Page 49 of Lana Pecherczyk

His usual anger had vanished, replaced by relaxed shoulders and an open expression. It was as though a door had swung wide between them, and somehow, vomiting had been the key?

Blake tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering to wipe a smudge of dirt from her cheek. She straightened her blouse, which clung damply to her skin. God, she must look awful. But he was being nice.

“Before, at the palace,” she ventured slowly, “you were angry at me.”

He glanced up through blue-black locks, thoughts flickering behind his eyes. He shouldered his pack, uncorked a waterskin with his teeth, and offered it to her.

She stared at it, waiting for him to answer. When he didn’t, she pushed to her feet and dusted her hands before accepting. She rinsed the sourness from her mouth, then drank deeply. The cool water felt heavenly against her raw throat.

“Thank you.” She sighed, returning it to him. “For before as well.”

“That’s a no-no word, Blake,” he growled. “Don’t you feel that charge in the atmosphere?”

“No.”

He tucked away the waterskin and captured her hands with his. “Close your eyes and open your senses.”

“Open me—my senses. What does that even mean?”

“Just fucking close your eyes.”

“Jeeze.” Her eyelids lowered reluctantly. “No need to get your knickers in a knot.”

A disgruntled huff tickled her lips. Smelled randomly like lime.

“Now, pay attention to the atmosphere around you,” he said. “And your body, and the connection between. Then say it again.”

“Atmosphere,” she said. “Pay attention. Got it.”

Doing that right now.

Except his hands were nice and warm. Strong. A little rough from work. Good.

Focus, Blake.

The air was warmer here than in Helianthus. Humid, too. It was a bit more like Broome up North than Perth in summer. Her body hummed with awareness, particularly the inadequate support beneath her blouse. She should have asked Ada for a larger wrap. The urge to cover herself was overwhelming, but River held her hands firmly, his thumbs resting against her wrists’ pulse points.

“Repeat it,” he said.

“Thank you?” She peeked with one eye and found him watching her with an unexpected intensity that brought heat to her cheeks.

He averted his gaze and gently squeezed her wrists. “You can’t concentrate with your eyes open. Close them and say it again.”

“Me eyes can concentrate great, open or closed, thank you very much.”

Through her lashes, she caught his eye roll and the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Oops. She’d repeated it without concentrating, but damn, that smile. Butterflies erupted in her belly. She squeezed her eyes shut before he noticed.

“Say it, Blake,” he said, voice deepening, “andfeelwhat happens in the air.”

“Thank you.”

This time, she felt it—a whisper of energy against her skin. The moment she acknowledged it, more rippled across her arms and face, raising fine hairs like static electricity.

“I feel it!” Her eyes flew open.

“That’s the debt you owe me for your gratitude. The Well acknowledges its existence and has given me control of the leash.”

“Wait. What?” Her stomach plummeted. “Control?”