Page 52 of A City of Flames

He whistles at Tibith to stop kicking Lorcan’s boots, and I shoot Darius an irked expression before running up and kneeling to grab Lorcan’s arm.

“Are you hurt?” Lorcan asks, propping himself up on his elbow and scanning my face. I shake my head, sheathing my sword as my breaths come in and out too shallow for it to be normal. Looking up, I find Darius and Tibith no longer there.

“Darius,” I say absentmindedly, staring into the dark alleys of the city. “The Golden Thief—that’s—that’s his name.”

When Lorcan doesn’t answer, I slide my gaze to him. His expression is unclear as he pins his lips together. It’s hard to know what he wants to say, and even worse, as padding of footsteps echoes the narrow streets, I whip my gaze to the shifter charging our way.

Alarmed and knowing my blades are scattered elsewhere, I go for the next best thing. My sword won’t be fast enough to hit her, so I scramble to get the bow and arrowheads at the side of us.

Nocking one, I whirl, aiming astute. I’m still on the floor with Lorcan behind me as I draw the arrow back and release it just in time as she shoots a shadow blade from her hands.

It strikes her heart, and I expel a breath of alleviation or worry. Either feel far too similar right now.

“Nara,” Lorcan grunts in a low tone, a pained one that triggers a sense of dread in my gut as I look at him.

He’s clutching the left side of his chest, and slowly, it hits me.

Red, darkened blood leaks down from his hand, not anyone else’s, not mine, his.

I’d managed to dodge the shadow magic from that shifter, but in the process, it’d struck Lorcan.

I drop the bowstring, shock zaps at me as I stop him from falling unconscious. “No, no, no,” I whisper, pressing my hand onto where his is. Blood now soiling my fingers. “We need to get you back to the infirmary, we need—”

“It’s not deep. It’ll be fine,” he says with labored breaths while attempting to stand. I rise with him and grab onto his side as he sways.

“I don’t believe that,” I mutter, lifting his arm over my shoulder and start down the street as shifters begin retreating.

The barracks is in an absolute state as I stagger trying to keep Lorcan upright against my shoulder while everyone heads to the infirmary. Some drag in unconscious venators, and others, I can hear the screams of pain through the other side of the room.

“My chambers,” Lorcan breathes. “Take me there.”

I let my gaze slip to meet his staring down at me, weak and flickering. I’m hesitant to agree, but with the number of injured people crowding the infirmary, I huff, directing us to the staircases by the entrance.

At that second I turn, Freya tumbles in with Link and Rydan. Soot covers them head to toe, yet I almost cry out in relief that they’ve made it back unharmed.

Freya notices me, eyes widening, when she spots Lorcan by my side. She mouths the words ‘go,’ and I nod at the reassurance of her smile.

I push Lorcan and me towards the stairs, tiring out by the time we get to the higher levels of the barracks and burst into his chambers. Kicking the door closed, I let go as he drops onto the edge of his bed.

“There’s some neem paste in the cabinets. It’ll help the healing,” he says, inclining his head to the bath chambers.

I nod, still thinking the infirmary was a better option than here. I’ve only cured injuries on myself or Illias and Iker. Idris usually handled all his wounds himself, taking his pride along with him.

Searching the cabinets, I can’t process anything that’s happened tonight. I can’t even think straight or clear my head as I fill up one of the wooden bowls with water and find a half-empty jar of green neem paste.

By the time I walk out with the equipment in my hands, Lorcan has stripped the top half of his armor. I stop and glance at his upper torso on display, lean and sheening with sweat.

Heart freezing and mind struck with the sight, I shake my head and stroll over to him. He glances up through his lashes as I stop in front of him, his legs part as he presses his palms at the sides of the bed.

My eyes zero in on his chest but what surprises me is the scar on his right, twin to what now is bleeding after that shadow blade.

I’d used a spear on him, but his reflexes were stronger. He grabbed it mid-air, broke it in half, and threw it before it pierced my armor, my chest, and all through to the other side.

Lorcan had said it that night outside in the gardens. And while I’d seen how Lorcan was fast, agile like no other, Darius’s reflexes were far too good, and this scar is the result of that.

I avoid staring at the circular mark for long and wedge myself between his thighs, reluctant in doing so as I dip the cloth into the bowl. Lorcan’s stare doesn’t help the affiliation of awareness as to what position I am in right now. Which is why I look away and begin cleaning the wound. His silence eases around the room as his body tenses whenever I dab the cut.

Annoyingly, he is right, it’s not deep, but he’s lost a vast amount of blood. I drop the cloth back into the bowl, placing it on the floor before grabbing the neem and swiping two fingers into the thickening paste.

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