Page 133 of Fires of the Forsaken
Was I actually a hybrid? Was being fireproof one of their powers?
“I don’t want to be a hybrid.” I sat beside Cheriour, knees drawn up to my chest, teeth chattering. “So can you do me a big favor? Pretend you didn’t see any of…that.” I waved an arm toward the smoldering fire. “And I’ll pretend it didn’t happen and no one will know any different, right? I’m not a hybrid. I’mnot.”
Cheriour shivered, his breath coming out in short, pained bursts.
Above us, tree branches creaked and groaned as the wind tore through them. The temperature dropped. A lot. Because,why not?It’d been hotter than Heat Miser’s ballsac since I arrived here. But tonight, with Cheriour so badly injured and me being a useless sack of shit, Snow Miser decided to puff cold air over us. Typical.
Even when I pulled Cheriour’s shirt over his chest, he kept shaking.
No matter how many shards of wood I chucked at the fire, the flames eventually died.
“Screw mother nature,” I said. “It better not rain.” Stars twinkled through the gaps in the trees, so there weren’t any clouds.Yet.But with the wind gusts, I wouldn’t have been surprised if a storm exploded at some point.
“Okay, look,” I curled against Cheriour’s side, “I’m doing this to keep you warm. To keepbothof us warm. So please don’t be offended when you wake up.” I flung an arm over his chest, above his wound, and draped my thigh over his.
Beneath me, his body vibrated with the force of his trembling. I scooted closer, covering as much of him as I could. What else could I do?
I rested my head against his shoulder. Sniffling. Monitoring the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.
“Just keep breathing.” I traced my fingers along his collarbone, his cheekbones, and his lips.
I had this feeling in my stomach; like I was at the top of a drop ride, staring at the ground. Except this wasn’t the normalwhoo-hootingly sensation I got at amusement parks, but more of a sickening sense of foreboding. Because the plummet was inevitable, and I wasn’t strapped in. Wasn’t safe. I’d fall, and fall, and fall, until Isplattedacrossthe ground.
“Just keep breathing.” My tears splashed onto Cheriour’s shoulder. “Please.”
38
Au Naturel B.O. Musk
Monitoring Cheriour’s breaths had the same effect as counting sheep. One second, I hit number two-hundred-and-something, and the next I groggily woke from a deep slumber.
Dappled rays of sunlight bathed the forest floor. I’d slept straight through the night.
And, oh boy, it’d been apainfulsleep. My right shoulder, still jammed against the ground, had that awful, prickly pins-and-needles sensation. The gash on my side burned. And I was soaked in sweat. Probably because I was slumped on top of Cheriour. Like,Jesus, it was a miracle I hadn’t crushed him.
Oh, and y’know what made this situation even better? He was awake. And playing with my hair.
It was kinda nice, though. Lying there while his fingers rubbed my scalp. It almost lulled me back to sleep. But I needed to move, stretch and try to get some kinks worked out.
I shifted, wincing when my achy hips popped.
Cheriour’s fingers froze.
“You don’t have to st-stop,” I stuttered around a yawn.
Silence. But his breathing changed. Deepened.
“Some guard I am, huh? Good thing we weren’t ambushed while I slept on the job.”
“I was listening,” Cheriour mumbled. “I would have woken you if I had heard something.”
“Who are you kidding? You were in fever dream la-la land all night.” I pushed myself away from him. Damn. Every joint in my body creaked, popped, or crackled. I sounded like an eighty-year-old woman. Felt like one too. I groaned as I rolled my shoulder and got the blood rushing down to my fingers. “Aw, crap! It’s like being jabbed with a million tattoo guns! Dude…you look fuckingawful.”
Blood caked Cheriour’s pallid, sweaty face. His hair was grimy and matted. But he was awake and alert, so…progress. Right?
“I’m still alive,” Cheriour croaked. “For now.”
“Dude, thinkpositivethoughts. You made it through the night!” I couldn’t quite muster my normal perky tone as I touched a hand to his ribcage, inspecting my shoddy bandage job. “It’s not infected.” I peeked at the wound. “I don’t think? It looks like shit though.” Understatement of the freaking year. It was like someone had blown a crater in his side. “But wouldn’t it be redder or oozing pus if it was infected?”
