“Emrys,” I breathed, the name catching in my throat. My feet moved before I could think.
His jaw twitched, his chest rising rapidly—but still, he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring, like if he touched me, I might vanish.
So I closed the space between us. I grabbed him by the collar, felt the tremor in his body, and pulled him into a kiss—hard and clumsy and desperate. Not the kind of kiss meant to seduce, but the kind meant to say I’m here, I’m here, you’re not alone.
His arms wrapped around me so tightly I almost couldn’t breathe. I didn’t care. I buried my face against his chest, where I could hear the frantic beat of his heart. He smelled like battle and blood and something deep and ancient.
He didn’t speak, just held me as if letting go might kill him.
“I thought—” I whispered against his shoulder. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
His hands cradled my face, his thumbs trembling as they brushed the corners of my eyes. “I would have burned the world to find you.”
That was when I realized he wasn’t just shaking from battle. He was shaking from fear. From almost losing me.
We stood like that for a while. No words. Simply breathing the same air.
A polite cough cracked the moment.
Camille was watching us with a feline smile, amusement glinting in her eyes. “You look like a ghost that’s been chewed on, Emrys.”
He turned with a half-smile, his arm still firmly around my shoulders. “Nice to see you too, Camille. I’d offer a hug, but I’m a bit... punctured.”
“Only a bit?” she said, taking a sip of tea. “You’re improving.”
Orren moved toward us and peered at the wound on Emrys’s neck. It was worse than I thought—raw, deep, still weeping something dark. My stomach twisted.
Emrys winked at me. “It was far worse an hour ago. It’s healing already.”
“Let me take care of that, old friend,” Orren said. He pressed two thick fingers to the wound, green sparks immediately dancing beneath his touch.
I winced. “Emrys!”
He gave me a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, Miss Daphne. You’re witnessing a druid’s magic. Not the leaf-rustling kind. The real thing.”
As we watched, the gash began to close, sinew knitting and skin smoothing over until not even a scar remained. My heart was still racing.
“Impressive,” I murmured.
“Of course it is,” Orren said with a grin. “I know what I’m doing.”
He turned, all height and earth-warmth and faintly glowing tattoos beneath his cuffs.
“And you,” he said, “you’re the girl who kissed our favorite corpse to bring him back from the Dusk Roads and blew up a ley line. Daphne? I’m impressed.”
I blinked. “That’s... not an entirely inaccurate summary.”
He offered a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Orren. Druid, plant-wrangler, ex-hermit. And Camille’s much better half, though she’ll deny it.”
“I will,” Camille chimed in cheerfully. “But only because it annoys you.”
“She’s very committed to keeping me humble.”
Emrys was massaging his neck with a grin. “Well, someone has to.”
“I like her,” Orren added, nodding at me. “She looks like she bites.”
I opened my mouth, unsure whether to thank him or deny it—when a familiar voice cut through the air like a squeaky violin string.
