His arm banded around me, holding me up, and he laughed.
I grimaced. “Yeah, I guess I need a minute.” Whatever Harold had done to heal me hadn’t reenergized my soul, or whatever you wanted to call my energy. I needed real sleep, some decent food, and some non-planar air. I rested against the wall, Ranth’s arm around my waist bolstering my energy as I willed the illusion of sun to give me strength.
Leaning over me with one arm on the wall, he pushed the hair out of my face. His fingers lingered, trailing down my cheek like he was drawing on my skin.
Ranth stilled.
“Breathe with me,” he said, circling his other arm around me. Caged in his heat and scent, I didn’t question him. I closed my eyes. His breath hissed in and out in a steady beat. I filled my lungs and then exhaled, finding the rhythm until our breaths synced. The music of us spread warmth through me like ink on rice paper. There was no space between us, his arms melded into mine.
Everything dropped away, and I breathed in his breath.
He breathed in me.
“Sorrel?” The delicate brush of his words mirrored his fingers against my cheek. My eyes fluttered open. His face was inches from mine, our scent warm and familiar. I leaned into his hand. He cupped my cheek and turned my chin up.
“How do you feel?”
Amazingwas what I wanted to say. “Better,” is what I whispered.
His arm slid from my waist, and he stepped back. My body screamed out for him. But we needed to get out of here. To get home.
I stood, no longer needing the wall. My muscles were stronger, but inside me, a flame had been lit. It was more than not wanting to let go of him. Something had broken open, and it terrified me and thrilled me in equal parts. Fighting with him like a team. Breathing with him. What was between us required time to explore. “Which way is the shop?”
He pointed. “This way? I think?”
We walked down the deserted street bordering the canal. “Do you think the door will be open?” Without Harold to lead us, the houses and shops all looked alike. I stopped. “Are you sure it’s this way?”
“Didn’t we go straight here? Isn’t the street the one with the arch beside it?” Ranth pointed ahead.
My head was pounding again. My fingers, unconsciously seeking the energy connection with Ranth, had knitted with his. When I pulled away, I stumbled.
“Why did you let go?” he asked, catching my arm.
“Holding your hand felt weird.”
“You were still feeding off me. You still need more time to rebalance.”
I hugged myself. “What are you talking about?”
He swiped a hand through his hair. “You know you need energy infusions. You get it all the time from your salad and juices, but you can also feed off people if you are connected to them.”
“That’s wrong and—vampiric?”
“It’s a totally normal and a healthy way of rebalancing as long as the donor is willing.”
“You’re dead. How can you be willing?”
He crossed his arms. “What?”
“You’re dead. You’re undead, actually, so I’m feeding off a corpse. There’s nothing natural about that.” Saying that out loud was like shooting ice darts. “I’m sorry, that was harsh.”
“I don’t see your issue. Your house isn’t alive, and you feed off its energy. Your herbs and oils are all inanimate. Your salads and juices are also dead in a way.” His lips pressed as if he was sucking sour plums.
In perspective, he was entirely right. I used energy all the time. I’d even given him some at the club. But it was taking it I had the issue with.
His fingers traced down the silvery scar on his neck. “Let’s leave this place, then you and I can discuss nature in detail. How does that sound?” His eyes narrowed, and intensity rippled off him in leafy green waves. Whatever drug we’d taken was still with us. It wasn’t quite anger; it was like his power had puffed up for a second.
“That sounds sensible.” I walked forward and staggered. “Even if I don’t like having you help me, I think I need an arm.”
