“We’re okay.” Kali peeked out from behind the kitchen island. Slowly rising, she added, “Zion is too.”
He got to his feet beside her, and my heartbeats decreased. Grime coated them in a matte layer, dust blending with blood, the mixture caking up, but they could stand without support.
Then my fears hit me.
“How did you know it was me?” I gestured to the door. “I could have been a soldier, or a someone?—”
“Your gait.” Zion walked around the kitchen island. Or more like the ruins of it. “I could recognize it in my sleep.”
Before he could take another step, I rushed over, cradling his head and pressing our foreheads together. His body was still hot, his breaths warm puffs on my mouth.
Alive.
He was alive.
The most exasperating man on the continent was alive.
And I was mush in his hands.
50
GEDEON
“Iget why everyone says you’re cute now.” Kali leaned against the shredded kitchen island, yelping as a jagged edge must have poked her hip.
Erasing the distance between us, I grabbed her, squishing her in an embrace. She struggled between me and Zion, twisting and turning, huffing and puffing, but the flames blazing in her green eyes brought my pulse back to normal levels.
Zion caught her hip. “Let me make your boo-boo better.”
“Zion, that’s—” She squeaked as he dropped to his knees. “What?—”
He licked her hip, and she jumped at me, trying to hide from him in my chest.
“You can’t—” Sputtering, she squirmed, accidentally swatting his arm.
His features contorted in pain. A fresh trickle of scarlet dribbled down his elbow and dripped onto the floor, the crimson drops exploding on the milky surface.
I shuffled Kali away from him. “You’re injured.”
“It’s not that bad,” he hissed.
Adrenaline must have still coursed through his bloodstream. “Show me your arm.”
“It’s fine.” He waved me off, his golden-brown hair as messy as the ruins of the kitchen, his strands poking in all directions like the broken edges of furniture.
My molars ground. “Show me yourarm, Zion.”
He swiveled, using his body to keep his injury out of my sight. “It’s just a graze.”
Just a graze.
As I strode forward, he retreated, matching me step for step, both of us stuck in a dance of sorts, and soon, my patience neared its snapping point.
His side hit the kitchen island, the counter sporting grooves as deep as the one across his right forearm.
I licked my upper teeth. “You’re missing a chunk of meat, Zion.”
“It’s superficial. The skin will grow back.” He lifted his wounded limb into the moonlight pouring through what was left of a window. A deep gouge distorted the inked forest wrapping around his forearm. Poking around the injury, he pouted. “They fucked up my tattoo.”
