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Is he trying to show me that things are not as bad as I think?
“It’s like it never happened—like it was never contaminated. Unlike the rest of this place.”
Dace looks at me, alerted by the edge in my tone. “I came straight here. Horse led me. I haven’t had a chance to explore. Is it bad?”
I nod. Hoping my look can convey what words can’t. I’m exhausted. My feet hurt. My finger is still a bright angry red, only now it’s swollen to twice its normal size. I study the spring once again, longing to take a quick dip. Surely a short break will rejuvenate me enough to go hunting again?
I kneel beside the water, about to immerse my finger, when Dace stoops beside me, grasps my hand, and says, “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I jerk free of his grip. “Really. It was just a small cut, but then I dipped it into the ocean and it came out like this. The sea is polluted. It’s awful. You gotta see it to believe it. But if this place truly is enchanted, if it truly is exempt from all the other contamination around here, if it really can heal itself, well, then it should also be able to heal me too, right?”
Dace meets my gaze, not the least bit convinced.
“Look,” I say, unwilling to argue. “I’ll either keep a finger or lose a finger. But either way, I have to try.”
Then before he can stop me, I plunge my hand in. And the relief I experience is so overwhelming, it’s not long before the rest of me plunges in too.
six
I submerge myself underwater—wonderful, warm, silky, soft water. Holding my breath for as long as I can, intensely aware of my cells being rejuvenated, revived. The knots in my shoulders unraveling, while the seeping blisters on my feet shrivel and close, leaving the skin smooth and healed, bearing no trace of injury.
My transformation complete, I spring to the surface—resurrected, reb
orn. Finding Dace right beside me, his icy-blue eyes glittering, his smile beckoning bright as a beacon, guiding me into his arms.
He covers my mouth with his—our lips merging, colliding, tasting, exploring—while our tongues swirl and dance—finding and losing each other again and again. Our bodies melting, conforming, as his hands seek my flesh, causing ripples of pleasure wherever they pass. Drawing away ever so slightly, he presses his forehead flush against mine. His gaze blunted by a yearning matched by my own.
I hasten my breath and press toward him, eager to claim his kiss once again. But Dace holds me firmly in place, voice thick with meaning, as he says, “Daire—I love you.” His lids narrowing, jaw tensing, as he studies my face, waits for me to respond.
Those same features softening in relief when I say, “And I love you.” Surprised by the way the words just rolled off my tongue. It was so much easier than I imagined. The big, sturdy wall I’ve spent a lifetime building, in an effort to shield myself from moments like this, came crashing down with one little push.
Though it’s only a second later when my heart fills with panic—feeling vulnerable, exposed. Unused to baring itself after a lifetime spent frozen in ice, placed under quarantine, and neatly tucked away in a corner no one could reach.
If I know one thing for sure, it’s that nothing lasts forever. Relationships end, good-byes must be said, and that’s the part I’ve never been any good at. It’s always been easier just to skip out of town, board the next flight, and never look back.
I take a deep breath. Fight to steady myself. Forced to acknowledge that the words have been spoken, the walls have crumbled, and there’s no way to reverse it—no way to return to that safe, lonely place I called home.
But when I meet his gaze once again, seeing the way it brims with reverence and love, my heart swells until the panic’s edged out. Replaced by the pure joyful giddiness of breaking free of my cage.
I say the words again.
And then again.
And then a few more times after that.
My lips moving along the edge of his jaw, slipping down to the hollow of his neck, where I seal the words in his flesh.
Each declaration leaving me increasingly strengthened. Finally understanding what they mean when they say that love heals—empowers—that love conquers all.
I shift until I’m sitting astride him. Running my palms up a chest slick as silk, I cup my hands to his shoulders. My gaze deepening, my intentions laid bare. The declaration was just the beginning—the act will now follow.
“Are you sure?” he asks, reading the look on my face.
I nod. I’ve never felt surer. Of anything. Ever.
He runs a finger down my cheek, his touch tender and sweet, as he moves to kiss me again. His lips falling lightly upon mine, when something odd and slick skims past my shin and plops to the surface beside me.
I gasp. Already bolting from the spring, scolding myself that I should’ve known better—that it was too good to be true—when Dace stops me and pulls me back to his lap. Displaying the object now cupped in his hand—an overripe bloom that must’ve fallen from the canopy of vines overhead.
