The Sharpest Blade
Page 13

I try to talk him into going to the hospital. He says he’ll be okay—he just needs to rest—but I’m half-afraid he won’t wake up if he goes to sleep. He’s lost so much blood, and he seems to be sweating more now. His wound might be infected, or maybe since he’s injured and weak, the serum will take his life early.
After Lee ignores my last plea and drags himself to my couch, Kyol touches my shoulder. “I’m going to the Realm. I won’t be gone long.”
He disappears into his fissure, and immediately I feel like I can breathe again. I didn’t realize how claustrophobic I felt with him in this world. It was like I was trying to contain all of my emotions in a bottle not big enough to hold an ounce of water.
Now that he’s gone, and now that Lee is passed out on my couch, I realize just how tired I am. I need to get some rest. How that’s going to happen, though, I don’t know. I have a vigilante in my bed and a half-dead man sleeping on my couch. Sosch, who’s become accustomed to snoring on my feet at night, doesn’t look too pleased with the arrangements either. He’s on the breakfast table glowering at me.
“Looks like we’re both sleeping on the floor,” I tell him. I need to shower and change clothes first, though, and that means I’m going to have to go into my bedroom. I really don’t want to breathe the same air as the vigilante, but I walk to the door. As I’m turning the knob, I hear the sharp shrrip of a fissure opening behind me.
“That was quick,” I say, turning to face . . . Aren.
The slash of light behind him winks out, leaving him framed in twisting shadows. For once, those shadows don’t capture my attention. Our eyes meet, maybe for just one second, but in that single second, a million emotions crash through me. Even dressed in old, well-worn jaedric, Aren is gorgeous. On anyone else, the armor would look cheap and shoddy, but he makes it look durable and strong. I’ve always been physically attracted to him, a fact that infuriated me when we were enemies, but it’s the deeper part of him that I fell in love with.
It’s the deeper part of him I’m still in love with. I never doubted it these last three weeks, but the strength of that emotion makes me feel vulnerable. He could shatter my heart so easily.
The second of eye contact ends, and suddenly he’s closed the distance between us. I expect some sort of greeting, an embrace, a kiss, a simple hello, but he lifts up my shirt with such urgency I stagger back. I grip his shoulders for balance as he runs his hands over my ribs. His touch isn’t a caress.
“Aren,” I say because I see the fear in his eyes. His right hand moves to my back, up to my shoulders. “Aren, I’m not hurt.”
He’s not listening. He continues searching for an injury I don’t have.
I grab one of his hands. “I’m fine.”
A chaos luster leaps from his skin to mine. The heat of our contact finally shows in his eyes. He meets my gaze again, and his pinched brow wrinkles even more.
“You’re covered in blood,” he says. He reaches up and drags his thumb across my cheek. Whether he’s tracing the path of a chaos luster or touching a smear of dirt or blood, I don’t know. All I know is I’ve missed his touch.
His gaze drops to my lips. He’s breathing hard. I’m not breathing at all.
He swallows. “Taltrayn said you needed a healer.”
“Hmm?”
“He said . . .” He fades off, and something more potent than worry is in his eyes. He closes his mouth, then opens it again as if he’s determined to finish what he started to say, but no words come out.
His hand is still on my cheek. A flash of edarratae draws his gaze to it, then the lightning hits me, an erotic burst of pleasure that makes my entire body ache.
His muscles tense, and he’s standing in front of me as rigid as iron when all I want to do is melt into his arms.
“Aren,” I say, my voice uncharacteristically raspy.
“Sidhe,” he curses. His stiffness disappears, and his mouth captures mine.
Instantly, I’m alight, burning from the inside out as if I’ve been scorched by lightning. The power, the need, the magical bite of his kiss seizes me. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, then slide one hand behind his neck pulling him closer, closer.
My lips part, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He does, and I moan, heat gathering under my skin. He tastes of the Realm, exotic and sweet and primal. I want more—the way his body shudders tells me he does, too—but he ends the kiss in a tender, exquisite pull that leaves my head spinning.
“Hi,” I whisper when I can breathe again.
He gives a slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head before he responds, just as softly, “Hi.”
We’re still touching, still close enough that all I’d have to do to reignite the kiss is to press forward a fraction of an inch, but between two rapid beats of my heart, someone else’s breaks.
I close my eyes, grimacing. There’s no way I can hide this . . . this need. Even a world away, Kyol can feel it, and the tight ache in his chest makes me feel like absolute shit.
Aren’s suddenly rigid again. He knows the reason why I grimaced, and in an instant, we’re half a room apart. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, an action that does nothing to quell my desire. I want my fingers there, wrapped in the sun-bleached strands.
“Why would Taltrayn tell me you need a healer?” he asks. His voice isn’t soft anymore. It’s hard and emotionless. Somehow, I’ve managed to hurt him as deeply as I’ve hurt Kyol.
Fantastic job, McKenzie.
“I don’t know,” I answer because I need to say something to fill the silence. Plus, that’s the truth. Kyol knew I wasn’t hurt, so why would he . . . Oh.
“Lee,” I say. Then, because I feel like I might explode if I don’t move, I walk to the other side of the couch.
“He’s the one who’s hurt.” I peer down at the passed-out human and concentrate on pulling air into my lungs one slow, steady breath at a time.
“Lee?” Aren walks to my side. When he sees the sleeping human, he asks, “Why is he here?”
“To tie a vigilante to my bed.”
He’s silent too long, and when I look at him again, his eyebrows are raised, waiting.
I give him a brief summary. He listens without comment, and that unnerves me. He’s not acting like himself. He’s usually relaxed and carefree, not quiet and tense.
“The blood on you is from him?” Aren asks, kneeling.
“No. Some of it’s mine. Some of it is Kyol’s.” I wince when I say Kyol’s name out loud. It feels like I’m driving a dagger into Aren’s heart. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t give any indication that I’m hurting him now, but I feel like crap all the same. Kyol is the reason why Aren’s stayed away from me these past three weeks. Aren was furious when he learned about our life-bond. The only reason he didn’t strike Kyol down instantly was because he knew how much Kyol meant to me.
But, apparently, Aren doesn’t know how much he means to me. I tried to tell him that I was his, that the life-bond didn’t change anything, but he wouldn’t listen. He was too hurt and angry to accept my words then. I think he might still be too hurt and angry to accept them now.
“Most of the blood is from the fae at the tjandel,” I say past the lump in my throat.