Page 283 of Burn Her They Said
I cannot trust it. This cannot be real. It’s too easy to be anything we’re experiencing.
There must be something wrong. Something we all seem to be missing. So I turn and scan the tree line while Varic stares back at me with his brows knitting in the center. And while I fail to find any sign of threat, it doesn’t guarantee our safety. There could be something lying in wait, and with our luck, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were a group of beings ready to take us hostage. Or worse.
Varic stumbles as he takes a step forward, and I narrow my eyes with fury coursing through my veins, because he’s unable to put all of his weight on his right leg when he goes to move toward me again.
Who in the fuck hurt him?
Force magic crackles from the ends of my fingers and rage marries my fury. This power within me seeks vengeance—sparking and building—preparing to attack whoever did this to him.
I swear to every God in existence, I will siphon the life from anyone who thought they could get away with hurting him.
Yet something in his gaze tugs on my chest, and the magnetism that is Varic draws me in with the strength I’ve been fighting for as long as I’ve known him. Because I need to be there for him. I need to help him.
I need to hold him close and take care of his needs for as long as I am living.
My rage dissipates with my breath the more my love for him expands as we consume the distance separating us, after so many years of being ripped apart, when Varic and I—we belong together.
Chapter Ninety
Meida
Varic
I stagger forward with the need to learn if she’s hurt before coming to an abrupt halt and wincing from the shooting pain emanating from my ankle.
Her eyes narrow, and I cover my weakness as well as I can with the next step. Yet her expression hardens, spearing me with a prickle of fear. Because maybe I’ve miscalculated. Maybe I was wrong about her feelings, as she appears to hold some sort of murderous rage in her visage.
Does she blame me for what happened? Does she think my presence further endangers her and all of her Guards? Or maybe she believes my appointment is the reason the Throne Room was decimated. The reason all our lives were threatened to a greater extent.
Then her expression softens, and she sends me a thread of compassion, conveying a deep and knowing level of empathy, while all I can do is shake my head as a grin begins to form over my lips.
Gods, this witch is my favorite mystery.
She moves toward me, and I no longer give a fuck if she’s mad at me for something I’ve done. I can try to fix it later. Right now, I just need to make sure she’s okay.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
She’s here. She’s standing right here. Breathing, with her heart beating. And I need her.
I reach forward and trace my fingertips over the backs of her hands, needing this skin-to-skin contact. I trail my thumbs down and over her palms when my nostrils flare with the indentations, so I grab hold of her hands and turn them over. My heart sinks when the crescent shapes of her nails mark her palms as I suspected. Proof of her distress from my failure.
I bring her left hand up to my lips and hate the chill that’s come over them.
“You don’t need to do that.” Her voice is commanding, yet also shame-filled.
My lips rise in a smile as I kiss the soft skin, then bring her right hand up to repeat the gesture. She shivers, and I greedily revel in the power I wield to have this sort of effect on her.
“Yes, I do,” I say with such conviction, and I hope she understands it to mean this isn’t just for her benefit. I need to do this for myself just as much. Because I want to, and I will.
Then, without needing to conjure it, my healing magic takes her pain from her. It smooths the crescent marks left by her nails as a new sort of heat burns within my chest with this burgeoning need to care for her better than I have been. A turning point where I will no longer be settling in the way that I tend to her. One which will most likely garner much argument from her.
“I will take care of you, Tasch,” I promise.
A slow breath seeps from between her lips when I delicately trace a trail up her arm with my fingertips until I curve my arms around her back and pull her in. With the need to feel her body against my own, and my heart aching along with every sob winding its way from her. My chest feels as if it has been split down the center as she releases all of the pain from what we have been made to endure. She shakes in my arms, and I want to take away all of her pain. I can handle it. I can hold it for her. For however long she needs. Because she shouldn’t have to bear this alone.
“Mei waella,” I whisper into her hair, and her arms flex around me.
“You’re okay,” she whispers, the heat of her breath tickling my neck.
