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His lips move. His brows pinch together. “Dakota,” he whispers, and I almost fall off the bed.
“Yes.” My voice cracks. Hell, my heart almost cracks with joy. “Yes, it’s me.”
His lids twitch, and he lets out a long breath. “Can’t find her. Have to find her.”
“I’m here. Right here.”
“She’s dying. Have to find her—”
“I’m not dying.” What the hell is going on? I squeeze his hand. “I’m not, Zane. I’m fine.”
“She’s dying.” It’s eerie, hearing his scratchy voice repeating these strange, ominous things. “Everyone’s fucking dying.”
“Well, I’m not.” My chest is too tight to breathe. “Look at me, Zane.”
“It’s cancer. Not looking good. Must tell her I know, and it doesn’t matter. Fuck, it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving her. I’m staying. I’m—”
“Zane!” I grab his face in both my hands and turn it toward me. “I said I’m not dying. I’m not sick. Can you hear me?”
He blinks and frowns. “She can’t die.” His dark eyes shimmer with the sudden sheen of tears. “I love her.”
My heart flips over in my chest. God, he really thinks I’m dying, and… and he loves me?
“I’m not sick,” I say, my voice choked. “Why do you think that I…?”
“I got the message,” he whispers, his frown deepening.
What message? There must be something I can do to snap him out of this daze. I’ve drawn his image, wept for him, talked to him, shaken him, and nothing seems to work.
It’s time for more drastic measures. Crazy measures. I mean, I don’t believe in magic, not really… But I believe in Zane, and that’s why I lean forward, cup his face in my hands and kiss him.
Chapter Fifteen
Zane
I’m lost inside a dream. It’s dark—a dark gray mist where things and faces move, appearing and disappearing. Sometimes my eyes are open, sometimes they’re closed. Sometimes I think I talk, but maybe I’m just thinking. Sometimes I hear words, but they don’t make a lick of sense. The sounds come from a distance, distorted and twisted.
Emma is gone. Dakota is leaving, and I need to find her. That’s all I know. All that matters.
I look for her, but I can’t locate her. I call for her, but I can’t see her. So I step back into the dark, let it close over me.
Except this time I’m not allowed to sink again. Small hands press on my cold face, shocking me with their warmth.
“I’m not dying,” a voice says, warm like the hands, a familiar voice.
Her voice.
You are, I think, or say, not sure which. I know you are. I got the message. You’re dying. You’re leaving me, too, and I don’t know how to keep you with me. I don’t believe in miracles.
Her touch feels so good, so fucking good that my breath catches in my throat. Her scent rises around me, familiar, delicious, fascinating. I want to touch her, but all I manage to do is curl my fingers on the covers, snagging them on the thin cloth.
Then softness presses on my mouth, warmth spreads through my lips. She tastes of caramel and salt—blood and tears. Sugar and bitter almonds. She tastes of all the hope I’ve ever held inside me, and I want to believe it.
My hands curl and uncurl. They shift on the covers.
She breaks the kiss and draws back. “Zane.”
I blink. The gray parts, thins. I can see her face, her wide blue eyes. The mist lifts, and reality rushes back. “Dakota.”
