When he traces my scar with his fingertips, it takes all my effort not to shiver.
“Lift your shirt, nalkin-shom.”
I hesitate, but he didn’t have a chance to completely heal the two gashes across my stomach. They were much deeper than the comparative scratch on my neck so I pull up the bloodstained cotton. Looking down at the ugly, almost parallel lines now, I figure I’m lucky to be alive.
“I suppose those are going to scar, too,” I say.
He nods. “But these definitely aren’t my fault.”
I lose my battle with my smile. Aren sees it, and I swear his mood lightens. All sorts of funny feelings shoot through me when I realize I’ve relieved a little of his stress, lessened a little of his burden. I wish . . . Yes, I wish he wasn’t part of this rebellion. I wish we could be friends.
I swallow back my smile. “Could you do this quickly, please?”
“I could heal you with a kiss.” Mischief sparks in his silver eyes, and a thousand chaos lusters ricochet through my stomach. Heat flows into me. It’s more intense between my legs. Shit. Shit. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Just do it.”
His chuckle tells me my reaction to him doesn’t go unnoticed. Thankfully, he places his hands, not his lips, on my stomach. I grit my teeth when he flares his magic. Pain strikes across my middle, and I lurch into him.
“Shh,” he soothes. “Almost got it. It’s deep on your side.”
My fingers dig into his biceps. His muscles tremble. He’s exhausted. He hides it well, but he needs rest. I need rest. My stomach hurts worse than when I received the cuts.
“Aren,” I hiss out.
“Done,” he says quickly. He runs a gentle hand across my stomach, back and forth as if he can rub away the memory of the pain. Sweat beads on his forehead.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He tilts his head a little to the side, and I regret voicing my concern. The way he’s looking at me, it makes me feel like he wants me. I’m stubborn, but I’m not a complete idiot. I know I want him, too. How could I not when his touch triggers lightning under my skin? With his devilish grin and mussed-up hair, he’s incredibly sexy, but I need a hell of a lot more than a good-looking face to fall for a guy. I need someone like Kyol, someone who knows me, really knows me. Kyol’s concerned not just with my physical well-being, but my emotional one as well. He protects me as much as he can from the violence of his world, and he worries about my other life. When my parents cut me off, when they refused to speak to me until I got “help” in a mental institute, he was there for me. I can depend on him. And Aren? Well, he’s proven I’m disposable if the situation is right.
I push away the hand he left resting on my stomach. “We’re going inside?”
“Yes,” he says, rising. He helps me to my feet, holds me steady while the world settles. “We’ll talk, then you can clean up.”
Aren’s tone is sober. Too sober. He said he was sorry, that he didn’t like hurting me, but where does that leave us? When I thought he was going to kill me, I didn’t read the shadows for him. He knows I’ll never help him.
When he starts to walk toward the house, I stay where I am. He doesn’t pull me along. He turns to face me.
“You win, McKenzie,” he says. “We’re sending you back to the Court. We’re trading you for Lena.”
“Lena?” I can’t possibly have heard him right. Naito’s the one who’s been captured.
“She was taken in Lyechaban,” Aren says. He tenses with his words, as if he needs to guard himself against my reaction. Does he expect me to celebrate? To rub it in? I should—this is a victory for the Court—but I recognize Aren’s mood now. I’ve heard this tone, seen this weight on a fae’s shoulders before. He feels responsible for what happened to Lena.
“It’s not—” I stop myself just short of telling him it’s not his fault. I might not be willing to gloat, but I won’t offer sympathy either. This is good for me. I finally get to go home.
I get to see Kyol.
My stomach flip-flops. Most of what I’m feeling is anticipation, but there’s some nervousness twisting through me as well. I need to see Kyol. I need him to reassure me I’m working for the good guys, Atroth is the rightful king, and the rebels’ claims about the number of provinces, the gate taxes, and the Court’s transgressions are all lies.
“When?” I ask Aren.
“Tomorrow.” He must notice my surprise because he raises an eyebrow and adds, “Too soon?”
“No. Not soon enough,” I say, not wanting him to know how uncomfortable I am with . . . Well, with everything.
He looks away briefly, then says, “Your friend Paige. Her wedding is tomorrow night.”
I feel my eyebrows go up, surprised he remembers that part of our conversation in the forest. He was hurt and bleeding at the time, and I was just talking to fill the silence. “It’s her sister’s wedding, yes. Why?”
“Taltrayn and I will meet there unarmed and visible. It’s a public place. People will know you.”
“There will be tech there,” I warn. “Electricity. Lights. Music.”
“It’ll handicap Taltrayn the same as it handicaps me.” He places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward. “Come inside. I won’t give you back to Taltrayn looking like this. You can clean up and rest.”
My first steps are wobbly. I cling to Aren, waiting for my fingertips and lips to stop tingling.
“You okay?” he asks.
As soon as the dizziness passes, I focus on him. “You do realize you’re going to have to wear a suit, right?”
He tilts his head to the side. “What’s a suit?”
SIXTEEN
IT’S MAY IN Texas. The night isn’t cold, but it’s not quite warm enough to chase away the lingering chill of the In-Between. I’m not sure that’s why I have goose bumps, though. Maybe they’ve sprouted across my arms because of the lightning-covered fae sitting on a tombstone to my left. I told Lorn it was rude to sit there, but he didn’t believe me when I said humans bury the dead under the ground.
I guess this cemetery is as good a place as any to wait for Aren. A thick hedge separates it from the road behind us and from the palatial building lit up by landscaping lights at the top of the hill ahead. There’s a twenty-acre garden between the cemetery and the mansion’s side entrance. That’s where we’re supposed to meet Kyol and Lena. I just wish Aren would hurry up and get here already.
“Eager to return to your little scandal?”
I don’t give any indication I hear Lorn’s words.
He chuckles. “Don’t worry, McKenzie. I’m a master at keeping secrets. Why, you could give me the location of the Sidhe Tol and I wouldn’t tell a soul.”
I give a short laugh and finally turn his way. “I was wondering why you were here.”
He puts a hand to his chest and looks wounded. “What? I just wanted to contribute to the cause.”
“Forget it,” I say. “You lost your chance in Lyechaban. I don’t need anything from you anymore.”
“Everybody needs something from me. You just have to decide—”