“Lavinia, I need your help,” Emmeline said, hyperventilating. “Please. Torch fired at a chimera and he’s hurt. Can you come?”
“Hey, take a deep breath,” Lavinia said. “I don’t normally do this, but where are you? I’ll grab some supplies and meet you.”
Chapter 20
It had all happened so fast. Things had escalated before Luke could stop them.
They were arguing, both of them angry, and then Emmeline had slipped, falling, and nothing else mattered except for the way his entire heart had seized, as if somebody had plunged a hand into his chest and squeezed. He had understood then that whatever they were fighting about was stupid, that it wasn’t worth it. All he wanted was to make sure she was okay.
He hadn’t realized how agitated Torch and Sharptooth were getting, both protective and fierce. Not until it had been too late.
This should have never happened.
Luckily, the burns weren’t too bad, and Emmeline’s veterinary friend had set Sharptooth right. He had met Lavinia before when he’d taken the baby chimeras to the Animal Hospital; she was competent. He’d trusted she would do a good job, and she had.
All of that nasty business was over now, leaving him in theaftermath. He was in the barn, watching Sharptooth sleeping. She would heal in a few days, Lavinia had said.
Even after Lavinia had left, Emmeline had stayed. She was still here, now, having sent Torch and Motu away. He had texted Farhan to come over and keep Rhea and the baby chimeras busy and not to ask anything.
I’ll explain later, he’d written.
Fine, but you owe me, big time, Farhan had texted back.
Now, all that was left was quiet. He and Emmeline hadn’t spoken to one another. He didn’t know what to say. It felt as if this could have all been avoided, like it was all his fault, and he was ashamed. The barn was filled with soft golden light from one of the lamps, and they both stood by it, watching Sharptooth sleeping.
Emmeline fussed with her fingers. He saw her chin was trembling.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a whisper. He looked over at her, and she brought her eyes up to his. They shone with unshed tears. “Luke, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
His chest tightened with pain. “Hey, it’s not,” he said, going to her side. She squeezed her fingers tight, her knuckles going white. Her shoulders shook from the force of it, and he reached for her hands, pulling them apart.
“It was an accident,” he said, not letting go of her hand. “I know that Torch was only looking out for you.”
“I should have...” She broke off, shaking her head. “I should have...” she muttered to herself, and he could see the way that statement was unfolding in a dozen ways in her head, all the things she could have done better, allthe ways she felt she should have taken control of the situation.
“Hey,” he said, voice gentle. “It’s okay. Things happen.”
“It’s not okay.”
“It is,” he said.
She quickly blinked away her tears. He had never seen her cry, but he’d seen her close a few times now, and each time was like a punch in the gut. Whenever he saw her eyes well with tears, he wanted to do anything and everything in the world to make them go away.
He wondered if she ever cried in front of anyone, if she ever let herself be anything but strong. But he could see she was breaking now, and so was he.
“How’s the head?” he asked, touching his other hand to the back of her head. He was glad her hair had been down; if she was wearing one of those massive clips of hers, it would have hurt much worse.
She winced a little. “Okay,” she replied easily, automatically. “A little headache never killed anyone.”
He frowned. He had noticed she always did this—acted fine even if she wasn’t. And she clearly wasn’t. She was like a lightbulb on the verge of fading, dim and flickering.
Luke let go of her hand and went to where there was a basket atop one of the piles of hay. He rummaged around until he found a painkiller and a small bottle of water, bringing both over to her.
Emmeline raised a brow. “You’re giving me chimera medicine?” she asked.
His lips twitched. “No, I keep these here for me when the babies get too hyper and give me a headache.”
“Oh.” Her lips tilted, and she took the medicine. He felt marginally better. “Thank you,” she told him. “And I’m sorry. Again.”
