Page 87 of Magical Mayhem
But outside the window, the shadows hissed and coiled tighter as though they, too, had heard my words.
And they didn’t like them one bit.
Keegan’s hand lingered in mine, his thumb brushing weakly across my skin. The flicker of firelight caught the storm in his eyes, softer now, but still burning. My chest ached with how much I wanted to keep him hidden here, safe, and mine.
“I hate seeing you like this,” I whispered, my voice raw.
His lips curved, faint but real.
“And I hate you worrying about me.” His gaze held mine, steady despite the exhaustion in his body. “But I can’t stop worrying about you either, Maeve.”
That undid me. I leaned in, closing the space between us, and pressed my mouth to his.
The kiss was soft at first, a promise more than a claim. But then he shifted, pulling me closer with what little strength he had, and the fire deepened. His lips tasted faintly of tea and smoke, and his breath hitched against mine, his hand trembling as it slid to the back of my neck.
My heart pounded so fiercely I thought the shadows themselves might hear it.
But I forced myself to pull back, my forehead resting against his.
“Rest,” I breathed, stroking his hair. “Please. I won’t be far.”
His eyes fluttered shut, but his hand didn’t let go.
I meant to leave.
Truly, I did.
But Keegan’s hand lingered in mine, his breathing slow and steady at last, and the warmth of the fire wrapped itself around us like a spell. The exhaustion I’d been holding off for days seeped through me all at once, heavy and relentless.
I told myself I’d just stay until his breaths evened out. Just a moment. Just long enough to be sure.
My eyelids betrayed me.
The chair at his bedside looked too far away, so I slipped onto the bed beside him, careful not to jar his healing body. His warmth was immediate, soothing, his scent a familiar mix of pine and smoke. I let out a long breath, my head tipping against the pillow.
Only a quick nap,I promised myself.
The darkness welcomed me almost too eagerly.
At first, it was the usual shadows stretching, corridors that never ended, whispers I couldn’t quite catch. But then I felt it. Not the cold edge of Malore’s laughter, but something heavier, more human.
Gideon.
I braced, expecting his arrogant smirk, his cruel taunts that slithered like snakes into my thoughts. But when he appeared in the shifting haze, he wasn’t the Mage who had cast Stonewick into shadow.
He was slumped, weary, and his eyes were hollow.
“You again,” I muttered, though even my dream-voice shook.
He didn’t sneer. He didn’t bare his teeth. He looked at me as though he barely recognized who, or what, I was.
“Why do you keep showing up?” I demanded.
“I’m not,” he said flatly. His voice cracked, low and raw. “You are.”
Something twisted in my chest.
“You need help,” I whispered.
