Page 14 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

On the fourth wound now, he arched under the pain. And she imagined him as built from the stars themselves with the strength he had to even remain awake.

Garrik gripped her wrist, holding pressure, but couldn’t speak.

Alora let her flames diminish and studied his face, giving him a moment. The worst of the wounds were closed. Only one remained. She caught Garrik’s thankful curse and said, “You know, I should have Aiden teach me how to cook.”

“Please. Do not talk aboutcookingthings right now.”

Huffing a nervous laugh. “Right. Poor choice of words.” Alora bit her bottom lip, eyes wandering to the flowers, then to the snowy caps of mountain peaks too high to climb. Searching for anything to distract him with, she admitted, “I love snow. When I was a faeling, my mother took us north where the snow fell, and I felt as much at home there as I did with them. I wish we had some snow right now.” For his burns, she didn’t say.

“Fuck, me … too,” he breathed.

“You wish.” Scarlet instantly blushed her cheeks, and she may have foundanythingelse than his face more interesting.

But Garrik only smirked, asking, “And if I did?” That smirk conjured a leather and metal scent—and her … in the furs of his bed at nightfall.

Were theyreallytalking about this now?

Alora leaned close to his face. Mischief danced in her eyes. “Then I’d say … in your damned dreams.” Her palms ignited with embers once more, blasting searing-hot flames along his last wound before he could say a word.

Before Garrik roared once more.

Dawning would’ve been much easier. For Garrik’s sake, she wished she could summon the Dawnspace and carry them across the mountain within seconds. His labored breathing set her every panicking nerve aching as Ghost carried them.

Garrik hunched over her, arms loosely draped around her waist, head rested on her shoulder. Occasionally, she’d catch asmall groan and his grip would falter to where she’d need to hold his hands there. Shallow, icy breath fluttered across the skin of her neck, and more times than not, she caught herself counting the seconds in between.

At least he was breathing.

Alora brushed her warm hand over his weakened one and squeezed. Convincing herself that the touch was merely to check his grip and nothing more, she glimpsed his pale face over her shoulder—his cheek was pressed against her, eyes closed.

She didn’t want to disturb him. But that wary glance had her voice, laced in worry, ask, “How you doing back there?”

Those hands she was stroking with her thumb tightened a fraction. Garrik wetted his dry lips and grunted before he whispered, “Never better,” and winced as if the act of opening his mouth caused him a great deal of pain.

Frowning, Alora carefully dropped her cheek to his forehead, wishing she could take the agony away.Stars, does he feel colder than usual?She pressed into him a little more, hoping her warmth brought him some comfort. “You’re a bad liar, mighty prince,” she offered.

Garrik groaned his agreement and shuddered.

“I should check your wounds.” Alora dusted the hair from his forehead, wiping a sheen of sweat along with it. An ice fever sent another convulsion of shivers through him.

“I assure you … they are still there.” Between the slits of his eyelids, he must have seen her worry and added, “I will be fine, clever girl. Far worse has happened to me. This is nothing.”

It’s not ‘nothing,’she thought and draped the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re fevered.”

“So that is why I am shivering.” As if it were in on a wicked scheme, his body ruthlessly trembled, and he released a quivering breath.

Warm fingers weaved into his hair, massaging lightly. Alora deepened a breath, relieving her prickling nerves and somewhat settling the panic in her veins as she watched Garrik’s eyes close. Knowing that little bit of contact brought him comfort, happy to see it relax his taut face.

Her other hand released his, traveling to the buckles on her battle leathers. “Are you able to sit up a moment?” she asked.

With great effort, Garrik tested his fortitude and straightened—stiffly—slowly. Hands fell to her hips and clutched there with what little strength he had.

Alora made quick work of removing her jacket. Leaving her sleeveless undershirt intact, she draped it over the bloody spot on Ghost’s stained white hair in front of her. The sentiment likely wouldn’t do much to warm him, but her skin was like an inferno, and she was willing to try to melt the ice of his.

He leaned forward, chest pressed into her back—and all but enveloping her with his muscular arms. Bloody, gray hair spilled over her shoulder as he rested his cheek there. She didn’t miss the slight nuzzle closer to her neck or the way Garrik contently hummed when his skin touched hers.

Thank you, darling,his voice came breathy inside her mind.

Pressing a tender kiss to his hair, Alora guided his arms around her and held tight. “Try to rest, mighty prince. We’ll get you home.”

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