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I jerk with astonishment because nothing could’ve prepared me for that. “I thought the gods were clear… they weren’t going to give you consensus for a reincarnation.”
She nods grimly. “They won’t budge, but I found another way. I think. I’m not sure if it worked.”
Every bit of enmity is forgotten as I step in closer to her. “Tell me.”
“I pulled an Ariman,” she says, and my puzzled expression has her continuing. “Did Carrick and Finley tell you how he got the Blood Stone?”
I shake my head. “We haven’t really seen each other since then.” I don’t tell her about Carrick’s visit in Honduras.
Zora launches into an incredible story of time travel and then time stoppage, allowing Ariman to pluck the Blood Stone out from under Carrick’s nose and leave a fake.
“I did the same thing for Lucien,” she murmurs, as if she’s almost too shy to tell me. “I went back to that moment just before he fell into the river. I couldn’t save him because that would have been no different from reincarnating him and plus… I wasn’t sure if that would affect the future in any way and I wasn’t about to risk how we saved the world. But I put protection on him. I gave him a good deal of my power, wrapped it around him, and I’m confident he’s safe in the river. But he was swept with the current up the mountain and I have no idea where he is.”
“When was this?”
“Not long ago. I went to Carrick and Finley first to tell them. Carrick has gone to Micah’s realm to search but I wanted to come here to tell you.”
I can’t help but look away from Zora because I don’t want her to know that touches me. She didn’t reincarnate him or pluck him from the river, but what she did still has implications that could be detrimental to her if Lucien is saved. The other gods, for some reason, do not want him back, and they might be pissed enough for retribution against Zora.
My gaze snaps back to her. Knowing the risks… the wrath that might come down on her, I can’t help but ask, “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because it was important.”
Important for whom? Her? Me? Carrick, because he’s her brother-in-law?
Zora sucks in a deep breath, and when she lets it out, she whispers, “It was the only way for me to show you how I feel about you.” The ground tilts for a second, I’m so off-kilter from her admission. Her face contorts with anguish. “I know you think my feelings are always lacking, but they’re not. I’m in pain when you’re in pain, but I think I’m very good at hiding it. I thought if I could ease your suffering a little by giving you back your brother, then you’d understand how I feel. I’m a jumbled mess inside and it’s so confusing. I know I’m not explaining this right and I clearly don’t understand it myself. I just—”
I step into Zora and cover her mouth with my hand to get her to stop talking. This is probably a dumb move, given how she’s revealed more of herself to me in the last ten seconds than she has since I’ve known her, but I also know she’s struggling for clarity.
And I have it.
“The fact that you feel my pain is love, Zora.”
Gods, but my chest aches sweetly by the look of surprised delight on her face. As if I revealed a secret that changed her entire world—and perhaps it has.
“Really?” she asks, so much hope in her voice. “Because most of the time, I don’t know what I am. I don’t know who I am. Am I a woman? A god? Why do I feel so human sometimes while at others, I feel dead? But never when I’m with you. When we’re together, even if it’s standing inches apart, it’s when I feel the most alive. It’s both thrilling and terrifying but mostly it’s confusing, and that’s why I pushed you away. It was so easy for you to tell me you loved me, and yet I struggle so hard to get the words out.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” I muse with a smile, both my hands going to her face to hold her attention captive. “You just used a lot of words to tell me you love me.”
“But see, I didn’t. I said a lot of things but not the three words you want.”
“I’m feeling good about what you’ve said so far.” I dip my head to brush my lips across hers.
“But I want you to feel more than good,” she insists, and I can tell she’s getting distressed over her perceived failures. “I want to give you exactly what you need because what you give me… what you make me feel is… I can’t even put it into words because I have no real comparison.”
There’s no describing emotions right now. The utter completeness she brings to my life. She’s wrong—I don’t need those three words because now I’m clear how she feels.
But she needs to say it and I’m going to help her. I’m always going to help her.
“Repeat after me,” I instruct, hands still at her cheeks. “I.”
“I,” she says.
“Love.”
“Love.”
“You.”
