Page 62 of Immortal Sins
He grazes the skin above the gash. “But how can you heal if it’s still in there?”
Mortal biology must be as foreign to him as the Fae reproductive tract is to me. The wound stings, the metal head embedded deep in my gut. An inch higher, and Cole would already be a widower.
Then again, I might not survive the trek back to a healer.
“Can you fly us out of here?” I breathe.
God, I sound like I’m dying. Am I dying?
Cole lowers me to the ground and cushions my head. The world spins, the blue leaves and red sky above melting into a swirl of purple.Whoa.
“Too bad…I always dreamed of flying.”
My prince snaps the arrow shaft sticking out of my side. Amber flecks twinkle in his clear irises and anchor me to consciousness. “Hold on.” He mutters words in ancient Fae that jumble together in my pain-filled brain.
The incantation soothes the burn, but it doesn’t slow the flow of blood.
Deep lines appear on Cole’s face. “Fuck no.”
Wicked tremors prevent me from moving. Purple lines still dig into the skin of my arms. Darkness skitters at the edge of my vision, beckoning me to fulfill my mortal destiny.
A horse stomps near my head—is it the reaper’s mount? I couldn’t say.
I force my eyes open long enough to distinguish Erron’s shape. Not the reaper then. Not yet.
When my heavy lids lift again, Cole is gone, replaced by his gruff uncle.
The ache in my belly melts down to an itch, like a million tiny termites are munching on my shredded kidney. A hot burn tugs at my gut when Erron slides the arrow out.
My next breath comes easier, the one after almost divine.
“Is it done? Is she okay?” Cole shouts.
“She’ll live, but it was too close a call. She needs rest. Give the magic a minute before you move her.”
“Hey, Fire Girl. Can you hear me?” He tucks my sticky, stained curls behind my ears.
I blink and marvel at the sight of my blood-stained, impeccable stomach.
Cole heals the nick on my neck. “I owe you a long, hot bath. Don’t worry. You’ll be good as new in a few hours.”
“How did you know?” I ask, my mouth pasty and dry. Morning breath is nothing compared to the taste of imminent death.
“I was in the gardens when Bay came running. The arrow was self-explanatory.”
Bay neighs close to my forehead.
“Good horse,” I whisper, still too weak to sit but no longer fighting the darkness.
“This is my mother’s work. I’m sure of it.” He picks me up in his arms, and I’m glad to see that the debilitating pain is gone.
Erron winces as he takes in Bay’s injury. “Amateurs. They didn’t even shoot cleanly. Are they all dead?”
“The sniper got away,” I admit. Twelve corpses stick out of the grassy patch. I wait for a sense of guilt to invade my chest, but none comes. Twelve men came to kill silly little me, and I survived. I feel…proud.
Erron seizes Bay’s reins. “He fled, so he might not know you survived, yet. That’ll work in our favor.”
Is that what Faerie is really like? Forget the warm, mystical lakes and the breathtaking view. “We’re at war,” Celeste had said as she sold me out to Oz. “You will never see my son again.”
