I like it.
But it still makes no sense. Was a mistake made? Is this a trick the gods are playing on me? I've made no secret of the fact that I think they suck ass, so I doubt they would toss a random blessing my way or some shit like that.
"Focus," I order myself out loud, turning to rummage through my dresser for new combat-friendly clothes that I quickly slip into, along with a new pair of gloves. Spotting my adamantine dagger on the dresser, I sheath it to my hip. Crypt must have collected that, too, before carrying me back here.
Time to get down to business. We have to get out of here ASAP and find somewhere safe to lay low while Silas transitions into a necromancer—which can sometimes take days.
Stepping out into the hallway, I nearly collide with a lean, pale, beautifully sculpted chest. Everett steadies me, his soulful blue gaze roving over me as if he's looking for any sign of damage. One of his cool hands cradles my face, and he exhales with relief.
"There you are. I had to see that you're okay."
My most meticulous match is still streaked with dried blood and dirt from First Placement. He must have just woken up from Pia's healing, which left him with no visible scars. I suppose I should have figured that my former supermodel match would look like this, but…
Damn. Talk about lickable abs,I muse distractedly.
Are my abs more or less lickable in your estimation, blood blossom?Silas's faint, slurred fae words drift back inside my head, growing faint at the end.
Oh, my gods.
I look wide-eyed up at Everett. His gaze drops to where my hand instinctively goes to cover the center of my newly marked chest, and he tenses.
"Shit—what's wrong? Are you in pain?"
"Is it her shadow heart again?"
Baelfire's voice startles me before the dragon shifter is suddenly beside us in the hallway, crowding this small space. He showered off the worst of the gore and dirt left behind from First Placement, but he's back in his combat clothes again. Obviously, he's as aware as I am that we'll have another fight on our hands sooner than later. Changing would be redundant.
"Are you all right, Raincloud?" he presses, brow furrowed.
I hold up a finger to pause their concern and peer inside my room again, expecting Silas to be sitting up in bed with a knowing smirk. But he's still motionless, propped up on the pillows that are now stained with dried blood and ash. His feverish, labored breathing is the only sound in the room.
Silas?I try to send to him.
There's no response.
I'm so perplexed that I actually yelp in surprise when Crypt appears in the room directly in front of me. Unlike Baelfire, he hasn't redressed from his shower yet, so I'm treated to a delicious display of his nakedness—the light and dark swirling markings covering most of his body, muscles dripping with water droplets, and piercings glinting in the afternoon light streaming in from the window.
The incubus frowns. "What's got you so jittery, love?"
I hesitate, glancing between the three of them. We really don't have time at our disposal, but this fluke on my chestpertains to all of us. There's no point keeping it a secret. Decision made, I strip off my black shirt. Rolling my eyes at Baelfire's whistle of appreciation, I lift my gray exercise bra so they can get the full picture of what's going on.
His whistle dies, and Everett visibly stops breathing. Crypt is equally stunned.
"How the hell is this even possible?" Baelfire finally manages, reaching out to gently run a warm finger over my new emblem. He catches my eye. "Does it hurt, baby? Do you feel any different?"
"I don't know, no, and not really." I pause. "Aside from hearing him inside my head, that is."
To my surprise, Crypt has the strongest reaction to that. He swears and turns an impressively murderous glare on the unconscious fae in the room as if he's about to pick a fight before Silas even wakes up.
"Right. Anyone else insanely fucking jealous now?" he bites out.
Baelfire agrees, but when Everett is silent, I realize he's gazing at the new emblem on my chest with unadulterated hope written all over his handsome features.
Our eyes meet. "Does this mean…his curse is broken?" he asks.
Gods, I hope so. Silas was barely hanging on. His curse was the one I was most concerned about—the one I was most determined to find a cure for. Does this fluke mean he'll wake up in his own head, sans voices?
"Maybe?" I hedge, replacing my clothing.
