“No!” My voice cracks, panic flooding my veins as I watch the men fight. Cyrus gains the upper hand, pushing Taron down into the water and holding him there. Taron thrashes, but Cyrus doesn’t relent – he’s drowning him.
“Stop!” I scream again, clawing at Gideon’s arm until it’s red.
Desperation blurs my vision. It drives me. I draw upon the panic within me and channel it into Gideon, infecting him from the inside like I did with Troy in the village.
I press my palms against his chest, and he quivers. He’s unable to speak. Unable to move, his muscles pulled taut in agony.
“Hey, Cyrus!” I shout. “Let him go, or your servant dies.”
Cyrus hesitates, glancing at Gideon’s terrified expression. He’s weighing the value of his most loyal supporter’s life against his hatred for Taron – and I briefly wonder if he might choose the latter.
His face, usually a mask of arrogance or fury, is momentarily unreadable. A tension tightens the skin around his mouth. Then he curses under his breath and lets Taron go. His body is slack, floating lifelessly to the surface.
As soon as Cyrus steps away from him, I push Gideon aside and wade into the river after Taron. I drag him on to the bank, flip him over in the shallow water and let his head rest in my lap.
“You all right, Gid?” I hear Cyrus ask, and the question might’ve stunned me if I weren’t holding Taron’s limp form in my arms.
Then Cyrus towers over us again. He bends down, grabs our half of the crystal star from Taron’s utility belt and walks away.
“Whatever. We’ve got a tournament to win,” he mutters before taking off, guiding his ashen teammate beyond the trees.
I know I should stop them from escaping with our half of the crystal, but I can’t. I can’t get up. There’s a bleeding pain in my chest, a sickening feeling in my stomach as I shake Taron’s slack body.
He can’t be dead. He can’t be.
I press my hands to Taron’s chest, forcing down the sobbuilding in my throat. I start compressions, counting in frantic whispers, begging for his heart to beat again.
This can’t be the end.I repeat the phrase in my head, over and over again, until I realize I’m muttering it out loud. I lean down, ready to breathe life into him, when—
Taron convulses. Water sputters from his lips as he coughs violently.
Tears of relief wash over my cheeks. I cup his face with my hands, my body trembling. “I can’t believe it,” I breathe, my voice shaky. “You’re alive.”
His eyes flutter open. “You … saved me.”
“Of course I did. I couldn’t let you die.” I let go of his face and sit back in the shallow water. There’s something raw in the way he looks at me now, his breathing ragged.
Everything goes still. A spark gathers in the pit of my stomach. It’s as though the world is holding its breath. As though the air is pulling us closer. I can’t stop myself.
I lean forward, gingerly tilting his chin up, and press my lips to his. The kiss is cold like his skin, but also electric, igniting something deep within me that I didn’t know was there.
Taron sits up in the water. His fingers reach for the back of my head, and he pulls me closer. The kiss isn’t soft or sweet. There’s nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and urgent, as if we’re both trying to cling to something slipping away.
His hand moves down my back to my waist, and I lean into him as close as I can – even that doesn’t feel close enough.
I’m breathless. My thoughts are jumbled. Taron’s lips move with a hunger that mirrors my own, like we’re both starved for this.
“You were wrong,” I whisper between kisses. My fingers tangle in his hair as the river’s crisp water laps at our knees.
“About what?” Taron asks.
“What happened in the shower house … it wasn’t a mistake.”
His breath hitches and the tension between us builds, but then – as suddenly as it began – Taron pulls away. He scrambles to his feet and steps back, the water swirling around his legs as he turns his face away from me, his chest heaving.
“I can’t do this,” he gasps.
“What? Why?”
