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His backside hit the floor hard, and the wind was knocked out of him. He could barely take a deep breath, but he held up his head long enough to see the length of his dressing gown fly through the air, directly toward Mayden. She hit the earl so hard that he fell from his feet. When he went backward, he fell into the wall, where one of her paintings rested. He didn’t fall on the painting, however. He fell into it instead. Mayden disappeared into the painting, Claire’s hand on his foot. He flailed, screaming until his body disappeared, and Claire let her hand sink into the painting, until he was completely gone.
She jerked her hand back and scrambled across the floor to Finn. She picked his head up and laid it in her lap. “Finn,” she cried.
***
Blood was pooling from the wound in his chest, and fear leaped to clench Claire’s heart in its fist. She pulled off the dressing gown, balled it up, and pressed it to the hole in his chest.
“How bad is it?” he asked, his breath shallow.
“Not too bad,” she squeaked, pressing tightly to the wound. It was awful. Blood was seeping from the wound, despite the pressure she applied. “What were you thinking, you idiot? You walked right into the room with a man holding a gun.” Her words came out as great heaving sobs.
“He shot me,” Finn said. He looked down, his jaw quivering.
“Yes,” Claire shot back. “He shot you.”
The dressing gown was soaked in his blood, drenched with his life force.
Finn clutched her hand. “I would do it again. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
His eyes were closing, as though it was simply too difficult to keep them open. His head lolled to the side and his eyes closed completely. Claire cried out. “Finn!” Fear clogged her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.
The butler and Robinsworth burst into the room at the same time. “Finn!” the duke cried as he sank down beside his brother. “Finn,” he said more quietly. He sank back on his heels when he saw the stillness of his brother’s body. “No,” he whispered.
But then Claire saw the painting that sat beside the bed. It was the painting of the house she grew up in, the house in the land of the fae. “Healing waters!” she cried.
“What?” Robin looked confused.
She pointed toward Finn’s supine form. His heart still beat. But it was weak from the loss of blood. “There are healing waters in my land.”
“What good will they do us there?” the duke gasped out. He took in the lump on her forehead. “I think you have lost your wits.”
Claire pointed to the duke and the butler. “Pick him up and follow me.”
Claire walked toward the painting. She would lose her wings for this, she was certain of it, but there was no other way to save him.
“Trust me,” she ground out, when the duke hesitated.
He motioned to the butler and, together, they picked Finn up and followed her to the bed. She sank a hand into the painting and Robinsworth’s eyes grew larger. The butler backed away, taking Finn with him.
“Stop!” the duke ordered. “Follow her,” he said.
Carefully, Claire stepped into the painting, and then she held out a hand for Robinsworth to follow. He adjusted Finn so that he held his legs beneath one arm, took her hand with the other, and hoisted himself over the edge of the painting. Finn grunted as he was jostled, and more blood poured from his chest. A bubble of blood escaped his lips.
The butler balked at the last moment, afraid to step into the painting. “I order you to follow,” Robinsworth said, using his most ducal you-will-obey-me v
oice. The man took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and leaped into the painting with them.
When they were all through, Claire looked up at the front porch of the home she’d grown up in. Her grandmother bustled down the steps. “I need healing waters,” Claire yelled.
The land of the fae held healing waters for faeries who were injured on missions. It was rarely used, but it was there. Claire wasn’t even sure the waters would work on a human. But she couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not now that she knew she loved him. She’d never even told him.
“Where are we?” the butler asked.
“In a dream,” Robinsworth said. “You’ll wake up tomorrow and barely remember any of this.” He carefully laid Finn’s body in the grass and held his hand tightly, even though Finn was unconscious.
Claire’s grandmother bustled down the steps, a vial of shimmering water in her hands. “Will it work?” Claire asked.
Her grandmother shook her head. “I’m not certain.”
