if being here is actually going to help. It could all be for naught.
But I am willing to be patient and quiet as he works.
I watch as he stands up, moving over to the workbench. He hunches over it and begins speaking, which is odd. I can’t understand anything coming out of his mouth, but eventually he moves away from it with a handful of massive leaves and kneels by the fire.
His body blocks out most of what he’s doing, and the stress from my pain overwhelms me back into a near unconsciousness. I don’t realize I’m drifting until I open my eyes again and find Cielo in a different part of the cave.
I blink, then he’s gone.
I blink again, and he’s returned.
I attempt to roll over onto my side, but my strength is gone. I can’t believe how badly I fucked up. I can’t believe I thought that those herbs had healed me.
Instead, putting myself through the strain of being so desperate and so full of cum ruined me.
“Cielo,” I whisper.
A hand touches my forehead, then something cool, like polished wood, touches my lips.
“My Dante,” Cielo murmurs. His hand moves to the back of my head, and he urges me up before a warm, bitter liquid passes over my tongue.
I cough, choking so much that half of the mixture dribbles past my lips, but he forces another mouthful down, and then another. And as I swallow, I feel a sort of heat coursing through my limbs.
And, between one breath and the next, relief. It’s almost like a punch to the gut how powerful it is. I lose my breath in one second, and then regain it in the next.
Opening my mouth, I attempt to say his name, but all that comes out is a shattered sob. Cielo stiffens, then feeds me several more gulps of the mixture before the cup is empty, andby the time it’s flowing into my stomach, the pain is nothing but a quiet hum under my skin.
I can think for the first time in what feels like hours. I can see clearly. I’m beyond exhausted, but I no longer feel like I’m dying.
“Cielo,” I manage through my tears. His hands move to cradle my face as I settle against the strange, moving moss. “Cielo. You…what did you give me?”
He says a word my brain can’t process right then, and my tongue definitely couldn’t make those sounds. “Stronnnnger,” he adds in English.
Stronger? Than the zitha, I assume.
He nods and leans in, warm lips pressing to my forehead before replacing them with his own. His breath coasts over my cheeks, and I realize then he’s shaking.
“Hey,” I tell him. My arms are weak, but I hold him as tightly as I can manage. “Hey. Baby. It’s okay.”
He shakes his head against mine and makes a soft, distressed noise. His ears flick and his tongue darts out, tasting my tears. “Dante,” he says. “I was…afrraaaid.”
“I know. Me too. And I’m so sorry.”
