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Finally, Cam grins. “You’re so adorable with your ‘I’m a scary demon, you must bend to my will’ glare.”
I falter. What?
He steps close and rises on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “I’ll wear the hat, but not the rest. They’ll get in my way. And tonight, you can check every inch of me for frostbite.”
Heat floods through me at the thought, but… “If you feel any numbness or tingling, let me know immediately. Okay?” Frostbite isn’t a joking matter.
He rolls his eyes. “Sure.”
“I mean it, Cam.Immediately.” I’m going to have to ask him every hour. Wait… how long does it take for frostbite to take hold? I wish I’d listened to Zac when he was lecturing us about this. I just figured either I’d be able to teleport out of the cold, or I’d be so injured or weak that frostbite would be the least of my concerns.
“I promise,” he says, seriously this time. “Now can we go?”
“Hat.”
With a cute little huff, he turns toward the couch and trips over the too-big boots. I knew that was coming. Once I have him steady on his feet again, he grabs the hat and jams it on his head. “Happy?”
I examine him from head to toe. Garrett’s nearly five inches taller than him and more solid, so Cam looks like he’s playing dress-up. I wonder if I can take a picture.
“Okay, let’s go.”
He takes hold of the suitcase with all his tools. I jam his gloves in my pocket—just in case. Then I wrap my arm around his shoulders and take us to the cave.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Cam
The momentwe arrive in the cave, even though it’s dark, I sigh happily. I canfeelthe pretty waiting for me. Micah goes to put the lights on, and I wait, not at all patiently. Honestly, if it wasn’t for all the crates spread out through the cave and these damn boots that don’t fit, I would have tried groping my way toward the wall. But that would be asking for a broken leg, and I don’t have time for anything that might interfere with me solving this puzzle.
The lights flash on, making me squint, and I walk carefully, lifting my feet properly with every step. I still manage to misjudge one of the crates and bash my hip against it, but that’s a minor inconvenience. Incidentally, the wall isnotin the direction I thought it was when it was dark, so just as well I stayed still.
Micah joins me, and we both stare up at it. “Well?” he asks. “How can I help you get started? Do you need a worktable or something?”
Hmm. “That might be useful. Something to put my tools on.” I hadn’t really given it much thought, but the ground is a perfectly good surface and would have been fine.
Micah turns and walks off, and I lay my suitcase down and open it. My tools are neatly packed inside, exactly the way they were when I zipped the case closed earlier, and I leave them there and step closer to the wall, trying to assess what I’ll need first.
My headlamp.
I go back to the suitcase and find the container I put it in to prevent any damage in transit. I used to use a desk lamp, but I have a habit of leaning in close to whatever I’m working on and blocking the light. A headlamp ended up being a more sensible solution, because leaning closer just means more light.
I slip the band onto my head, adjust it until it’s comfortable, and turn it on. Then I return to the wall.
Much better.
Dragon magic is seriously badass, if this is all the rust that’s managed to develop after thousands of years. I can’t wait to meet the dragon that’s coming to help with whatever we find.
I’m still studying the elements closest to me, trying to see if there are signs that show which components will fit to each one, when a hand lands on my shoulder. I screech, spin around with my hands coming up to defend me, and promptly trip over the damn boots.
Luckily, Micah catches me before I collide with the wall. Some of those protruding metal bits could cause serious damage. “Easy,” he says. “Be careful until we can get you some shoes that fit.”
I don’t bother to point out that it’s not going to make much difference. If he hasn’t learned that already, it’ll be a nice surprise for him.
Instead, I lean against his chest, inhaling the scent of him, and say, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on people like a creepy serial killer?”
“I called your name five times,” he informs me. For the barest second, he rests his cheek against the top of my head. “Come and tell me if you want your tools arranged in any specific way.”
I lift my head and look past him. He’s set up a trestle table beside my suitcase. There’s a folding chair next to it, with his tablet on the seat.
