Everything hurt, yet at times Nathaniel thought he might be in heaven. He was surrounded by Clarissa’s scent, cradled in her arms, between her legs. She felt warm to him, which was odd. Usually he ran hotter than her 98.6. He supposed the loss of blood accounted for the change. He wasn’t healing.
He glanced down at his ring. Its normally amethyst stone was almost completely black. Grindylow had bled him and drowned him. His magic was drained. He’d live of course. His head was still attached to his shoulders, but this was as close to death as he’d ever come.
“What did you find out?” he asked, but only the last two words actually projected from his lips.
She kissed his temple. “Shhh. We’re almost there.”
They were not almost to Mistwood. A quick peek out the window told him they had hours yet to go. Even that quick pop of his eyelid hurt. He closed it again. “What did Grindy tell you?” he asked more clearly.
“Maybe we should wait to talk about this later.”
He gently squeezed the arm that was wrapped around him.
“Okay.” She pressed her lips against the top of his head in an easy kiss, and he felt a little warmer for it. “I asked who stole my magic and, get this, she said, and I quote, ‘the dragon queen and her fairy liege.’”
He stiffened in her arms. He only knew of one dragon queen, his mother, and she was dead. But she did have a fairy who performed magic with her, Aborella. That couldn’t be right. Even if his mother had lived, she’d be in a dungeon in Paragon. She wouldn’t even know Clarissa existed. Unless Brynhoff had replaced her. Was there a new queen of Paragon?
He squeezed her arm again.
“Nah. You need to rest, Nate. Just don’t worry about anything right now.”
Unease suffused her voice. Whatever it was that Grindylow had told her must be upsetting to her. He sensed she was holding back out of fear for him, that whatever she’d learned would upset him and slow his healing. He squeezed again, now even more curious to know.
Her lips landed near his ear. “I said no.” Her warm breath brushed his cheek. “I’m still angry at you. You should have told me what you planned to do.”
He sighed. His back hurt, but when he tried to adjust in her arms, he couldn’t move his wing.
“Try not to move,” she said softly. “That wing doesn’t look good. Maybe Tempest can set it when we get home.”
He settled against her in absolute agony. “Talk to me.” He needed the distraction. She didn’t disappoint.
Her lips brushed his ear again. “I would never have let you do that if you’d given me a chance to refuse.” Her voice was stern, and he lay perfectly still, hoping she wouldn’t yell. He was in too much pain for that. “It wasn’t worth it, Nate.”
Something hot and wet hit his cheek. He cracked an eyelid and watched her wipe a tear away. Another tear hit his jaw. He squeezed her arm again and shook his head. The small movement made his brain boil, and he settled against her chest.
“Don’t cry,” he rasped.
“I’d rather live without my voice than live without you.” This time when her lips pressed against his ear, his heart leaped. Had he heard her correctly?
Her cheek snuggled in against his, and her warmth ushered him into oblivion. He must have slept hard, because the next time he opened his eyes, they were pulling up to Mistwood and Tempest and Laurel were rushing toward the car door. To his dismay, he was pulled from Clarissa’s arms. Oh, how he would have protested that if he could, but he really wasn’t well, and when Tempest straightened his wing and rebroke the bone so he could set it properly, Nathaniel growled straight from his inner dragon.
“Treasure room,” Tempest ordered. “Emory, help carry him.”
“I’ll help,” Clarissa said.
“You are not going into his treasure room,” the oread spat out.
But Nathaniel reached out and grabbed her hand. “Yes.”
Tempest grumbled. Hands lifted his body. She was there, right beside him. Minutes later, he landed on a pile of gold and jewels. The feeling was heavenly. The cold metal, the vibration of the stones beneath his back. He felt the power flow into his cells. His spine lengthened and he stretched and folded, flapped his wings. His bones cracked more than usual, and the transformation was slower than any he’d made before. But when it was done, he could open his eyes again.
She was there, watching him, small now that he was in his dragon form. She grabbed his nose and planted a kiss on his snout.
“Show me you can use it,” she said, glancing at his wing.
He obliged with an experimental stretch and flap. He groaned a little from the pain, but it was working.
“Good.” She stroked his face again. “See you in a few hours?”
He inclined his head, then backed into his pile of treasure, closed his eyes, and rested.
Clarissa was pretty sure that no amount of scrubbing would ever free her from the stench of Grindylow’s bog. She reeked of it. There had been blood in her hair. Either hers or Nate’s, she didn’t know. Her mind replayed the moment the monster had sliced through his twelve-year-old body, and she turned up the hot water to combat the chill that ran through her.
Eventually her hands started to grow pruney, and she decided she was as clean as she was going to get. She turned off the water and drew a fluffy white towel from the rack. Her legs shook as she walked to her bedroom.
She was physically tired from dragging Nate to the car and holding him through the long drive home, but the mental fatigue from the painful regret rattling through her brain was far worse. Everything felt heavy. What she’d done to Nathaniel was wrong. She realized that now. If he’d shown her anything today, it was that his heart was true. And she had walked away from it, not from indifference but out of fear.
All this time, she’d believed the lie she’d told herself, that this was about her career and independence. But it wasn’t. This was about fear. She’d feared Nathaniel would change his mind about her, so she’d ended things to beat him to the punch. It was a coping technique. A way to avoid the pain of abandonment she’d all too frequently experienced.
But today… today it had all become too clear. He was more important than her voice. If given the chance, she would have refused his plan. She would have done anything to avoid watching Grindylow hurt him. Even if it meant disappointing every one of her fans and Tom. Even if it meant canceling the O2. She couldn’t picture a world without him in it.
She brushed out her wet hair and tossed the towel on a chair, then crawled into bed. There was only one choice to make now that she realized her true feelings. She couldn’t be without him. She couldn’t pretend for a moment more that she didn’t need him as much as she needed the air she breathed.
When he awoke, she would tell him. It was time for her to say yes and to mean it.