Page 205 of The Iron Flower

“I’ve been alone for so long,” he whispers, his lips a fraction from mine, his heat racing through me.

“Not anymore,” I whisper back.

He nods and reaches up to tenderly stroke my hair as his fire envelopes me, and I smile at him through my sadness, because even in the midst of so much horror, it’s wonderful to finally find each other.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks. “I don’t mean...” He pauses for a moment, his hand stilling in my hair as he visibly attempts to collect his thoughts. “I just want to be with you.”

I nod in assent.

He takes a deep breath and presses his forehead lightly against mine. “We should get back. We have a long walk.”

“All right,” I agree.

He leans down to kiss me softly, his heat shivering through me. Then he takes my hand firmly in his, and we set off in the direction of the North Tower.

CHAPTER FIVE

BOUNDARIES

As the woods open up before us, my heart leaps at the familiar sight of the North Tower—a welcome refuge from the harsh world surrounding us.

My hand clasped firmly in Yvan’s, we walk silently across the moonlit field until we reach the stone structure.

Yvan takes the lantern by the door down from its hook, lights it with a wave of his hand and opens the door. He trails me wordlessly up the winding staircase, long shadows bouncing off the walls as the lamp sways back and forth in his hand.

I’m deeply aware of his presence, the sound of his footsteps, his breathing. I have so many conflicting emotions at this moment, it’s difficult to sort them all out. The faces of Ariel, the little Icaral girl, the broken Icarals stripped of their wings—all these things devastate my heart.

But it’s not all darkness.

Yvan loves me.

I’ve sensed it for a long time, but now he’s fully surrendered to it, and so have I. And the completely unexpected, all-encompassing fire of Yvan’s kiss—just the thought of it makes my feet unsteady.

We enter my cold, silent room, so empty now of life—the birds gone; Wynter, Ariel, Marina and Diana gone. Only Wynter’s artwork provides a lingering, bittersweet memory of what was.

Yvan stalks toward the fireplace and throws out his hand. A ball of flames explodes in the hearth and lights up the haphazard pile of logs. The fire rapidly warms the room and casts a flickering orange glow over everything.

Yvan looks distractedly around, as if not quite sure what he should do next. “Which bed is yours?” he asks.

“That one,” I say, pointing to it. Grief stabs at me as I look around at the other empty beds. “Not that it matters now.”

He sits down on the bed, looking pale and traumatized.

“Your face... There’s some blood on it,” I say, my voice low.

Yvan reaches up absently to touch the small wound on his cheek, then briefly examines the blood on his fingers before looking back at me, stricken.

I fetch a cloth and a basin of water from the washroom and bring it over to my bedside table. Standing before Yvan, I place one hand on his shoulder and bring the washcloth up to gently clean the gash on his cheek.

Yvan’s lip twitches as I make contact with the wound. He brings one hand up to rest on my hip, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as I continue to dab the blood away from his face and neck, dipping the cloth back in the basin every so often.

I notice the smear of blood flows under his shirt. His eyes are still closed as I reach down and unfasten the top button of his shirt to allow better access. I’m gently pulling the edge of his shirt open toward his shoulder when his eyes fly open. His movement a blur, he grabs my hand away from his shirt, his face taking on a wildly fierce expression.

My heart speeds up, my face coloring until it’s uncomfortably hot, ashamed to have overstepped the boundaries between us.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” I blurt out, stumbling over the words. “I was just going to clean up the blood that got under your shirt...”

His grip on my hand is still hard—too hard.

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