Griffin pulls me to him. “Let’s get back and take care of your wounds.”
My bruises are nothing, but my leg needs to be checked before it gets infected. I can still walk. I was lucky that the bullet only took a little chunk of muscle and that the slavers gave me stitches.
“Will you lick them better?” I say to try to bring some levity to our reunion.
“I will. If it makes you feel better,” he says too seriously.
My heart is in my throat. “Thank you… for coming for me.”
Griffin drops his head on my shoulder, his horn grazing my cheek.
“I hope you know, Helios, that I would die for you,” he says quietly.
I gasp. I try to catch his eyes, but he keeps his head down. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward theBeetle. “Come on. Let’s get you checked.”
And just like this, he has wrecked me, body and soul. He has lifted the weight of the years I spent alone in the wastelands, and I feel like soaring. Everything I’ve ever endured was worth it if it led me to meet this man.
Griffin sits me down on the couch while Beet takes us far away from Yosemite. Far away from Oliver’s dark designs and the Drake’s anger. He pulls out a first-aid kit, one that certainly cost a fortune to own, while I take off my clothes. His eyes catch first on my ankle, where the blood has clotted around the peeled skin, but then he notices the bullet wound on my thigh. His face morphs into a storm. I touch his cheek, pulling his attention away from my wrecked body.
“The slavers shot me,” I explain. “But they’re all dead. Oliver cut off their heads. Everyone is dead.”
Griffin’s rage is a living thing. He has a drake inside him, dormant most days, but that can be deadly when awoken.
“I’m okay,” I add. “I’m okay now. My wounds will heal.”
I can see the moment when he douses the fire in his soul. The human side of him keeps the other one on a tight leash.
He takes care of my wounds in silence while I run my fingers through his thick hair and over his horns. I can’t stop touching him. I wish I could crawl under his skin and let his fire warm my weary bones.
Long after he has tended to my wounds and wrapped me in a blanket, he stays on his knees in front of me, his head on my lap. I fall asleep with my hand in his hair, and my heart full to the point of bursting.
“Welcome home, Helios,” Beet says in the peaceful quiet.
18
Colors.
“Griffin is a wonderful child. He was only three-year-old when they told us that the Revival Project was a disaster. They wanted us to dump him somewhere in the wastelands. If he were lucky, some survivors would have picked him up. If not, the coyotes would have made a meal of him. Our world might have changed, but I want to think that it hasn’t changed so much that leaving a toddler to die in the desert is considered normal. Most of my team refused to do it. We stayed in the lab to raise him. By then, we didn’t know the extent of the traits he had taken from his special genes. He was fierce, to be sure, but never problematic. He grew up to be quite a wonderful teenager. I hope the world will be more welcoming to him once he decides to go out there. That child deserves a life full of fun, laughter, and love. I hope I’ll be here to witness it.”
Journal entry from Aurora Melbourne, a scientist who worked on the Revival Project.
The sun rises over the ocean, dressing the clouds in pink.
Griffin dragged me out of bed before dawn, wanting us to go swim with dolphins. We noticed a pod that had been around for a few days. I dipped a toe into the cold water and recoiled. Griffin’s laugh warmed my soul, but not enough to make me agree to follow him. I went back to theBeetleinstead, grabbed a blanket to put on the sand, and watched him.
I fell asleep as soon as he dove into the dark waters.
The first rays of sun woke me a few minutes ago and I’ve been listening to the waves crashing as my stupidly adorable boyfriend swims with dolphins. A dragon enjoying the company of cetaceans. I should write a book about it, and it would be called fiction.
TheBeetlestands behind me, between the water and the tall cliffs, like a giant insect warming its wings under the rising sun. My ever-present guardian. Since I got kidnapped three months ago, she never lets me out of her sight if I’m not with Griffin. I can’t say that I mind. I haven’t had someone to watch over me for almost ten years, since my mother died, and I left Oliver’s side.
We have heard a few rumors about Bunkertown. They say the underground city was attacked by an old god; there were no mentions of the Drake. She must have been deadly efficient when she hunted the survivors. I hang on to the hope that Jude made it out before she attacked. He’s too resourceful to be dead. One day, we’ll meet again.
I watch the sky change from pink to yellow to the gray of early morning. I’ve never felt so at peace.Happinessis the word I’m looking for. I’m not used to it. Three months in, and I still expect the other shoe to drop. Oh, we’ve had our hurdles along the way. That’s life in the Broken States of America. FromHighwaymento crazy nomads, old god encounters, and tornadoes. Life is never dull. But the Devil of the Wastes is quite skilled at getting out of any situation.
Talking of the Devil…Two black horns rise from the surface, followed by the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Water glistens on his muscles as he walks out of the waves. Vapor rises from his skin. He shakes his head to get rid of the excess water in his wild hair.
Did I call himstupidly adorable? My bad. He’s a walking dream. A myth contained in human skin.
