He’s a god. I can’t stop staring at him, at the eyes full of relief, of love. His normally clean-shaven face is now covered in black stubble, accentuating his jawline and cheekbones. He’s so beautiful. I trace his jawline.
Why didn’t I choose him?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, but it comes out all wrong. It hurts. The words barely come out, barely audible. I try again, but pain radiates down my throat. The fire is back.
I instantly panic, desperate to avoid going back to that dark place of pain. My breathing quickens, and I reach to sit up, tears already pricking my eyes at the overwhelming panic of going back.
Asmo grips my chin with his thumb and pointer finger, forcing me to look at him. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice deep and commanding, as if ordering me to believe him.
And I do. My breathing slows, and I feel the panic recede instantly. He doesn’t let go of my chin, staring into my eyes.
“Breathe.”
I do.
He takes a deep breath, and I imitate him, inhaling slowly and exhaling shakily. We take another breath together.
“Sh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t talk. Here, drink some water.” He removes his hand, and I instantly ache for it to be back.
He holds out a glass of water. I take the cup, cautiously sipping from it. It glides down my throat. The pain abates, but the water feels weird going down.
Asmo and I sit together in a small, wood-paneled bedroom. A dresser is tucked tightly into a corner, and various medical supplies are arranged neatly on the surface. A side table holds a glass jar of water and a matching glass cup. I set my cup down next to its match.
I’m seated on a small twin bed, propped up against an iron headboard. Homey tapestries hang on the walls. This must be someone’s bedroom.
Asmo sees me surveying the room and says, “We’re in a safe house. You’re safe.”
I open my mouth, but Asmo holds a hand out. “Stop. Let me talk. If you want to say something, I can get you something to write with.”
I nod eagerly.Yes, I want to talk.The old wooden chair creaks as he stands.
We’re not in the castle. We’re in a safe house. I’m alive.
I quickly survey myself and find that I have all my limbs. My antlers are still intact. I rip the blanket off me and check my injured ankle. It’s mostly healed, but there’s a nasty black scar from the cambion’s teeth. I lift my shirt up, finding a black scar on my chest where Wil—Cora’s—lightning struck me.
Asmo comes back into the room, wincing as he sees my discovery. I pull my shirt back down quickly, covering the scar.
Again, I open my mouth to talk but stop when Asmo levels a glare at me. He hands me the pen and paper.
I thought you were dead.
He huffs. “Not quite. Marik got me, but I always keep an antidote nearby.”
How long have I been out?
“Ten days.”
My eyes widen.Ten days?
Is everyone okay?
“Everyone is alive.”
I glare at him. He continues, “Elle is alive. Holly is…alive. But she’s going to need extensive care for her burns. We lost a lot of guards, but you saved the civilians, Mae.”
I raise an eyebrow at him.
You don’t think Marik was going to let them go?
