Page 49 of Luca

“Flick?” he called out as he tentatively advanced, voice soft and almost musical. He stood a head taller than the other, slimmer, and his face a little more gaunt than I remembered. His shoulder-length curls were in disarray, and I caught the nervous twitch of his fingers.My heart skipped in gratitude to fate.

There was no denying that this was Luca’s father.

“Cair?” he said in shock, stopping dead in his tracks. His eyes went to my mate, widening. “How did you?—”

“Take in his scent,” I bid with urgency, striding forward despite Flick’s warning glare. “Trust me. You will want to save him.”

“I don’t?—”

“He is your son.”

Zadok frowned, already shaking his head in denial. He opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but we didn’t have the time.

My mate felt stone cold in my arms.

“I’m begging you,” I implored him. “He’s dying.”

Zadok drifted closer as if compelled, despite Flick’s insistence that he stay behind him. I bit my tongue hard to distract myself from the clench of possessiveness in my gut as the Fae reached out, tendrils of purple magic emanating from his palm. His nostrils flared, and I knew he sensed the tie in their blood the moment his pupils bled the same violet hue. He flinched backward, disoriented and incredulous.

“Rosemary?” he muttered under his breath, peering at me as if seeking confirmation. “My son?”

I nodded, and for a moment a haunted expression flitted over his face—memories resurfacing that he’d willed away, heartache and grief and pain—before he sobered. He snapped into focus, a sense of determination overtaking his previously timid manner. “Come inside.”

“Zad…”

“It’s alright, beloved,” he assured his companion, caressing his arm.

With a reluctant sigh and a wary glance in my direction, Flick moved aside, and when I passed, the wyvern glared, but otherwise didn’t react. I retracted my wings before ducking inside, following Zadok hastily through the winding corridor and up a short flight of stairs. He halted at the top, pointing to the end of the corridor. “Through that door is my workshop. Lay him out on top of the bed. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Please hurry,” I said, uncaring if I sounded pathetic. Zadok nodded once in acknowledgment before dashing off in the opposite direction.

I did as instructed, shouldering open the door and barely taking in the room before positioning my mate carefully on the cotton sheets. He looked so small in the center of the bed, so still,toostill, and I had never felt more useless. For all the training I had endured in my life—learning how to take a throne I did not want, being shown how to behave, how to act, how to protect and defend—there had never been a lesson on how to save a life.

I’d had no need of the knowledge as a youngling. Not with guards and a ward keeping me protected, and I had foolishly thought it would be enough to ensure his safety too. I had no skills in potions, and I could not wield healing magic. I was smart in the way of politics, I had the instincts to use myself as a shield, I had wit and fucking charm, but I didn’t know what to do as my mate lay dying.

Luca would know. He would devise a plan. He would read every damn book in this house and figure out what needed to be done. All I could do was touch him, hold him, rely on the will of others to help him, and it killed me to be so fucking idle. To just stand there and stare like a pitiful fool. There had to be something more I could do.Anythingto ease his discomfort.

There was a fireplace off to the side, already piled with logs and scrunched-up parchment. I reluctantly left my mate to snatch the box of matches on the mantel, sticks scattering at my feet as my hands shook. With a frustrated growl, I finally managed to grip one between my fingers and spark a flame, crouching to set the paper alight.

Soon the fire crackled, heat seeping into the room, and I returned to the bed, perching beside Luca to take his small hand in mine and kiss his knuckles. The chill against my lips made my heart pound. He would warm up, I told myself, as I frantically cupped my hands around each of his and blew into the space, rubbing until the white disappeared from his fingertips. Once the lingering cold from the wind melted away under the fire’s glow, he would be okay. He was going to be okay.

He has to be.

Zadok hurried in moments later, a satchel in one hand and a tome in the other. He set them on his untidy workbench before unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them halfway up his arms. I noticed twin, silvery scars across the insides of his wrists, but didn’t let my gaze linger. It wasn’t my business.

“When did you start noticing symptoms?” he said, striding over to the bed. He sank to one knee near my mate’s head, pressing two fingers against his neck, mouthing numbers as he stared at the clock on the wall.

“Several days ago,” I responded, the guilt of the admission bitter on my tongue. My eyes tracked Zadok’s every motion, my instincts clawing under the surface—he’s touching my vulnerable mate—but I stifled them. “It was gradual, and he waved it off as overexertion. He was more tired than usual, even taking his distaste of exercise into consideration. He ate less, had no interest in the sweet treats he would typically struggle to refuse, and eventually, he lost his enthusiasm altogether. He’s such a curious little creature, I should’ve realized sooner that this wasn’t just the consequences of the journey.”

A glimmer of pity flashed over Zadok’s face before he could school it. He said nothing, instead he focused on assessing every inch of my mate, flinching whenever I couldn’t restrain the warning growl in my throat. He checked his eyes, wavering at their striking sapphire blue color before switching to his chest, listening for any abnormal sounds. I bit the inside of my cheek as he examined his stomach, his probing fingers pausing below his ribs.

His brows creased. “May I lift his shirt?”

I nodded, but as soon as he did, my blood ran ice cold.

The reaper’s wound was no longer pink and healing as it had been only that morning when I’d removed the dressings. It was raw and festering, oozing yellow pus around the edges. How had I missed that rotten scent?

“Who did this?” Zadok rumbled, the snarl accompanying his words sounding unnatural in his tranquil voice.

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