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Oliver allowed himself a moment of sagging relief, hugging Erik back.
And then his gaze collided with Náli’s.
The Corpse Lord stood with naked sword in hand, its tip resting on the ground. A fine line of blood marked a scratch on his fair cheek, and his eyes sparked furiously. His jaw worked, and the accusation on his face couldn’t have been plainer. It left Oliver’s insides shriveling.
You did this. This was your fault.
“It’s all right,” Oliver murmured to Erik, stroking his hair. “I’m fine. We’re all fine.”
Náli regarded him with utter disgust a moment, and then turned away.
“It’s all right,” Oliver repeated, but his lips were numb, and his voice was unsteady, because nothing was all right at all.
In his pocket, beside the sapphire he’d pried from a cave wall months before, the amethyst necklace dragged at him.
A gift from an enemy.
Held unknowingly against the strong, quick-throbbing heart of his lover.
THE END
