Page 85 of Brimstone
His hands closed into fists at his sides. “You look . . . so real,” he said. “I know I’m dreaming. I . . .”
I’mdreaming, Fisher. I just fell asleep, and here you were.”
“I’ve been here over an hour,” he said. “I cleared a fallen tree down by the river. I dragged it up here. I’ve been breaking it down for firewood ever since.”
“Well, we can’t both be dreaming. Not the same dream,” I said.
“We’ll figure that out in a moment, Osha,” he said quietly. “First, answer the question for me? Please?”
“What? Oh, no. No, I’m not dead. Not . . . officially,” I added awkwardly. “The whole beating heart thing—”
Fisher strode toward me and swept me into his arms. He crushed me to him so tight that I thought my ribs were about to crack. I could hear him breathing, the sound ragged, as if he were struggling to keep his composure.
“Thank the gods. I thought something must have happened to you. I’ve been waiting to see if this becomes a nightmare. I thought . . . Fuck!”
He squeezed me even harder. I tapped frantically on his shoulder. “Fisher? Fisher, I can’t breathe.”
He pulled away, cupping my face in his hands, the beautiful green of his eyes almost glowing in the waning light as he took me in. “I’m sorry. Today’s just been . . .” He shook his head, sucking on his bottom lip. “I fuckinghateyour city, Osha. I really can’t overstate how much I really,reallyhate it. Gods, it’s good to see you.”
This didn’t feel like a dream. I was too conscious. The world around me was too crisp. Too sharp. And this didn’t feel like a subconscious rendering of my mate. His skin was warm to the touch. I could smell him. The details of him were too in focus. He swallowed, and I watched the muscles in his throat move, and there they were: the twin marks that were slowly fading at the hollow of his neck where I had bitten him.
“This is real, isn’t it?” I whispered.
Fisher stepped back, releasing me. He turned sideways, eyes picking me apart as he paced around me, taking every bit of me in. The snow came down harder, fat flakes dusting the dark waves of his hair and melting as they hit his shoulders and his chest. I never felt more seen than when he looked at me. And like this, with his eyes devouring me, I could feel myself coming undone.
He stalked behind me and drew close. His body heat warmed my back, his breath skating over the back of my neck as he swept my hair over my shoulder, leaned into the crook of my neck, and smelled me.
“It’s as real as anything else I’ve ever felt,” he murmured. “You smell like you. You look like you.” Suddenly his hands wereat my waist, his fingers digging lightly into my hips. “You . . .feellike you.”
We’d been apart for a little over a day, yet it felt like years had gone by. It was more than just missing him. I’d missed people before. I knew what that felt like. But the distance between us was a tangible tugging on my soul that made me panic.
“Witchcraft, perhaps?” he mused. His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he spoke, and a shiver ran up my body. He let out a suggestive rumble of laughter at that. “So responsive. I love how your body reacts to me, Little Osha. It lets me know that you’re mine.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
He ran his nose up, behind my ear, into my hair, breathing deep again as he inhaled me. “Oh, I don’t know. I had an interesting conversation with Carrion Swift before I passed out in his living room a little while ago. I thought for a moment I was going to have to fight him for you.”
I snorted at the mere thought of that. “Don’t hurt him, Fisher. You don’t have anything to worry about where Carrion is concerned.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “Mm. It’s okay. I think I know that now.”
I placed my hands lightly on top of his, enjoying the proximity of him, knowing that he was right behind me, but Fisher hissed, pulling back his right hand.
I turned in the circle of his arms, looking up at him, then down at his hand. It was horribly bruised, his knuckles crusted with dried blood. “Gods, what the hell happened?”
There was discomfort on his face, plain as day, but he still tried to downplay his injuries. “It’s nothing. My hand’s just a little broken. I had to punch a hole in a tower wall.”
“You had to dowhat?”
I shivered as he explained what had transpired since I had seen him last. He and Carrion had secured the silver we needed, but they’d come face-to-face with some kind of scorpion demon while they were at it. Theyhadn’tseen Hayden yet, but they were going to find him in the morning. By the time Fisher finished talking, the sweat had cooled on his body and my teeth were chattering. “I want to know what’s been going on with you,” he said. “But it looks like you’re about to freeze to death. Let’s get you inside.”
He tucked me into his side and led me toward the cottage. Kicking open the door, he guided me inside, and the savory smell of spiced meat hit the back of my nose. Apparently, Kingfisher had been cooking before I had shown up and infiltrated his dream. “Whatisthis place?” I asked.
“The huntsman’s cottage at the boundaries of Cahlish. My father brought me here a few times when I was young. I haven’t thought about this place in . . .” He looked up at the ceiling. “Years?”
The cottage was small. The kitchen was a sink in the corner and a small counter, stacked with glass jars full of what looked like pickled items. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the thick beamed rafters. The roof was low and stained with soot above the fireplace. Wingback armchairs sat in front of the hearth, sagging from years of use. A small white dog was stretched out in front of the crackling—
Hah! It wasn’t a dog.
