“Cold towels,” I replied, my jaw feathering in agitation over the utteryearningI had to helphim. “And a pail of water. We need to try to keep his temperature down.”
“It may be beneficial if we take off?—”
My fingers curled around the soaked fabric of his shirt, tearing it with a sickening ease that I feared would give away the fact that what was once a coerced expectation had become an instinctual need. Looking down to avoid Syoran’s prodding gaze, Caspian’s hairy and chiseled upper half came into view, and the fucking chain—thefucking chain—that dangled from each nipple had me gulping down a mouthful of saliva.
What in Ellira’s name is wrong with me?
But then her claim washed over me like a frigid wave.“Mizani recognize each other eventually. Have faith in the gods.”
Shaking off what I presumed was pure imagined madness, I grabbed the bottle of alcohol, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to my lips. The familiar burn assaulted my throat first before warming my chest, dampening the spiraling internal monologue that I’d foundmyself in. After two mouthfuls, I lowered it, looking up at the co-captain who remained unmoved from the doorway.
My brows furrowed as I dipped my head to the side. “I believe I told you to go get cold towels?”
“And I believe you told me you never wished to help?—”
Hurling a jar of turmeric from the tray, it exploded into fragmented shrapnels of spice and glass as soon as it hit the wall where his head had been. “Go before Ichangemy fucking mind.”
“Riiiiiight…” He chuckled, deep and hearty, pivoting on his heel as he vanished into the shadows beyond the room, leaving Caspian and mealone.
My eyes greeted the back of my skull with a roll as I dropped the bottle back where I’d snagged it from. Working to draw myself back from conflicting emotions, I ran the back of my hand over my mouth to clear any remaining liquor from my lips. With a steadying breath, I gathered every ounce of fabricated courage I could muster, turning back to the man who was seconds away from meeting Elaros.
He was no longer the merciless captain who’d greeted me beneath the sultry lanterns of the sanctuary that belonged to the goddess of illusion and seduction.
He was just… Caspian Vayne.
The light stubble lining his jaw and scar-covered throat softened his features instead of hardening them, a sight I would’ve paid to see again. His curled raven locks clung to his forehead, dampened by the sweat covering them. What was once an olive complexion had turned porcelain, accentuated further by the gaping wound in his side that leaked crimson. No longer concealed by linen or soaked by rain, the inky patterns sprawling across his skin became apparent—darkened lightning trailing up his left arm and the side of his neck before jutting across his chest and down his side.
While I took my time tracing every peak and valley of his frame, my eyes danced over numerous scars littering his skin.
The healed blemishes were far too familiar to what covered my own body: long lacerations, jagged cuts, precise puncture wounds, but therewas one thing separating us from similarity—a branding of the royal crest positioned just over his heart. It was the same emblem those working alongside the crown wore with pride, the serpentine creature staring back at me with a mockery that shackled Caspian’s freedom.
While its sight caught my attention, there was something that lingered beneath it, pulsing with a corrupt edge that made my skin crawl. Reaching forward with a desire to brush my fingers along it to test the limits of my psyche and understanding, something buried within me recoiled. Heat seared up my arms in response, and my fingertips burned with an unspoken warning.
What the fuck?
“By the gods,” I muttered, sinking into the bed as I grabbed the jars, dumping the allotted amount of Ammiadamon into my palm. “What the hell did they do to you?”
His throat bobbed, his eyes fluttering open just enough that I caught their dimmed crimson hue. “B-Believe me… You don’t want to know…”
Every thought vanished, words evaporating from my tongue as we sat, unable to peel our stares from one another. Silence blanketed everything, the world and its complexities vanishing into a peaceful nothingness. Our hatred was dampened by whatever energy surrounded us, snuffed out by the unexplainable tension like a dying flame. It was as if there’d never been an ounce of venom spewed between us, and instead, a duality of respect and… longing?
Blinking, I shook my head, scoffing as I turned away from him. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“Careful, my little siren,” he muttered weakly, still somehow coherent enough to use the annoying pet name he’d selected for me. “It kind of sounded like you cared for me for a moment.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” I snarled, dropping the herbs into the mortar before reaching for the jar of Quassia. “The only reason I’m in here is because Ihaveto be. If it weren’t for your lovely co-captain threatening to feed me to the Tide Eaters, I would’vegladlylet Malrik’s poison eradicate your nauseating presence from this world.”
It was merely a partial truth, and I couldn’t fucking figure out why.
“Funny…” He swallowed, his words fading with the encroaching darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. “I don’t believe…”
His jeering abruptly ceased, and an uneasy stillness slithered into the room. Dumping a palmful of the second half of the cure into the bowl, my hand trembled, and the sudden arrival of insurmountable dread sent my stomach plummeting.
I shifted, looking back down at him, examining his frame for any sign of?—
“Syoran!” His name tore from my throat with a rising panic as I pushed myself up from where I sat. “I don’t think he’s breathing!”
Fumbling, my fist closed around the pestle, incessantly working to crush the mixture into a fine powder. With my other hand, I plucked a tea bag from the stack before tipping the combined herbs into the thin pouch. With the racing build of urgency and without thinking, I sealed the opening between my pinched fingers, plunging them alongside the herbal sachet, into the scalding pot of tea.
