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Kian catches my eye, his expression giving nothing away. “We may have less time than we thought. The next attack could kill you.”
Chapter 21
Kian’s declaration snaps me out of my daze—both the lingering arousal and the fuzziness in my head from the crash. The poison pain has faded again, but that attack did feel stronger and more intense than the first. It didn’t last as long, but it felt like I was dying.
That alone makes me fear that Kian may be right.
“Potion isn’t going to do us any good if it shattered during the crash,” I point out, a sick feeling settling in my stomach.
Kian’s brow arches. “Come again?”
“The potion. It was in my trunk. And that was…” I wave a hand, indicating the road and the crash. “That was a big boom.”
“Fuck,” he growls, then stalks away from us back toward my bike.
While Frost was coaching me through shifting, Kian must have walked down the road and retrieved my Ducati. It sits on the embankment behind their bikes, upright and with a working kickstand, but absolutely savaged by the wreck.
Kian rips open the internal trunk with a bit more force than necessary, then digs around in my things before emerging with an intact mason jar.
Every one of us lets out a sigh of relief. It’s a weirdly unifying feeling.
I take a step toward my poor demolished bike and nearly stumble. Malix reaches for me but then holds back at the last second, like he’s not sure he should. Helping me when I was torn to pieces and half unconscious must have been an easier sell than helping me now that I’m back on my feet.
I try not to let it bother me… but it does.
Malix’s gaze lingers on my face as I find my balance. “You okay?”
I shrug. “One more day above the roses.”
Shoving aside all of my conflicting thoughts and feelings, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other and manage to limp over to my bike. Frost follows close behind with my boots and jeans.
I retrieve my backpack from inside the trunk and pick out a clean t-shirt and some cotton shorts. The road rash on my thigh aches like a motherfucker, so while I’m glad Malix helped me save my jeans, I’m sure as shit not putting them back on. Not until I can deal with the fact that they’re going to be somewhat holey from here on out.
Once I’m dressed, I carefully shovel the rest of my belongings into the backpack until the trunk is empty, then throw my jeans on top of it all and zip the bag.
I haul the bag onto my shoulder and grimace at my bike. If I could get it to a shop, it’d be fixable, but that’s not exactly a possibility at the moment. Finding the Tree of Life and completing this potion is the priority. We have no time for bike repairs.
“Fuck,” I seethe under my breath, running my fingers over the seat. I’ve been riding it since the day I left pack lands, and I've gotten oddly attached to it over the years. “I liked this bike, dammit.”
Frost, who’s stood silently next to me this whole time, holds out my boots. “You can ride with me.”
I nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I get in one last, long good look at my beloved bike while I shove my feet into my boots, then I limp over to Frost and climb up behind him.
I perch a few inches away from his back and rest my hands lightly on his waist, trying to keep as much air between our bodies as possible. I’m still feeling way too sympathetic toward Frost after our conversation last night, and especially after he just sat and held my head, coaxing me through the worst of the pain from the crash. Of all three of the men, he’s the one I most think could be salvaged, and that is a dangerous thing.
We take off down the highway, even though I still have no idea where we’re headed. After a while of holding myself too stiffly, I finally stop resisting and slouch against Frost’s back. I’m exhausted, and my body aches all over. I can’t even put forth the extra energy to pull away from him anymore.
A small part of me doesn’t want to bother anyway.
Frost smells good. Warm and spicy, like chai tea on a cold porch while a fire pit roars at my feet. I bury my face in his shirt and cling to his trim stomach. His muscles are hard and defined beneath his clothes. I fit a little too well against his back, and it scares me.
From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of his tattoos moving over his biceps. I lift my head to watch the little lines squiggle, then raise my voice over the wind. “Why haven’t you had any bouts of pain from the poison?”
His voice flies back to me on the rush of the wind. “I have.”
Confused, I say, “But I haven’t seen you get hit like I have. I passed out the first time and wrecked my bike the second.”
