Page 60 of A Match Made in Error

We continue on in silence, the other matches still far away and our bungalow now in sight. I don’t ask if she’s okay, nor do I apologize. Partly because I know she’ll want to come to me first, and also because I don’t know if I can take hearing her ask me not to do it again. Because if she were in danger, I would.

The space between us is less, but still so tangible it’s nearly alive.

I hate this.

I will be better. I have to be better. Less teasing. No shadow theatrics. Hands to myself.

Poppy stops, her toes in the sand by the steps that lead up to our bungalow’s porch.

“Want to sit out here with me for a while?” she asks, and I feel the air reenter my lungs. “I’m not ready to be in there just yet, and I don’t want to be alone.” She can’t be too mad if she wants me to stay. Mother would ignore me for days sometimes when she was mad.

My skin is buzzing. “Yeah, of course I will, Pop.”

She turns to look at me, really look at me for the first time since the simulation. Her eyes bulge, and a shocked gasp spills from between her pillowy lips. “Riven, you’re bleeding!” I look down, eyeing my legs and turning my hands over to find the offending blood.

“I don’t see anything.” I shrug, still searching and coming up empty.

“No,” she huffs, amused but exasperated. “It’s coming from your nose.” With one hand, she guides me down to sit on the steps while the other twists with a flourish and produces a wet handkerchief. She dabs gently. Normally, I would fake a big reaction. Pretend she hurt me. But I only just promised myself I would hold back from flashy theatrics, and I can’t break a promise that quickly. “I’ve seen this happen to witches that overreach their magic,” she says, eyes flicking up gently from my bloody nose to my eyes. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

“No,” I reply swiftly. And it’s true on all accounts. I’ve never bled from using my shadows before. But I’ve never wielded fire. Never pushed the boundaries of gravity. It was…impossible. I wouldn’t believe a shadow fae from a low-ranking noble family to be capable of such power had I not seen it with my own eyes.

“Did you know you could…do that?” she asks gently, knowing how secretive the shadow fae are. Hells, our home realm is unable to be crossed without shadow fae lineage or an invitation from the royal family themselves. Maybe my freakish display of power today is an example of why they’re so secretive. Maybe they don’t understand our magic as well as they pretend to.

“No,” I answer quietly, looking away as she continues to clean my dried blood with care. If my war buddies could see me now, they’d never let me live it down. I never used to let anyone tend to my wounds. Once, I nearly lost a finger in close combat, and I stitched it up myself that night. Even though I trusted them, it pales in comparison to how much I trust Poppy. She has never once acted in selfishness in regard to me, and her heart is as pure as they come.

So I will sit and let her fuss over me. No jokes. No sexual innuendos, no matter how much I want to, saints preserve me, tell her she looks devastating from this angle and watch her drop the cloth in scandalized outrage. Or inform her that if my bleeding ends with her straddling my knees and dabbing at my face, I might start voluntarily injuring myself.

But no. I press my lips together. I shouldn’t push her good graces. I’ve learned that everyone has a limit when it comes to my nonsense.

The comfortable silence and her desire to have my company has ebbed away some of the discomfort I felt from my overreaction earlier. She can’t hate me if she is personally tending to my blood when a snap of her magic could have it gone in a second. Thankfully, she still must want to connect with me.

After a few minutes, with her sitting still beside me with the bloody ‘kerchief still in hand, I finally break the quiet—not with flirting as my instincts say to, but with sincerity.

“I shouldn’t have lost it back there.” My voice breaks. I don’t know why.

Poppy responds gently, hazel eyes finding mine with kindness in the golden flecks. “You did what you always do. You kept me safe.” I relax a fraction. “Now, quit being so polite and proper. It’s freaking me out. You’ll need to make at least one inappropriate comment tonight, or I’ll think you were body snatched.”

I sling my arm around her, tugging her in for a kiss on the head, unable to keep away now that I know she’s not mad at me. That she doesn’t hate me.

She’s fine.

I overreacted. Again.

And everything is back to where it belongs.

Poppy

Riven exhales and breaks the silence again. “Today kind of sucked.” I blink, then laugh. It slips out before I can stop it, sharp and real, the tension cracking clean in half. “I’ve crawled through mud under live fire. Somehow, this felt worse.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It did. And we still have to keep faking it. No breaks. No rest for the wicked.”

He huffs, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair. “What would we do back home if a shift sucked this badly?”

We turn, saying it at the same time, “Coins.”

He grins like he was waiting for that answer.

“I have coins in my bag,” he offers.