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“Almost two days.”
“Two—” Jarek pushed himself up fully, slamming his head to the top of the wagon. He cursed, rubbing the ache. “Two days?” Lilith ignored his verbal outburst, extending her hands in a gesture that told him to settle down. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
“What do you think I just did?”
“Sooner, Lilith!”
She stammered. “I didn’t want to!”
“Why?”
“You needed to rest!”
“I did not!”
She jabbed a finger to his chest. “Liar.”
“Me?” Jarek shoved her hand away. “You exposed yourself as Ashin under that monster’s roof!”
“I—”
“You told me you were going one way then went another!”
“I know! We’ve already gone through this!”
“And…! We have?”
Lilith sucked in the air to fire back but kept it. Somewhere in their heated words, they’d moved close together, equal in height in the cramped space. In her usual way, Lilith’s need to bury him alive with her angered colors came to an abrupt halt.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t the faintest idea how he’d come to be in the position to sleep on a moving, rickety cart for two days. He didn’t even remember getting off of Caiven’s property.
Lilith kept patient, infuriatingly so, while he searched for what he was missing.
The last thing that clearly came to him was confronting Caiven in the estate, clearing his guests, and provoking him to test his Diseased nature. After that, everything was muddy. Jarek inspected himself, gaze falling to his left arm where it pulsed—tender under the long brown coat he gave Lilith.
“Getting this. And Croll, telling me about you and the—”
Void.
Jarek’s annoyance warped into concern as he focused on Lilith’s features. She appeared fine. Had retained all of her limbs and her voice. But she was pale, the whites of her eyes strained with exhaustion. She wasn’t wearing armor anymore; instead, a faded red tunic hung loose over her body.
Lilith flushed and dropped her head just as his sight caught something on her neck.
Jarek took a hand to her chin and carefully tipped her head up. A large, angry contusion discolored the center of her throat. His chest tightened as he searched from ear to collar, finding a smaller set of bruises stacked up to her jawline.
He suddenly had a craving for fear—specifically Caiven’s when Jarek ambushed the bastard in his own home. He wished he could relive that first slice into his disfigured body and soul, tasting the thrill of using the Serpent against one of its own.
“Tell me he’s dead.”
She sighed. “Is it bad?”
“Lilith…”
She lowered her head. “Gladly.”
There was fire in her gaze, the likes of which he didn’t recognize. Face pinched, cheeks pink, and slow breaths falling on his hand, she was positively glowing despite her weariness.
