Nothing. No pulse, no rise of his chest, no stuttered breath.
“Give it up, Barfred,” Atticus says softly. “There’s no pulse.”
Barfred doesnotgive up. He continues to give a series of compressions, breathing so hard into Julian’s mouth that his chest manually rises.
We stay this way for a minute or two, and I keep Julian’s wrist gripped firmly between my fingers, resting my forehead against his arm.
“Please, Julie,” I whisper. “Come back to me. Don’t die. Wake up and love me.”
I’m crying again, but I can’t seem to stop. Not when Julian has no pulse, and I’m freezing in this wind.
“Barfred—”
Atticus is cut off by a choking, gargled noise. My head shoots up just in time to see a foamy, green liquid begin to spill from Julian’s mouth.
“Move,” Barfred demands, and I scoot back, allowing him to roll Julian onto his side.
Julian vomits as Barfred pats his back.
Julian… Julianvomits.
He’s alive.
“Oh fuck,” Atticus breathes.
We wait patiently for his vomiting to subside. My hand stays extended, prepared to reach for him as soon as it’s deemed appropriate.
Julian swallows roughly, and finally, his eyes blink, his focus blurry.
“A-Atlas?” he pushes out, but it sounds painful to say, and he winces.
“Julie,” I cry softly, scooting close once again, brushing his wet hair from his face. “You’re alright now. We have you. You’re safe.”
Julian groans, still getting his bearings, and my eyes flicker up to Barfred, who is watching Julian with relieved eyes.
In a flash, I’m leaning over where Julian lies, my arms thrown around Barfred’s neck.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Thank you so, so much. I… I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”
Barfred pats my back gently, his body stiff and wet. “No worries, Young Master Atlas. Just doing what’s right.”
As I pull away from him, he pats my head, just as he did my back, and stands.
“I need to shower before I catch a cold,” he says, before he turns and walks away as if hedidn’tjust save the man I love.
“W-where am I?” Julian mumbles, rolling onto his back.
“Nope,” Atticus chastises, leaning down to grip Julian by the shoulders and pulling him up into a sitting position. “If you die from choking on your own vomit after the big show you just put on, I’ll lose my mind.”
To my surprise, Julian raises his shaking middle finger. “Fuck you, Atticus.”
And Atticus releases a startled laugh. “Let me help Atlas get you inside,thenyou can shit-talk me, how about that, Julian?”
Julian mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch, but I take it as an agreement. I’m dying to get him into a hot bath so that I can speak with him. Alone.
It’s most definitely a two-person job—hauling Julian up the hillside and then up to the second floor of the estate.
Atticus lets us use his and Abigail’s bathroom so that we don’t have to drag him up the west tower stairs.
