The worst thing about being here was not knowing how safe we were.
She looked back at me and clasped her hands. “How about you get started with the poultice while I get us some tea and see what we can eat?”
“Okay, I can do that. And thanks, I’d like some tea and I suppose whatever we can find to eat.” I wasn’t hungry, but like with the idea of resting, I would eat to preserve my strength.
She dipped her head then headed out the door, the wooden floor creaking with every step.
I stood and glanced down at Wolfe. Then I held my breath and reached out to touch his arm.
His skin was cool beneath my fingers, too cool. But I could feel the faint tremor running through him, the subtle signs of a body trying to heal itself.
“You… have to be okay, Wolfe Nightblade,” I whispered. “You have to try. In my mind, we just met, but I know you’re a fighter.”
I pulled my hand away and walked over to the small wooden table where Arielle had laid out the herbs and roots. The makeshift workspace was cluttered with bundles of dried leaves, twisted roots still caked with dirt, and a chipped ceramic bowl that had seen better days.
A low groan drifted from the bed behind me, rough and pained.
My hands stilled over the mixture. I turned slowly.
Wolfe's head moved restlessly against the pillow, his dark brows drawn together in a grimace. Another groan escaped him, deeper and edged with the kind of agony that made my chest clench. Then, barely audible, his lips parted.
"Elar…iya." My name fell from his lips, broken and desperate.
Hearing him speak sent a jolt straight through me. I set the bowl down and rushed back to his side.
"Wolfe?" I whispered, leaning closer. "Wolfe, can you hear me?"
His eyelashes fluttered but didn't open. His breathing had quickened, no longer the too-still rhythm that had terrified me, but something more labored, like he was fighting to surface from wherever his mind had taken him.
"Elariya," he mumbled my name again, this time in an almost frantic manner, like he was searching for me in the darkness behind his closed eyes.
I reached for his hand without thinking, threading my fingers through his.
I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and his eyes fluttered open. He turned his head toward me, and his eyes locked on mine. For a beat, he only stared, blank and dazed. I saw the exact moment recognition hit.
Relief broke across his face, and he dragged in a hard breath. “Elariya,” he rasped.
“Hi.” I smiled, nervously.
“You’re here,” he slurred, the words thick and unfocused. “My mage.”
Before I could do or say anything else, he bolted upright and hauled me into his arms.
Then he caught my face and crushed his mouth to mine,kissing me.
The force of the kiss knocked the breath from my lungs, his body hard and hot and real against mine.
He kissed me, desperate and hungry, like he needed to taste me to prove I was real.
His lips moved against mine with fierce need, and something inside me melted, leaving me paralyzed.
I gasped into his mouth as heat rushed through me, fast and unforgiving
Gods.
The world tilted.
His mouth claimed mine like he had every right. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. Like I’d been waiting, too.
