I run, legs pumping as I sprint across the dig site, dirt flying up beneath my feet. Someone shouts Norah’s name, and it takes me a second to realize it’s me.
The bond sears through my chest like a brand, white-hot and insistent. I don’t think, I just move. My boots skid on loose dirt as I vault a barrier separating one area of the dig from another, nearly colliding with two undergrads gaping at the pit. Their faces blur. All I see is the empty space where Norah stood.
I drop to my knees at the edge of the pit, joining the crowd gathering there. Norah’s sprawled on her side at the bottom of the pit, one arm smeared with blood. My pulse roars in my ears.
“Norah,” I say as I push to my feet and scramble for the ladder. I climb down so fast that the ladder shudders, and when I reach the bottom, she’s already trying to push herself up, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
“Don’t move, sweetheart.” My voice cracks. “You’re okay. I’m right here with you.”
Her eyes find mine, wide and bright with pain. “Rowan—”
The sound of my name on her lips unravels something in me. I run my hands over her, checking for breaks, for anything worse than the gash on her forearm. The relief that crashes through me is so violent it nearly takes my breath away. This feeling isn’t the bond. It’s not magic. It’s all because Norah is alive and largely unharmed from her fall. And in that moment, I realize that I want her to be mine in a way that has nothing to do with ancient rites and everything to do with the way my chest aches because she’s hurt.
I’m in love with her. Bond or no bond, I’m in love with Norah. It’s wrong. And I don’t care. How can I when for an agonizing few seconds, I thought I might’ve lost her?
She winces as I help her sit up. “I think I’m okay. Just had the breath knocked out of me, and I’m sure I’ll have some bumps and bruises.”
Then she sees her arm. It’s bleeding, not at an alarming rate, but enough that blood is running down her forearm and dripping onto the dirt. She turns as white as a sheet of paper. “Oh…I…” I see her go woozy, and I slide my arms around her. “I don’t like blood,” she whispers, her breathing suddenly shallow and erratic. “I don’t like blood,” she says again, and I can feel her shaking.
She’s having a panic attack.
“Norah.” I cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Look at me, sweetheart. Breathe with me. Nice and slow, okay? In. Out. That’s it. Let’s have another one. In. Out. Good girl.” I hold her as she works to slow her breathing, stroking my hand over the back of her head. Holding her feels so incredibly right. Like this is what my arms are truly for.
She clings to me, pressing her face against her chest. After several more slow, deep breaths, her breathing evens out and I feel some of the tension go out of her body. “I—I’m sorry. I just…when I see blood like that…”
“Shh.” I pull her tighter against my chest. Her hair is so soft against my palm. “Nothing to be sorry for.” I press a kiss to the top of her head without even thinking. I’m sure we have an audience above, and I don’t care. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
Her fingers twist in my shirt. The bond hums between us, like something warm and soft weaving fine threads around us. After several moments, she pulls back, and our eyes meet. I smooth my hand over her hair and kiss her forehead. “Better?” I ask, and she nods.
We stay like that for a beat, and then I push to my feet. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” She nods shakily and takes the hand I’m offering her, allowing me to help her carefully to her feet.
I lift her into my arms, adjusting her so she’s steady against my chest. Her legs lock around my waist and her arms go around my neck easily, as though we’ve done this a thousand times. She’s light, but the weight of her—warm and solid and alive—settles something in me that’s been raw since the moment I saw her fall.
“Rowan,” she whispers, her breath warm against my throat. “I can use the ladder.”
“Hush, darling.” I don’t let her argue. Not now.
I start to climb with one hand on the rung above us, the other cradling her ass to keep her secure against me. She clings to me, her face tucked against my shoulder as I climb. The bond pulses between us, but the buzzing in my veins isn’t just the magic now. It’s her. The way her fingers dig into my back. The way her breath hitches when I shift my grip.
At the top, others are there to help us up the last couple of steps, and I set Norah on her feet carefully. Someone is already there with the first aid kid, open and ready.
“We need some gauze,” I say, and a wad of it is pressed into my palm almost immediately. I hold it out to Norah, but her fingers are shaking too much to take it. She swallows, her eyes flicking to the blood on her arm, and her face goes pale again.
I slip my fingers under her chin, tilting her face up to mine. I’m so close that my nose brushes against hers. “Hey. Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
She blinks slowly and focuses on me. I press the gauze into her hand and then guide it over the cut on her arm so that she doesn’t have to look at the blood. “Hold this. Tight. Good girl.”
She nods, pressing it against the gash. Her breath shudders out, but she doesn’t look away from me.
“I’m taking Norah to a doctor. Jill, you’re in charge. I’m not sure if we’ll be back tonight.” Jill nods, the pink-tipped ends of her hair blowing in the breeze.
“Of course. Keep us updated. You’ll be alright, Norah,” she says, and Norah nods, clearly shaken. Of course she is. She fell ten feet and cut her arm open. That’d rattle anyone.
I scoop her up again, cradling her against my chest in a bridal carry. She lets out a little whimper, her arms winding around my neck. The dig site fades to nothing, my attention focused entirely on Norah as I stride toward my truck.
I open the passenger side door, and Norah’s weight settles against me as I lower her onto the seat, but she doesn’t let go.Her fingers twist in my shirt, her voice small. “Rowan, I don’t need a doctor. It’s just a cut. It’ll…I’ll be fine. It’s fine.”
I brace one hand on the roof of the truck, the other on the seat, caging her in. My voice drops, low and firm. “You need stitches. And a proper exam. No arguments.”
