I close my eyes, barely able to move beneath his heavy arm.
“Mine,” he repeats, firmer this time. And I know he’s awake.
I want to protest. Ask what he could possibly mean after more than a week of outright rejection—communicating through half-measured words and actions that I could never be enough.
My stomach twists, ashamed that I still want him.
But I do. More than ever.
Tears spill over my lower eyelashes, thoughts of the serpent from yesterday still fresh in my mind.
He jumped down from his horse, put himself between me and the rattlesnake. He took my poison. Three full doses.
His thumb drags lazily over my back, body relaxing back into unconsciousness. Or so I think until I hear the words, “I would do it again.” Almost as if he’s reading my mind.
“We should move,” I rasp. Get you back to the house. Call Mags.”
“Mags can’t do anything,” he murmurs, lips pressing against my temple once more. “You’re my medicine.”
“But—”
His grip tightens. “Stay.” Final.
I don’t know how many hours pass in and out of sleep. When I awaken again, the sun blares overhead, cicada and cricket calls pressing in on us.
I try to lick my lips, but my tongue’s too dry to wet them. I work to swallow the dust knot in my mouth, rasping, “We have to get out of the sun. Or we’ll end up with heatstroke.”
He reaches out, feeling with his hands until he finds the bottle sunk into the dirt next to us. He shakes as he strains to take a sip, then passes the whiskey to me.
I take a long drag, not a fan of drinking but needing something to calm my nerves and wet my throat.
“Can you move?”
“Have to,” he whispers, words dragging like they cost him. “The lady said so.”
I press a palm to his forehead. “Your fever’s still?—”
“Run warmer than humans…”
“You have to stop saying that,” I hiss, mind still reeling.
“Why?”
“Because it’s not true.”
“Because you don’t want to believe it?” His tongue trips over the words.
“Because I can’t fathom anything else.”
We lie in silence for a long, hot moment.
“We’ll burn up out here. We have to move into the shade,” I urge again.
He tries to nod. It barely happens.
“It’s not far. I’ll help you crawl,” I say, eyes darting to a lone cottonwood by an outcropping of boulders. But who am I fooling? He’s far too heavy for me to budge. And he can’t even lift his head.
“Where you go… I’ll follow,” he says, fighting to open one turquoise eye.
