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Cold. I was so cold. If I could open my eyes, I’d see frost on my fingertips, I was certain.
But I couldn’t open them. Couldn’t move.
Cold… I was so very cold…
83
VEYKA
Witches, claws, and a ray of golden light. Up and up I rose toward the star-flecked sky. My hands burned, my palms, the back of my neck. Flashes of emerald, undulating above me.
Arthur.
Close, so close I could almost reach out and touch him.
But fading too fast, slipping through my fingertips.
Darkness.
Not the cold, unforgiving dark. But raging black fire, flames that wreathed a heart, a hand. My hand. My fingers intertwined with his.
Then true darkness.
Oblivion.
Sleep.
My eyes cracked open, my cheek pressed against the soft white pillow. I saw my arm flung across the bed. Not just my hand, though. Those fingers intertwined with mine were golden. Calloused and strong. I knew them in an instant, like they were my own.
“Arran.” My voice was hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in days. My eyes, fully open now, darted around the room, looking for any indication of the passage of time.
“A few hours,” Arran said, his voice steady. My gaze tracked up from where our hands were joined, along his muscled forearm. He’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, exposing the golden skin corded with muscle, even more accentuated as he gripped my hand fiercely.
I let myself savor those muscles, the deep triangle of chest from his unfastened shirt. I could see the tips of the branches of his Talisman.
His hair was loose around his shoulders, unbound in dark waves. It looked like he’d been running his hands through it. “Have you been worrying about me?” I asked, amused.
Arran ignored the comment, dropping his gaze to our joined hands. He tried to loosen his grip. I held him right where he was. The ghost of a smile flitted over his face.
“You are still here,” he said to our hands.
“I am.”
He reached out with his other hand and flicked my nose. “Despite your best efforts.”
“I didn’ttryto get myself killed.”
“You promised you would walk out of that tower,” he reminded me.
I cringed. “Did you have to carry me?”
“Down four flights of stairs.”
“Next, you’re going to tell me I should lay off the chocolate croissants.”
“If you hadn’t been half-dead a few hours ago, I’d be fucking you on this bed right now,” Arran growled. “Don’t change a single thing about that gorgeous body. Ever.”
“I promise.” I laughed, realized how tender my ribs were, and eased back down to the mattress. “On second thought, perhaps it is better if there are no promises between us.”
