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I try not to think about what I must smell like and listen to the comforting sound of his heart thudding in his chest. I wonder if he knows just how close to death he was when I healed him. His heartbeat had slowed down so dramatically that for one gut-wrenching moment, I thought I was too late.
I turn my head to look at Oz, who hasn’t said anything. He’s looking at me like he wants to tear me a new one but holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “You scared me,” he finally says to me. His voice is hard and cold, but I can hear very real fear underneath it.
“I’m okay, Oz. I just need some food and water. How long did I sleep for?”
He looks at his watch. “Eighteen hours, give or take.”
I nod, still feeling a bit weak. Losing huge chunks of time isn’t anything new, but that doesn’t mean it gets easier.
I move to get up, moaning and struggling, when the guys jump into action. While Zig helps me sit up, Oz climbs from the bed and grabs two bottles of water before cracking the lid on one and handing it to me.
“Drink it all. I’ll go get you some fruit.” He doesn’t say anything else before he disappears outside.
I turn and look at Zig with a frown.
“He’s not mad at you, Salem. He’s angry at himself. He doesn’t like feeling helpless, and last night while we both fought death, he couldn’t do anything but watch us suffer.”
I sigh, knowing just how utterly world-destroying that is. It’s what would have eventually driven me mad in Alejandro’s dungeon.
Having the ability to heal isn’t just a physical thing, it’s a mental one too. There is a need in me that thrives on helping. It borders on compulsion. Fighting the urge is like a recovering alcoholic staring down a bottle of vodka. I will never not feel the deep-rooted need to heal. But now that I’m older, I’m strong enough to hold myself back when I know it’s too dangerous to give in to my nature.
It was a hell of a lot harder when I was a kid. I couldn’t understand that just because I could heal doesn’t mean I should.
“I had to heal you, Zig.”
“He knows that. I think that’s the part that’s messing with him. He’s sworn to protect you but to save me, he had to watch you be in pain for hours.”
“That’s not his fault. It was my choice.”
“And if you had said no?” Zig asks softly, blowing out a breath before continuing. “He’s questioning how far he would have pushed you.”
I drop my head and look down at the bottle in my lap and start picking at the label. That’s another side effect of my gift, only it’s one that doesn’t affect me but everyone around me. The magnitude of what I can do eventually begins to corrupt all those who witness it.
It’s the way it’s always been. When someone’s faith is tested, it’s easy for the soul to become corrupted. The seeds of discontent can grow anywhere, even in the hearts of those who love you.
“I healed you because I could, because I knew I could save you, and because I knew that even though it would hurt like a son of a bitch, I would survive, but you wouldn’t.”
“I know, and so does he. It’s just hard to watch. Especially knowing…” he looks at my hand and trails off, running his hands through his hair.
I freeze.
They know.
“I wouldn’t force you.” I jump at the sound of Oz’s voice. I hadn’t realized he’d returned. I look up at him to see him staring down at me, his usually mirth-filled eyes now filled with something much darker. In his right hand is a mango cut into four pieces. He hands me one before he continues. “That’s what’s killing me. Not that I would have forced you. It’s that I wouldn’t have. That I would rather watch my brother die than—” He swallows hard and looks away.
“You don’t get to pick who lives and who dies. It’s not the jungle version ofSophie’s Choice. If I told you I couldn’t save him, then it wouldn’t matter how you forced me, the outcome would be the same. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I can't bring back the dead. He was close, but close isn’t the same as dead. Stop beating yourself up when there was nothing you could do.”
“Eat, Salem. You burned a ton of energy,” Zig urges me.
I do as I’m told and eat the fruit in my hand, licking up the juice as it runs down my wrist. Once I’m done, Oz hands me another piece and watches me eat it all before handing me another. All the while, he says nothing, but his eyes burn into me like he’s trying to see into my soul.
“Watching me eat is going to give me a complex.”
“You better get used to it because I’m not going to take my eyes off of you for the foreseeable future,” he grunts.
I sigh but continue eating as Zig climbs from the bed and stretches. I pause for a minute to appreciate his beauty, though beauty isn’t the right word. They are both far too rugged to ever be called beautiful. And even though they’re leaner than when we first met, they are in no way weaker. They have this insane workout routine they do every morning that has me breaking into a sweat just watching them. Though that could be due to the strain of stopping myself from sliding my fingers into my panties as their muscles flex and move with such fluidity, you’d think they were dancers in another life.
Watching them workout has become my porn.
