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He starts to scream as the fire quickly climbs higher up his leg, beating it with both hands in an attempt to put it out. I roll away from him to avoid the flames, his cries echoing around the clearing as he thrashes about in a panic, still smacking at his pant leg. He stumbles backward, teetering off-balance as his feet snag on fallen branches and thick piles of leaves, and he doesn’t see it coming, I think—but I do.

His heels catch on an old log as he tumbles backward, everything seeming to happen in slow motion. His body drops like deadweight, his head cracking against one of the tombstones even as his pants continue to burn. He immediately goes still, and in this moment, I have no idea if he’s alive or dead. I’m honestly not sure if I care, after everything that’s just happened—but then I notice what he’s still holding.

More importantly, I notice that it’s on fire.

The bridle!

I rush to my feet, sprinting toward Brodie’s prone body, stompingout the last of the flames that consume the old leather, then shucking off my jacket and starting to beat the fire that still eats at Brodie’s pants. When it’s all out, and I’m sweating and out of breath and coughing from the smoke—only then do I notice the tragedy of what’s happened.

The bridle is ruined.

I kneel down to try to carefully pry it from Brodie’s grip, watching as it crumbles in several places where the flames have eaten away at the ancient material. I begrudgingly check Brodie for a pulse, finding that the bastard is just knocked out, not dead, and I resist the urge to kick him in the gut for good measure, knowing I have more important things to deal with.

I make quick work of crossing the clearing to fall at Lachlan’s side, blood now fully soaking the sleeve of his sweater. His face is contorted in pain, and I immediately shove my hands under his neckline, not caring about the blood in the slightest as I press my fingers to his wound.

That same warmth from the night on the loch—the night I first found out what he was—collects in my palms, and I can see it clearly now, the glow that comes with it. It comes almost easily. Like a thought made real. It takes several moments for the bleeding to slow, for Lachlan’s face to smooth out and his eyes to flutter open, and when I see those icy blues looking up at me with pure awe and adoration, I do the one thing that seems to be a habit, at this point.

I burst into tears.

Lachlan sits up with a grunt to gather me in his arms, holding me to his chest as he frantically touches me all over, his voice a panicked coo.

“Oi,” he says lowly. “What is it? Are you hurt? Did he get you? I swear, if he hurt you, I’ll—”

I shake my head against his chest, sobs racking my body. “I’m fine. I’mfine.But it doesn’t matter. Iruinedit. I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to save you, but I—”

My words break off into unintelligible babblings as I continue to weep in a way thathasto be appalling to watch, but still Lachlan cradles my face in his hands, forcing it up so that I have to look at him.

“Come now,” he murmurs. “Shh. Don’t cry. We can figure it out. You did so good, love. So good.”

This only makes my lip quiver harder, hearing his praise while knowing that I’ve robbed us of any chance to save him, and I sniffle loudly as I offer up the tattered remains of the bridle, holding it out so that he can see the damage done.

“He was holding it,” I choke out. “When he was trying to put the fire out. I didn’t think—I just—”

Lachlan stares down at the ruined scraps of leather in my hand, his mouth parting in surprise as he reaches out to run his fingers over it. I can see the flicker of disappointment there, and I’m seconds away from falling into a fresh wave of tears when he shakes his head, grabbing the bridle from me and tossing it away.

“We don’t need it,” he says resolutely.

I rear back, my brow furrowing even as tears continue to leak from my eyes. “What do you mean wedon’t need it? It’s what we’ve been searching for all this time! How are we supposed to save you without the bridle’s magic?”

He shakes his head again, his palms cradling my cheeks as he drops his head to level his gaze with mine. “We don’t need it,” he says again. “You can do it yourself.”

I balk, my mouth falling open even as confusion racks me.“What? What the hell are you talking about? I can’t do anything. Anything real, that is. They’re just fancy party tricks, remember?”

“Aye, that’s what I said,” he agrees. “But look at all you’ve done! You knew where to find me. You came after me. Yousavedme.” He snorts. “Hell, it wasyouwho found the journal to begin with.Youwho figured things out when no one in my family could forcenturies. Don’t you get it, Key?”

I frown, sniffling again. “Get what?”

“It’s you,” he says quietly, his smile soft and his eyes softer. “The magic isyou.”

He looks so sure when he says it, so goddamned certain that he’s not spouting nonsense as my brain tries to tell me he is, and for a moment, I can only gape at him.

“No,” I splutter finally. “No, I can’t—”

He shuts me up by pressing his mouth to mine.

“You can,” he murmurs against my lips. “I know you can.”

I whip my head to the edge of the clearing, where I can just see the sun starting to sink, and that same panic tries to climb higher into my throat. “We don’t have time,” I exclaim. “It’s almost sundown. We have to get you to the loch. We have to—”