Baelfire looks at me, then Silas, then back at me like he's trying to decide whether to tell me the truth. "It's nothing. He's fine."
"Why wouldn't he be?" I ask more menacingly than I intended. Because if another one of them is hurt, I'm going to snap.
Bael glances behind me at Crypt, and I look back just in time to see Crypt shaking his head. He quickly gives me an innocent smile as if he wasn't just telling the dragon shifter to shut up.
Obviously, they don't want me getting any more pissed off than I already am.
Smart legacies.
But I still want the truth. When I turn back to Baelfire, he gives me a soft smile.
"Don't worry about Si. It was fucking nasty to touch his mouth, but I force-fed him a shot of wyvern blood because he told me to, and he's fit as a fiddle again. Just sleeping. So you can go take care of your psychotic incubus. Even if he doesn't deserve it because he abandoned you like an absolute fucking jackass," he adds, shooting Crypt a savage glare.
"Don't ever accuse me of leaving her willingly," Crypt warns darkly.
Baelfire huffs, but I ignore both of them as I gather a wide range of ingredients from Silas's stash in the kitchen. As I walk past Crypt toward the hall, I speak in a voice that leaves no room for argument.
"Come with me."
23
CRYPT
After daysof being deprived of the only thing I want, I desperately drink in everything about her.
Maven's anger is evident as she tells me to sit as she prepares her tinctures. I perch on the end of her bed, lost in the quiet pleasure of watching her. Her movements are as bewitching as always while she skillfully combines ingredients I know little about.
My darling shoots me a sharp look that has my heart thrumming. "Enough of that dreamy look. I'm pissed at you."
I know she is. She's unhappy with me for getting hurt.
My chest swells, knowing that she was worried about me. No one has ever fretted over me before, and if they had, I would have broken their face. But knowingMavenis upset on my behalf is damn near giddying.
I don't know what to do with a feeling like this.
But I do know that I'm going to make her my muse. I want her ingrained in my subconscious just as deeply as I plan to be permanently woven into hers.
Maven brings over three bowls of different poultices and sets them on the bed beside me. She reaches out to gently but firmlyturn my head to one side so she can study the spot where a shade bit off my left ear.
It will grow back faster once I've consumed more dreams to cull my exhaustion. I mean to tell her that, but she's standing between my legs, and when she presses the tiniest bit into me, I bite back a groan. I want her far closer.
But pulling her into my lap the way I want to is out of the question. I'll mind Maven's aversion to touch until she wants more.
And shewillwant more. I can't be the only one dying for a mere touch.
She dabs some of the poultice on my bruises before using small bursts of warm magic on my ruined hand. I've been tuning out the pain of that particular injury for several hours ever since a swarm of wisps caused it.
"Where were you?" she finally asks, meeting my gaze.
I study her beautiful eyes. I'm not a forthcoming person and never have been, but I need her to understand that I would never willingly leave her side. Perhaps some context is in order.
"The curse I was born with is unique," I begin quietly.
"Aren't they all?"
"Not always. Some are hereditary. Other legacies sometimes have curses similar to one another. But mine is only found about once every century, and it can't be broken."
Maven's brow furrows. "Explain."
