Page 84 of Inked in Bloom
I take a long sip of water before responding. “It was better than doing the alternative: nothing at all.”
The flask disappears back into his palm, and I chew at my bottom lip, a chunk of it coming off where deep grooves and valleys pock the once-smooth skin.Gross.My entire body is cracked and dry, shivering against the silken lining of Briar’s leather jacket. You’d think it was winter, not in the mid-90s and humid. “This is my chance. So either help me or get out of my way.”
Briar chuckles and mutters something to himself, tucking wayward strands of my mint hair behind my ear. His hand lingers over the peony there.
He swallows thickly, not taking his eyes off of the Ever Briar.
“I’ll help you.” His hand drifts over my collarbones, skipping the skin hidden by his jacket. Heat prickles along my flesh. “But only if you promise to come back to Florezca after. You’re sick and no one here will know how to help you properly.”
I cast him a glare. “I’ll consider it.”
“Consideringisn’t going to cut it.” He focuses his attention on warming me, though his hand shakes and every so often his eyes flick in my direction.
At first, I hated that Fate had tethered me to him. But I’ve slowly come to terms with his role in my death, and now he’s here, casting me in his warmth, tending to me aftereverything, even while it puts him at risk. Part of me wants to tell him about the bond, but what’s the use? The truth will only hurt him more if I stay.
“How long do we have?”
He purses his lips. “That depends... The timeframe to get back through the veil is one thing, but having enough magic to do it is another.”
“Well, I need to at least see Beth and Richard.”
I don’t know how I’ll feel after my visit—I’m not sure what I’ll find. But I am certain time is running faster than my ability to chase. At least on my own.
“We better get going, then.” Briar secures his arms around me and helps me stand. Politely averting his gaze, he helps feed my shivering arms into the thick sleeves of his jacket that’s been draped over me. Its hem rests against the tops of my thighs.
“You could have dressed me in more than this.”
“You could have dressed yourself,” he tuts.
I stare at the grass. “My magic, it’s tapped out.”
“That will happen at the end of a long season.” He sighs but doesn’t chide me further. “Until we get back, we only work with what is necessary.”
I want to ask him why he’s so depleted, but if it’s related to the bond, I don’t think I have the energy to withhold the truth from him. So I stay silent.
“You’re in no condition to drive.” His black floracycle appears, and I lean against him for support as we walk closer. He lifts me onto the bike, steadying me before swinging his leg over the side. “Just tell me where to go and hold on tight.”
36
MONROE
The twenty-minute drive takes us thirty. Every neon glow has Briar changing directions, sticking to the back roads until we reach a neighborhood I haven’t seen in ages.
“There.” I point over his shoulder at the third brick townhome in the row. It’s the only house with a royal-purple door—Charlotte’s favorite color. She painted it when we were in high school, and I’ve given it a fresh coat a few times since.
“It needs to be redone,” I say, frowning at the muted hue. I slowly move toward it, tracing over the cracks.
“You have no magic and I’m running on very little. The home improvements will have to wait.” Briar’s teeth chatter, his arms crossed, rubbing up and down the inked shoulder muscles peeking from his T-shirt. My body’s still shaky, but swallowed up in his hefty jacket, enveloped by the scent of vanilla musk and rain-drenched cedar, the quivering is a manageable level.
I hate that he’s right. Neither time nor magic is on our side.
“I have to make sure they’re okay.” With Richard’s frequent hospital visits, he might not behere. He may not be in this realm at all. It’s a fear I’ve been avoiding every time I’ve thought about them since becoming a Bloom. Briar never saw his parents after they passed, what if I missed my chance to see him one last time?
We slide through the wall, like trudging through thick, sticky sludge rather than gliding through silk. I sigh with relief when the interior comes into view, though I nearly topple over. Briar catches me under my arm and leans me against him. I wait for him to bring up our ticking clock and depleted magic, but he doesn’t. He’s patient as Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel.
Rattling snaps our attention to the left where a metal pen takes up the corner. Briar frowns.
“That wasn’t there before,” I say, squinting to make out the moving shape in the darkness. When it passes through the slip of moonlight spilling into the room, white fur and a pair of floppy ears has me dropping to my knees and crawling across the floor.
