Page 18

Chapter

Twelve

ARA

He doesn’t say a word. His gaze is intense as his eyes travel from my boots upward. Slowly, he catalogs every detail.

There is no way to miss the curve of my hip or how my body tapers at the waist, and while my breasts are wrapped so tightly they are nearly flat, the placement of said wrapped material is obvious, too.

I’ve never felt this vulnerable before. My palms are sweaty, my heart races like it has to be somewhere else, and I fight to keep my breath even.

Finally, he stops at the braid winding around my head before his eyes meet mine. His stoic face doesn’t tell me anything.

I bite my lip to keep myself from blurting out nonsense. I want to cover myself, but I keep my hands by my side. He knows now. Nothing I can do will change that, and I refuse to show him how much his perusal affects me.

He keeps holding my gaze.

Why doesn’t he say something?

My back is to the dark forest behind us, and his body blocks mine from views from the camp.

At least no one else can see me.

Time stretches unbearably. I don’t want to be the one to break the silence, but if he doesn’t say something soon, I will. I wiggle the toes in my boots. I’m always a twitchy person, and this is nerve-wracking on more than one level.

He exhales.

“Didn't see that one coming,” he says. I feel my eyebrows jump up.

That’s it? That’s all he is going to say?

His eyes are already on the slash.

“A scratch, huh?” Kyronos shakes his head, his golden eyes flitting over my body again. “But I guess I know now why you didn't want anyone looking at it.” He takes in my rigid posture, and his face softens a bit before he sits down next to me.

“May I?” His voice is softer now, too. Our eyes lock while he waits for my answer. I nod.

Tate’s calloused hands tickle my skin with his light touch. I flinch.

“Sorry, I'll try to be more gentle,” he says, his eyes on the wound.

“Gods, no,” I blurt.

His gaze snaps up to my eyes, and he raises one brow. “You would prefer me being ... less gentle?” My cheeks heat. Shit, that doesn't sound right when he says it like that and brings up a whole lot of wrong ideas on my part. Does he have to be so ridiculously handsome?

“No, I mean … It's fine. I'm fine,” I stutter.

Kyronos's mouth twitches, but the smile is gone so fast I may have imagined it. His face relaxes, and he nods once while he goes on examining the cut as if I’m not making a total fool of myself.

He selects a vial from the healing kit, and the familiar smell alerts me seconds before the burn draws a soft gasp from my lips.

I try to look at anything but him, but my eyes always find their way back. He pushes my skin together, securing it with little sticky strips from the kit.

His fingers gently scrape over my skin, sending out electric sparks. I get goose bumps all over, and the way his gaze flits over my skin tells me he notices. Hopefully, he thinks it’s the cold causing this—not that I feel cold at the moment.

Ugh ... a hole in the ground would be nice.

One that gobbles me up, like right now .

Why can't he be less … just less? At least if he would make dumbass comments, I could give some snarky remarks back—dispel this tension.

But noooo, instead the silence seems to make it worse.

My body feels like a furnace, and tingles run over my skin wherever he touches me.

I hate my body right now for being so aware of him. It's like he’s the only thing registering with my senses—the sound of his breath, the heat of his body when he comes closer, his gaze, his touch. I swear my skin will erupt in flames any minute.

I clear my throat. “I'm just ticklish.”

He nods as if that is a reasonable explanation for my behavior, and thankfully, he starts to talk.

“Didn't reach the muscle tissue. This should be quick.” His voice is low, husky, and curls around my body like a caress. He places his fingers next to the cut, and a tingling warmth seeps from his fingers into my skin.

That is when I realize it’s his magic. He’s healing me, and I was too distracted to stop him. I flinch.

Kyronos's eyes jump to mine. I scootch back, trying to put distance between his hands and my skin, and fall backward. I forgot I’m still sitting on his rolled-up bedding. He grabs my arm, steadying me.

At least he stopped healing me.

He inclines his head, watching me like I’m a puzzle he has to solve.Curious, intrigued, searching.

“Are you scared of healing?” His voice is soft, probing.

I shake my head and immediately wish I could take it back. That would have been a good reason to decline being healed.

“Just me, then?” His eyes crinkle, and a smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “Hmm.” There is too much resonating in that little sound for me to catch it.

Yes, I’m scared … I’m terrified of what I could do to him. This whole situation is my worst nightmare, and on top of it all, my brain stops working around him.

I need to get out of here. I can’t deal with this if I can’t think. So I go for the most obvious course of action: ignore the problem. I grab my shirt.

“Thank you. Like you said, nothing serious. It will heal on its own.” I flash him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “No need to drain your gift for that.” I shrug and wait for him to release my arm, but he doesn’t. The eyes examining my face look stormy, but his voice is calm and cool.

“I never said it wasn’t serious. And I will heal you, even if I have to hold you down to do it.” He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

“Why?” I ask.

“I already lost enough recruits on this trip. I will not add another one because of an infection I can prevent.” His determination would be admirable if it weren’t so damn inconvenient.

“You doused it in enough cleansing stuff. Just bandage it, and I’ll be fine.” I try again.

“Cleansing stuff,” he repeats. “That certainly sounds like you’re the expert here.” I open my mouth, but it’s not like I can tell him I’m familiar with letting wounds heal on their own. My mother or Luc would never accept that on anyone but me. So I stay silent.

“Sweat seeping into it, movement, the bandages rubbing, your pack pulling it apart. Even if you don’t get an infection from that, it will scar. Why risk it if I can fix it in minutes?”

And just like that, I can’t argue against it without sounding stubborn or stupid, and he doesn’t look like he’ll back down either. Why does he even care?

I eye the trees around us before I slump and nod.

I’ll deal with it. If I have to run, I run.

His fingers are back on my skin, and the tingling warmth seeps into me, gaining intensity.

Something inside me responds to the warmth, and I close my eyes—afraid he will see what is going on. A coolness snakes up inside me, slithering around his warmth and smothers it like an unwanted fire.

I can’t let him deplete himself. Once he gets weaker, I’ll push him away, and the connection should snap.

I will get away.

The curse is expanding, growing, drinking up the golden warmth Tate pours into me.

I’m furious at this part of me that has overshadowed my life, endangered my family, and now takes my freedom and choice as well.

I will be hunted. I will have to hide and run all my life.

And what if the king goes after my family as well?

The silvery coolness grows and grows, winding so tight around the golden light that it’s barely shining through by now.

Realization hits me. I can’t spare him. Everyone will know what I am if I leave him weakened and drained.

Desperation and anger course through me, so potent I can nearly taste it, and I direct it at the silver beast responsible for my misery.

It strikes, and the beast falters.

I gasp, my eyes flying open. Kyronos looks at me questioningly. Shit. I close my eyes again, concentrating on the fight waging inside me, hoping he won’t ask questions I can’t answer.

I picture the coolness as a snake, grabbing it behind its head, I squeeze, demanding it to let go.

Having an image turns it from something slippery and evasive into something I can hold onto.

It fights and tries to wriggle away, but I clamp down tight and tug.

Pulling it away from the warmth, I push it down into my core, where it can’t touch his magic.

It resists like a living thing, slips away again and again, but I catch it before it can reach Kyronos's magic. Letting it win is not an option.

I won’t kill him.

Once I have control, I hold on and open my eyes, afraid of what I’ll find. Can he sense what’s going on?

He frowns at my wound. It still looks the same.

Come on, I pray silently.

Sweat forms on my brow, and my breath comes fast and shallow. It is hard fucking work to hold on to the slippery beast, to keep it contained. It thrashes against my hold, trying to wriggle free.

I watch him. Expect him to look at me any minute now with accusation or fear in his gaze. A quiver runs through my body, my strength fading quickly, and I lock my muscles to hide it. My tensing earns me another questioning look. Hopefully, he still thinks I’m afraid.

Time stretches into eternity. But I refuse to give up because it will likely cost both of us our lives.

The heat of the healing magic intensifies and spreads through my body.

Then, eventually, there is a change. Slowly, the cold beast relents, calms, and curls up, becoming a shimmering orb floating inside me, harmless and content. My mind struggles to match it to the raw and vicious thing I felt before.

And then … it’s over. His magic leaves my body, and his fingers my skin.

Holy mists, I did it. We did it.

Kyronos healed me, and it didn't drain him. I didn’t drain him. I look at my flawless skin, still streaked by a few sticky stripes, and then up at him, stunned.

“Have you never been healed before?” he asks, puzzled. “It must have been worse than it looked.” He huffs out a deep breath but doesn’t elaborate. I’m sure healing me took more than a slash this size should have.