Page 314 of Scarlet Wars
His face buried in my neck, breath shaking against my skin, arms locked around me like letting go would kill us both.
“You’re alive,” he breathed, like he wasn’t saying it to me but to himself. “You’re alive, you’re okay, and you’re alive.”
For a while, I let myself float in that, in the warmth of him.
But slowly, reality started to bleed back in.
The ache in my limbs.
The stickiness of blood drying on my skin.
The cold stone beneath us.
The fabric clinging to my body:not mine.Not soft or clean. It was ripped and stiff and smelled like blood and smoke and Caden.
I glanced down, sluggish and slow, and realized I was wearing his jacket. What was left of it, anyway. Torn down the middle, hanging off one shoulder. Barely enough to cover me.
The rest of me was scraped and bruised. Bare legs. Dried blood painted across my skin like war paint.
My voice came out hoarse. “What happened?”
He pulled back enough to look at me, his gaze still glassy with emotion. He blinked like he didn’t believe I was truly speaking.
“What do you remember?” he asked, his tone soft.
I searched the fog in my head. The dark corners where pure pain echoed.
“I remember…” My brow furrowed. “Agony. And burning. And…your voice.”
His throat worked, like swallowing physically hurt. He reached up slowly, ran his fingers through my hair with the softest, most reverent touch.
“You healed me,” he said finally. “You healedbothof us.”
I blinked.
“Beneath the Chief’s bubble,” he added. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that. It should’ve killed you. It almostdid, but somehow…your healing counteracted the magic of the bubble.”
His fingers traced down from my hair to the side of my face, brushing lightly over my temple, then trailing down to my arm.
He moved slowly, his hands checking the length of my limbs like he was trying to reassure himself I was still all here, that nothing had been taken.
And gods… There was something in the way he touched me. Not lust. Not relief. Somethingraw.Terrified.
He didn’t look away from me, not even for a second.
“I don’t know how you did it,” he said, voice shaky. “But you brought both of us back.”
I reached for him, weak but needing to feel him too. My fingers found his wrist. His skin was warm.
“We’re alive,” I whispered, the words barely audible, spoken more for myself than for him. A fragile string of syllables I needed to say out loud to believe.
His gaze stayed locked on mine, fierce and fragile all at once. “We are.”
His breath hit mine—ragged, hot, trembling—and then our mouthscrashedtogether.
Hard.
Teeth clashed. Noses bumped. It didn’t matter.
