Page 133 of The Reaping Rose

“There’s a hill up ahead.” I jut my chin toward it. “We can see if there’s cover.”

Tents worked when we first entered the forest, but the closer we get to the lightning fields in the north, the more we can’t bind anything to the trees in case one of them is struck.

Atlas and I take a path that forks from where we’re going, heading toward a nearby hill. I breathe a sigh of relief when we stumble upon a cave.

“I’ll check it.” Atlas holds out his palm, fire flickering in his hand as he steps inside first.

With his other hand, his sword is ready, but thankfully, the cave is abandoned.

He sets fire to a thick branch, leaning it against the wall to create light while he casts a shell of magic over the entrance to hide us. I might hate the magic he wields, but it’s convenient in some ways.

I strip off my bag, getting to work setting up for the night. Atlas lays out our sleeping blankets, while I grab the fruit we picked today and prepare something to eat.

“Ouch.” I wince when the dagger slides through the peel and into my thumb. “Godsdamn it.”

I shake my hand, and Atlas walks over. “How deep is it?”

“I’ll be fine. It just hurts. That damn orb is making everything more sensitive.” Like my hip, which is beginning to ache with every step, though I don’t mention that to Atlas.

Atlas grabs my hand, flipping it over so he can see it. The graze of his skin against mine only proves what I just said, because with the pulsing magic in the air, his touch is electric.

He lifts my hand, eyeing my thumb as a bead of blood drips down my palm. In the glow of the fire, his eyes are darker. A deep purple that sparks like embers spitting into the night.

With the gentlest touch, Atlas brushes his thumb over the wound, cleaning up the drop of blood and then reaching down to tear off a piece of his shirt.

“You don’t have to do that,” I grumble.

“Let someone help you for once.” His eyes narrow as he presses the fabric to my thumb.

His palm wraps over it, warming the cut.

“This will sting for a second,” he warns, just as a sharp singeing sensation makes me jump. “Sorry.”

When he pulls the cloth away, I see he’s used his magic to seal the wound. But even though my bleeding has stopped, he doesn’t step back. My neck cranes as I stare up at him in the dimly lit cave. My throat throbs with my heartbeat. I can hardly catch my breath with him this close.

“I think we’re going to find Malachi tomorrow,” I whisper.

“Probably.”

The unknown rests beyond one last sunrise, and I don’t know what comes after that. We either achieve our mission or don’t. After all we’ve gone through to get here, Malachi could end us with one twist of the orb.

It’s the only explanation for why I step closer.

We’re probably going to die tomorrow, so it doesn’t really matter.

I plant my hand on Atlas’s chest, and my stomach is no longer growling. Thoughts of food are lost in this hot pulse beating between us. His heart thrums slow and steady, especially here where there’s more than enough magic to have our veins open.

Our magic stirs, though none of it is a promise of survival, considering what we’re up against.

“I still don’t really like you.” I glance up at Atlas.

A devious smirk climbs the corner of his mouth. “Stop lying to yourself.”

He’s arrogant.

Cocky.

Infuriating.