Page 123 of Kissed By the Gods
I don’t know what exactly shechangedwhile I was unconscious—and frankly, I’m not sure I want to. The possibilities are enough to make me cringe. But even so, I’d take all the embarrassment in the world if it meant she was close.
Safe.
I still ache to see her. The need crawls under my skin, fierce and quiet.
My mind won’t stop feeding me images—Leina, fierce and proud in a forest, defending her brothers. Leina curled in the sand of the pit after Tyrston’s attack. Leina falling from the sky into a battle she should’ve never had to face. Over and over, she’s hurting.
And then, like the gods decided to humor me for once, there’s a soft knock on the door.
Before anyone can speak, Siofra darts to it and flings it wide.
“Leina!” Siofra shouts. It takes every bit of willpower I have not to react to her presence; not to leap over the bed that separates us and scoop her into my arms. Not to rage at her for putting herself in danger. Not to beg, plead, and trick her into staying behind stone walls forever. Not to shove her back against the wall and show her exactly what she does to me.
Siofra wraps her skinny arms around Leina’s middle like they’re two old friends, then grabs her by the hand and drags her into the room. I crinkle my brow. When did that mismatched friendship develop?
Leina looks a little bemused but doesn’t hesitate to squeeze Siofra’s hand gently in hers.
“Look!” Siofra points at me. “He’s much better. You make a great healer.”
Then Leina’s eyes land on me—those amber eyes, flecked with gold—and just like that, everything else fades. Siofra’s endless chatter, Elowen’s subtle watching. Gone.
There’s only her.
And godsdamn, she looks good.
No—she looks dangerous.
She’s glowing, but not in some delicate, soft way. Her magic hums around her. There’s a wildness to her now, like she stepped straight out of a storm and brought it with her.
Being tethered to her beast agrees with her. It’s in the way she stands—rooted, solid. She knows exactly who the hell she is now. She’s freshly bathed, the scent of lavender curling in the air, grounding and sharp. Damp curls cling to her skin in wild spirals, unruly, framing her face with a kind of effortless rebellion. There’s a flush to her cheeks, a glow that speaks of warmth and vitality.
And then there’s the scar—the golden spiderweb at her temple catches the light, a delicate, gleaming latticework that only deepens her beauty. The touch of a goddess lingers there, etched into her like fire into stone, but it is not the goddess's power that takes my breath away.
It’s hers.
And she’s wearingmyshirt—the one I gave her before her first meeting with the archons. It hangs on her like a promiseI never meant to say aloud. And deep in my chest, something snarls.Mine.
“So he is,” she murmurs to Siofra, running an easy hand over the girl’s messy hair. Leina tugs on her braid with the easy familiarity of sisters. “Though I can’t take credit for all your hard work.”
“It was Elowen,” Siofra says, her tone suddenly very old and knowledgeable. “Her healing is unmatched.”
I watch them—the easy way Leina folds into the space, how Elowen seems to breathe easier with her in the room. The way Leina’s hand trails gently down Elowen’s arm, grounding her. “I’ll stay with him.”
Elowen deflates, the exhaustion dragging her down. She gives Leina a tired, thankful smile. “Siofra,” she calls. “We need to go to the herb garden and harvest more yarrow.”
Siofra throws her head back in a dramatic roll. “Ugh. But we collected it yesterday,” she complains. “And Leina’s here! I haven’t seen her since she left for training this morning.”
“Come along,” Elowen says simply. Her eyes track knowingly between Leina and me. Siofra storms out of the chamber like only a 12-year-old girl can, arms swinging at her sides, mumbling angrily as she goes. Elowen closes the door with a last, hard look for me as Leina crosses the room.Be careful, it says.
Elowen sees too much. She always has. The door closes with a quiet click, and Leina comes to an awkward stop at the end of the bed.
“You’re very close to the healers,” I say, probing.
A wry smile. “Well. I’m in here a lot.” She runs nervous fingers over the wooden footboard of my bed. Her smile widens. “I have to admit, it’s nice to be the one on this side of the bed.”
That pulls a smile from me, but it doesn’t last very long.
There’s a hesitancy in her eyes, in the careful way she stands, that exasperates me. Like she’s unsure of me.
