The healer observes the wound, then hovers a steady hand above it. “I can feel your Fae blood beginning to heal it, but there is another force that is resisting against it.”
“Black magic,” I explain. She quirks an eyebrow. I pull my shirt up further to show her the scar from Cora’s lightning bolt. Although the mark has lessened, it’s still there. “So far, any wound with black magic has taken longer to heal. The one on my stomach was initially from a black magic mark to alter my appearance.”
The healer nods as she considers my words. “Because of the magic-blocking cuffs and conditions you were kept in, its healing process was significantly delayed. I can heal the stab wound, but the dark sigil willhave to heal on its own.” She takes a closer look at my stomach. “I’ll need to remove all the dirt and debris from the wound before I can heal it. Otherwise, I’ll just be sealing all of that in, which could make for a nasty infection. It’s going to hurt,” she says with a nervous look toward Asmo.
“I’ll be okay,” I say reassuringly, more to Asmo than to the healer.
“I’ll just go gather some materials, then.”
Asmo stares straight ahead. His eyes are dark, the fern green only a sliver. I cup his cheek with one hand and force his gaze to mine. “I’m fine,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches in my hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but slams it shut.
“Hey.” I stroke his cheek with my thumb. His gaze returns to mine, but his eyes are glassy now. “I’m okay.”
He nods hastily and looks away from me.
The healer returns with a shiny instrument in her hand with two pointed ends. Great. This is going to be even worse than when the healer had to disinfect the burn from the cambion.
“Ready?” she asks me, shooting another nervous glance toward Asmo.
I nod, and she begins. It doesn’t take long, but it feels like an eternity, every brush of the wound sending shivers of pain through me. She sets the instrument down, then hovers her hand over my stomach. It begins to itch, and the skin knits itself back together.
“All done. You’re officially free to go.” She offers us one last smile, then takes her leave.
Asmo wastes no time. He carries me from the healing center. Just outside the door, a small group of people are whispering back and forth. I smile when I see them. Ivan, Etta, Basil, Holly, and Cally stand in a small group, faces tight with worry.
“Cally!” I exclaim, squirming in Asmo’s arms to be put down. He just holds tighter. “Put me down, Asmo.”
But Cally backs away as she looks at Asmo. “I think maybe you two should have some alone time. We’ll catch up later. Dinner?” she says with a shaky smile, then turns away from us to rejoin the group.
“What was that about?” I ask Asmo. But he doesn’t say a word.Come to think of it, he hasn’t said a word this entire time. He heads to the residential quarters with a frenzied pace, not even bothering to turn the knob when he gets to his door. No, instead, he just fucking barrels through it. It crashes open.
“Asmo!”
He slams it shut behind us and takes me to the bedroom. His private quarters look identical to mine: rough, uneven, dirt-packed walls, standard bed with red bedspread, worn sofa in the living space. His room is uncharacteristically messy. My heart breaks as I take in jagged pieces of broken ceramic and glass littering the floor.
He sets me on the bed gently, but he doesn’t join me. He just stares at me, eyes dark.
“Come here,” I whisper, reaching my hand to him. “Please.”
Normally, I’d expect a snarky response. Something likeSince when do you say please, princess?Instead, he lowers himself to the bed and envelops me in his arms, pulling me against his chest. His fingertips dig into my skin. We cling to each other in silence, and all I can think about is how this feels like home. I knew I felt something special for Asmo, but I didn’t know it was this deep. I didn’t know it penetrated my soul. Then again, I had no clue our souls were made for each other.
“Az.” I glance up at him.
His stony gaze won’t meet mine. I reach up, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, but he doesn’t move. I cup his cheek, forcing him to look at me, then press my lips to his. It’s like slipping a key into a lock. He unleashes, his lips moving against mine, tongue probing where our lips meet.
Asmo.
My mate.
I shift in his lap, facing him and wrapping my legs around his torso. His hands grip my back, and I straighten, deepening our kiss. My fingers splay through his hair, grabbing locks and tugging. Soft moans emanate from his throat.
My mate.
I need more.
I need him.
