Page 46 of Charmed

She never left herself vulnerable. Not to sentiment or physical attack or verbal spars. On guard, always. So, why the heck was she waving a white flag?

He veered them clear of town and up the private winding incline road that hugged the cliffs. Lazily, she took in the pink and purple sky fading to navy across the horizon. Black waves rippled in the last light of day. She closed her eyes, completely drained.

They were past the Meath security gate and heading for the open carriage doors to the eight-car garage when she realized she was slumped against him. He had his arm twisted behind him and bracketed around her to hold her in place, the other steering.

Her hero. She'd beat herself up for that thought later, too. Twice.

The bike came to an abrupt halt. He cut the engine and dismounted in a rush, only to re-straddle the seat facing her. She teetered, but he caught her, his hands everywhere at once.

"Are you hurt?" His frantic gaze skimmed over her, never pausing on one area longer than a blink. Face, hair, chest, arms, legs... "Answer me. Are you hurt?"

"No." She offered a wan smile and narrowed her eyes to bring his blurry image into focus. Goddess, she was drained. "Power outage, nothing more. Using all that magick at once wiped me out."

Was she slurring her words? She better not be. That would mean she'd have to kick her own ass three times. The tally on uncharacteristic behavior was mounting.

He sighed, cupping her face. After another exploration, his shoulders sagged and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. His swallow clicked in the quiet garage as he leaned in. Slowly. So slowly. A gentle sweep of his lips across hers, and he eased away too soon.

Because he seemed to be having his own adrenaline crash, she ran her hand up his chest to his neck and...encountered something sticky. She drew back and found blood on her fingers.

"You're bleeding."

He shrugged. "I probably got nicked by a pebble on the drive."

Worry clenched in her belly. She turned his head and examined the area. Where his neck met his shoulder, an inch-long jagged scratch seeped blood.

"It's too clean a slice to be from something on the road." Actually, it looked more like an irritated, deep paper cut.

Guilt added to the mix. He had to have gotten the injury in the alley. No doubt, from a loose wrapper or something when she'd conjured her element. Fierce winds like those during a tornado could alter mundane objects into a deadly weapon. His wasn't serious, but considering the location and how close it was to his jugular, she could've really hurt him.

"I'm sorry." This was her fault.

"Don't worry about it. We'll put your juju cream on it and I'll never know it was there."

She had almost no energy left in her reserve, but she could summon enough to heal him, at least. "Hold still. I'll fix it."

"Fi, no. It's fine." He went to grab her hand, but she was faster.

Pressing her palm to the scratch, she closed her eyes and pulled magick. Warmth slithered from her core and up her arm. She channeled the light from herself to him.

He sucked in a harsh breath. His fingers dug into her waist.

"Sorry," she breathed. "Only hurt...for a second."

"It doesn't hurt, babe." His hoarse, grated voice held awe. "Your skin is hot."

Her head lolled. Nausea threatened. She sensed the closing of skin, his tissue fusing, and her arm went limp at her side. Lights danced behind her closed lids as her limbs became deadened weight.

"All...better," she managed before the world slipped into nothing.

Chapter Thirteen

"Fiona?" Riley squatted next to the couch in the library and stroked her pale cheek. "Hey, babe."

She'd been unconscious two hours, and he was beyond his patience limit. Somewhere in the tattered fringes of his mind, he knew her state was nothing more than a side effect of too much magick, but worry wouldn't release its chokehold. He'd had to carry her into the house after she'd collapsed, and she'd been too still for comfort since. Thus far, he'd started a fire in the hearth and covered her with a blanket. The room was hotter than the peak of summer over a volcano in Hates, but he'd kept her warm. Warmer.

Hell, he could barely take care of himself on a good day.

Another incoherent mumble passed her plush lips. She'd been doing that on and off also. Which he only found slightly—extremely—adorable. It had kept him from going insane, anyway. He'd been watching her so long, he'd memorized the placement of each strand of her silky cocoa hair around her head, each multi-jeweled ring on her fingers, and the fan of her dark lashes.

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