Page 67 of Queen of Whispers and Mist

How did you know this was here? How did you know what it would do? The end of the question didn’t matter since the answer was likely the same.

“We have something similar back home,” Jagger replied. “Places like this...They have a heartbeat. My kind is drawn to them. We feel them even if we’ve never been there before.”

My kind.Shadow had suspected the boson wasn’t exactly an Empyrean native, but this was the first hint he’d provided that seemed to confirm it.

“And home is...”

“The Wildes.” He didn’t elaborate, but given the sharp glance Calypso shot his way, it was more than he should have revealed.

“And the water can heal him too?” She’d seen the proof of its abilities for herself, but she was afraid Ronan’s injuries might be too much for even this place of power to undo.

“It already is.”

Shadow’s gaze returned to Ronan. Inky black smears were rippling away from him, like the charred skin running along his left side had just been a bit of mud.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her voice huskier than usual, but if anyone noticed, they were too nice to comment on it.

“Here. Why don’t you take him,” Bronn called, likely reading her sudden need to touch him in her expression.

She waded through the waist-deep water back to where the men were holding up her red-haired warrior. He was mostly floating, but she wove her arms beneath him anyway. As she tucked him against her body, she happily noted that color had returned to his face and his breathing was even once more.

“How long does he need to remain in the water?”

“It takes as long as it takes.”

“It could be a while,” Jagger answered out loud. “Perhaps all night.”

“You should return to camp then. Try to get some rest. I’ll stand guard.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Sebastian offered.

“No, that’s all right.” It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the offer, but after the chaos of the last few hours—days, really—she longed for a bit of peace. And Bast was many things, most of them good, but peaceful wasn’t among them.

“Come on, puppy. You’re with us,” Bronn said, curling his arm around the other man’s neck and pulling him away.

“But what if he needs me?”

Bronn slapped a hand to his chest. “Trust me, the sorts of needs he’ll have when he wakes aren’t the kind you can help with.”

Bast opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to reconsider when he looked back at Shadow. He lingered only long enough to shoot her a glance that promised retribution if harm befell his friend, but his parting words were a tart, “I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

She really couldn’t help but admire anyone who could manage to be so fiercely protective and seemingly frivolous in the same breath. Bast wasn’t what he appeared on the surface. She’d stake her life on it. There was simply too much intention behind the way he acted for his buffoonery to be entirely organic. Maybe the flirtatious fuck boy had beenexactlywho he was at one time, but not any longer. Now it was a part he played. A mantle he donned as easily she did her own.

Who are you really, Sebastian?

The others silently filed out of the hidden oasis until only Jagger remained. “Buttercup will keep watch. If you need anything...” Instead of finishing the thought, he gave her a slight dip of his chin and wandered off.

If she thought Bast was a riddle, that man was an entire book of them. Just when it seemed she might be making headway, he retreated back into himself. If she had the time or mental energy to take on anything else, she’d attempt to unravel the mysteries surrounding her companions. But her hands were full. Both literally and metaphorically.

Shadow waited until she and Ronan were well and truly alone—minus the finch circling languidly overhead—before glancing back down at the man in her arms. For once she was able to greedily look her fill.

The usually severe lines between his brows and bracketing his lips were smoothed away, revealing a fainter set of creases beside his eyes. She’d seen Ronan smile and laugh plenty of times, but the acts were almost always tinged by an aura of grief. The evidence that hadn’t always been the case was bittersweet. She couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to spend time with him when he was relaxed and truly happy.

Her gaze trailed lower, down the slope of his nose with its light dusting of freckles, along his cheeks tinged red from their days spent in the sun, and down to his full lips. They were lightly parted and framed by several days’ worth of thick stubble. The deep auburn scruff matched the ends of his hair bobbing along the surface of the water.

From there her eyes wandered lower, down the tanned column of his throat, over the bare shoulder with its thick black swirls and what appeared to be a series of hidden symbols. She itched to trace the markings with her fingers, to ask him about the meaning behind the tattoo. So far as she could tell, it was the only one he had. And given the prominence of its position—climbing across his broad chest and up over his shoulder before spiraling down to his elbow—it must be significant.

She lost all track of time as her visual feast continued. Her thoughts alternated between appreciation for his potent masculine beauty and curiosity about the man beneath the attractive trappings. And then all thoughts flitted away as she focused on the freshly healed skin peeking out from the scraps of clothes clinging to his left side. She hadn’t realized how badly the garments had been damaged until she spied all the sun-darkened flesh on display.

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