Page 134 of Fires of the Forsaken
“Not always right away,” he grunted.
“Does it hurt?”
He huffed.
“That’s not an answer. Put it on a scale of 1 to 10. One being a small ouchie, and ten beingI think I’m gonna hurl because it hurts so much.”
“Three.”
“Hmm, that smells like bullshit.” I tapped my finger against the outer edge of the wound. He hissed and flinched. “I’m no doctor, but that looks more like an eight or nine,” I said.
Cheriour swiftly changed the subject. “You shouldn’t stay here.”
“Well…do you think you can walk?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at the sky, jaw clenched.
“Then I’m not leaving.”
“Addie…”
“This isn’t up for debate.”
“It’s not safe—”
“It’s not safeanywherein this shithole world,” I snapped. “So what difference does it make if I’m here, or at Sanadrin, or Niall? People get attacked every day that ends in Y. Since you’re still alive—for now—I’m staying. If you kick the bucket, I’ll leave. But I willnotwalk away while you’re still breathing. Understood?”
He tilted his chin down, his brow furrowing as his gaze dropped to the hand I still had resting against his chest. “What are youwearing?”He blinked, as though noticing my outfit for the first time.
“This?” I plucked the collar of the shimmery blue/pink shirt. “I dunno. I found it buried in the ground.”
Cheriour traced his fingers along my upper arm. “Impossible.”
“No, that’s definitely where I found it. The bastards dumped my clothes in the mud, and this,” I tugged on the laces, “I guess belonged to their last meal?”
“No, it’s impossible this garment exists here. Or itshouldbe impossible.” His fingers moved back and forth along my arm. It tickled, even through the fabric. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
“A shirt?”
He shook his head.
“Afancyshirt?”
“No. This is a garment from the Celestial City.”
“Oookay. Do Wraiths deep fry Celestials too?”
“No. They’d never be strong enough to…” Cheriour trailed off, his frown deepening. “You…last night, you emerged from the fire unscathed.”
My skin prickled as he studied my face, and a nervous laugh bubbled out of my throat. “That’s crazy talk.”
“I saw it.”
“You were fever dreaming.”
He grasped my hand and pulled my shirt sleeve up, inspecting my skin. “You’re not burnt.”
“No. Because I wasn’tinthe fire…”
