There’s a shout, quickly followed by a loud boom that jostles the entire room. My eyes fly open to see the Nephilim sprawled out across the floor, a large tree branch sticking out of his chest.
Finnick flies into view, still lookingpale but not nearly as ghostly as before. “Are you okay? Eva, talk to me.”
“Did you—” My question dies in my throat as a shadow stretches over Finnick and me. We both glance up.
A man looms before us, tall and angular. His black hair hangs in greasy strands around his sharp, drawn face. There’s a certain handsomeness to his features—high cheekbones, full lips—but it’s dulled by the sunken hollows of his cheeks and the sickly pallor of his skin, like he could use a few extra meals. His eyes, rimmed with dark circles, seem to drink in the light. And though he’s dressed in decent clothes, they hang off his bony frame like they were borrowed from someone healthier.
He looks familiar.
His eyes meet mine with a gentle kindness. “Are you well, my friend?”
“I… Do I know you?” It’s a dumb question because I recognize him, but I don’t knowhow. I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to meet the fae here, and I doubt many of them know who I am, much less that I’m their friend.
His chapped lips pull into a faint smile. “Not well,” he says, voice low and reverent, “but you were kind. You healed me. You saved my life… so now, I will save yours.”
He bows low, and my breath catches.
Before he even speaks his name, recognition crashes into me like a tidal wave. My mind scrambles to make sense of it, but my heart already knows.
His eyes meet mine—grateful and achingly familiar. “My name is Jameson.”
And just like that, the world stops again.
Because standing beside me isn’t just some stranger. It’s him. Jameson, the dying fae I once fed alone when everyone else had turned their backs. I remember the way the curse had ravaged him—those black veins spreading like rot beneath his skin, the shallow breaths, the hopelessness in his eyes.
But now?
He’s alive. He’s walking. Magic hums around him, steady and growing in strength. There’s no trace of the curse. No pain. No decay.
He’s healed.
Because I healed him.
What the fuck?
Chapter 24
Niko
The ground shakes with a deadly vengeance as the Nephilim topples over into two pieces, head severed from his body. Dark blood coats the ground, staining my boots. Zephyr wears a scowl as if he’s personally offended that the creature is bleeding out and staining the earth. As if it weren’t his magic that killed it.
Far too much magic, which normally wouldn’t be a problem if we were at our full strength, but with provisions as low as they are, and eating far too little, this type of magic exhausts too much energy. Evangeline’s meals helped tremendously, but it was only two meals.
Zephyr sways on his feet, color turning ashen. This costs him greatly, no matter how hard he wishes to hide it from me. Foolish man. I’m his mate. He can hide nothing from me.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” I come up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He tenses, offering me a curt look. “It’s done.”
“I suppose it is.”
Before he can say a word, I grab him, spin him around, and crush my mouth to his. He doesn’t hesitate. His lips crash into mine with the same desperate hunger clawing through my chest. The raw and unrelenting kiss is brutal. It’s not about sweetness or romance. It’s about survival. About claiming. About reminding each other we’re still here, still breathing, stillours.
His hands grip my waist like he’s terrified I’ll vanish if he lets go. I clutch his tunic, dragging him closer, needing more. Needingallof him.
Every swipe of his tongue and clash of teeth screams what we don’t say out loud:We survived again.
But for how long? How many close calls do we get before luck stops being enough?
