Chapter 7

Beep… beep… beep.

What an annoying sound.

Beep… beep… beep.

It wasn't an alarm. Not a cell phone. What else beeped like that? And why hadn't anyone shut it off already? So damn annoying. I was trying to sleep here. So tired. So exhausted.

Beep… beep… beep.

Just… shut… up!

"Relax, Tori." The cool female voice was accompanied by the scuff of shoes against a tile floor, drawing nearer. "I'm on it."

With a huge amount of effort, I cracked my eyes open. Light blasted my pupils, and my eyes were so dry they felt like sandpaper. Everything was so blurry that it took me a moment to make out the woman nearby.

She was in her late forties or early fifties with blond hair pulled up in a casual but elegant twist. She tapped on a monitor displaying a bunch of colorful numbers and lines, and the beeping went silent.

"Your blood pressure dropped again," she remarked, turning toward me. "How are you feeling?"

I blinked slowly. My face felt strange, and when I tried to wrinkle my nose, all sorts of weird sensations assaulted me. There was something stuck to my face?

The woman caught my hand as I reached for my nose. "Please don't pull out the nasal cannula."

"The what?" I croaked.

"The oxygen line in your nose." She pushed my arm down to my side, then produced a plastic cup of water with a bendy straw sticking out of it. She set the straw against my lips, and I greedily sucked down several mouthfuls of cool liquid.

Setting the cup aside, she perched on the edge of my bed. "Do you remember what happened?"

No images came to mind, but a horrendous rush of noise filled my ears—screaming and shouting and sirens and Justin calling my name over and over and over. Shuddering, I pushed the memory away and focused properly on the familiar face watching me: Elisabetta, the Crow and Hammer's best healer.

I blinked against the scratchy dryness in my eyes. "I was stabbed?"

"Yes. Would you like the short list of your injuries, or are you one of those patients who wants to hear every gory detail?"

"Gory details. How else am I gonna brag about it?"

"Just like your friends." She shook her head. "You were stabbed in the left side of the chest. The puncture caused a pneumothorax—a collapsed lung. The blade also nicked your heart, resulting in a condition called cardiac tamponade, which is where the sack around your heart fills with blood, squeezing your heart muscles. That caused you to go into cardiac arrest."

My abused heart lurched sickeningly.

"Fortunately, the paramedics had just arrived and were able to save you by performing a pericardiocentesis—they inserted a needle into your chest to drain the blood—"

"Actually, I changed my mind. I don't want the gory details."

Elisabetta smiled with faint humor that quickly faded. "It was close, Tori. Your friends sleeping in the waiting room right now don't even realize how close we came to losing you."

Waiting room? I glanced around and realized I wasn't in one of the converted rooms in Elisabetta's spacious home. This was an actual hospital room—beige walls full of weird sockets and panels and equipment, a sink and cupboard, and an ugly padded chair in the corner. Tubes ran from an IV stand with two bags on it, disappearing under my blanket in the vicinity of my left wrist.

"Am I gonna be okay?" I asked.

"You'll be absolutely fine—in a few days. We already removed your chest tube and healed the wound sites. Your X-rays look good, but damage to the heart is nothing to shrug off, even with healing Arcana to help." She stood. "Now, let's see how you're doing."

I submitted to a physical, too tired to do anything but answer her questions as she poked and prodded me. When she finished, she passed me the water cup for another drink.

"All right." She set the cup on the overbed table beside me. "I'll tell your friends you're awake."

"Can I see them?"

"Yes—if you can stay awake that long."

"Of course I can."

With a knowing smile, she headed for the door. It clacked shut, and I stared at it, determinedly ignoring the bone-deep fatigue weighing me down. I wanted to see them. The guys. My mages and my brother. They were here. I knew it. They were waiting for me, like we always waited when one of us got hurt.

They were here, and I'd stay awake so I could see them.

I kept repeating that to myself as the room faded and I slipped back into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

I spent two nights in the hospital, but no sooner was I discharged than Elisabetta shipped me straight to her house. She set me up in a healing room—significantly cozier than the hospital version, but the bed was the same—and only permitted brief visits from my friends. Probably smart since I was having trouble staying awake.

Still, I got to see Aaron and Kai, who fussed over me and tried not to show how freaked out they were over my near death. Justin, who'd seen the whole "almost dying" thing firsthand, didn't hold it together quite as well.

And Ezra. He hadn't said much, but he'd held my hand—his fingers ice-cold as he'd fought back his emotions.

The post-healing fatigue was intense, and time had gotten a little blurry. When I woke up to pale sunlight leaking through the drapes across the room's large window, I couldn't remember what day it was. My parched throat stung and I turned my head, searching for the ever-present cup of water.

Ezra was slumped in the chair beside my bed, his head resting against the wall and face slack as he dozed.

Forgetting about water, I stared at him. Just stared. Absorbing the sight. Letting it soothe me. The scruff on his jaw was thicker, approaching beard territory, and his long-sleeved shirt was wrinkled.

After a minute, I wiggled my arm out from under the blanket. My fingertips brushed his sleeve. He started, head jerking upright and eyes flying open. His attention snapped to me.

"Hey," I croaked. "Water?"

Sitting up, he grabbed the cup off the table and passed it over. I drained it, sighed in relief, and passed it back to him. He set the cup aside and turned back to me, his gaze roving worriedly across my face.

"Am I allowed to have visitors for more than five minutes now?" I asked. "What day is it?"

"Friday."

I wrinkled my nose. "Very funny."

His eyebrows shot up. "I'm serious. For real serious. It's Friday."

"But I was attacked on Tuesday."

He nodded. "You've been asleep. Healing always takes a lot out of a person."

"But… over three days?"

"You were stabbed in the chest." He brushed a scraggily curl off my face. "I thought we might lose you."

"Pff. One little stab wound can't keep me down."

He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "There was nothing little about that dagger, according to Justin."

"Where is he?"

"Work. Same with Aaron and Kai, but they'll be back tonight to check on you."

It took a bit of effort, but I sat up. "Any new developments?"

He studied me for a moment, somber and serious. "Aaron reported that Sin has been texting your brother."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"We're not sure when they exchanged numbers. They must've run into each other while visiting you."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, but I meant real developments, not gossip."

His grin flashed before his expression turned thoughtful. "Preparations at the guild are ongoing. Everyone who can help has been making artifacts and collecting weapons and gear, and Aaron's been working the combat mythics hard."

"What about Darius? Have the other guilds decided what to do about the Court yet?"

"MagiPol finally launched their investigation, but the other combat guilds haven't done anything yet. With the temple in the cemetery destroyed, we have no hard evidence. Darius is trying to find the High Court so we have something to back up our claims."

"You mean not everyone believes him?"

"They think he's jumping to conclusions, either about the cult's existence or about how bad it is. No one wants to believe there are demon mages in the city." He shook his head. "He's doing everything he can. Once my little problem is taken care of, he won't have to tread so carefully."

His little problem. He said it so nonchalantly, as though he were getting a filling at the dentist.

"The museum basement is working well," he added. "We debated whether it was safe to use, but based on where you were attacked, Justin thinks the cultist staked out his cruiser instead of following you two to the museum. We haven't found any signs of cultists in the area, and Robin and Amalia have been working on the ritual circle at night."

A competing flux of dread and hope made my gut squirm. The Death tarot card danced in my mind's eye, only to be replaced by the Hanged Man dangling from one ankle with a lifeless expression of peace on his face.

Before my emotions could get away from me, I flung the blankets off. "All right. I'm taking a shower."

"You're supposed to rest."

"It's been days, Ezra." I slid my legs off the bed and pressed my bare feet to the cold tile floor. Aside from a few twinges in my torso, I felt nothing but overall stiffness and fatigue. "I need to be clean."

He huffed. "Then wait a moment while I start a bath for you. You can't fall down and crack your skull in a bath."

He disappeared into the attached bathroom, and the sound of water splashing into a tub trickled through the open door. After a minute, he came back out—just in time to rush over as I tottered across the room.

"I'm fine," I claimed, waving him off. "Just a bit weak in the knees, that's all."

He wrapped his arm around my waist anyway, so I allowed myself to lean into his sturdy warmth. He guided me into the bathroom, made sure I was steady, then stepped outside and closed the door. I used the toilet, washed my hands, then hobbled over to the tub to check the temperature. Too eager to wait for it to finish filling, I stripped off my medical gown and climbed in.

Sinking into the steaming water, I reclined against the slanted back of the tub. Wonderful. Amazing. The best feeling.

One I'd come so close to never experiencing again.

My fingers crept to my ribcage, and I found a tender spot where the dagger had pushed through my skin and into my organs. I prodded around a bit more, shocked as always by the miracle that was Arcana healing; you'd never know I'd had a hole punched through my chest. Remembering the feel of the blade, I hastily focused on pouring shampoo onto my palm and lathering it into my hair.

I slowly worked through a simple shampoo and soap process, but with each movement, I could feel exhaustion building in my limbs. I'd been healed before and bounced right back—but I hadn't been terribly injured those times. The guys, however, had suffered varying degrees of traumatic injuries, and I understood now why they'd needed days or sometimes a full week in a healer's care before returning to their usual routine.

Heaving out of the water, I stepped onto the soft bathmat, sloppily wrapped a towel around myself, and tried to decide whether my weak legs would make it all the way back to the bed.

"Ezra?" I called hesitantly.

He was through the door in an instant. "Should I get Elisabetta?"

"No, no." I forced a laugh. "I'm just pathetically tired."

"Pathetically?"

"Yeah, I mean, you'd think I could walk across a room—"

He slid his arm around my waist and tugged me closer. Pressing his hand to my cheek, he tilted my face up. "Tori, it's okay."

I blinked in confusion.

"You were attacked. You were hurt. You almost died. Don't pretend that didn't happen."

"I'm not—"

He leaned down, bringing our faces closer. "You don't have to be strong right now."

My mouth opened and closed, and that storm of emotions I'd been stuffing deep down since waking up post-stabbing stirred insistently. "N-no, I don't—"

"Do you remember what you told me when I hid my insomnia? You said, ‘Don't try to be so strong all by yourself.'"

My breath caught in my throat—and my eyes stung.

He tucked me against his chest, and the warmth of his encircling arms spoke for him: I'm here.

The soft but unyielding resolution in his eyes spoke too. I'll be strong.

His steady heartbeat under my hand where it rested on his chest murmured, I'll protect you.

My mouth trembled. Tears spilled over, running down my cheeks.

He held me close, arms tight, one hand tangling in my wet hair. I clutched his shirt as emotions welled up inside me—fear and dread and weakness and vulnerability. So much vulnerability. I hated that feeling. Hated feeling like I was a victim. Hated feeling so defenseless.

That mythic had come at me from nowhere. I'd been happy. Laughing. Delighted that Justin wanted to visit my guild.

And then I'd been dying. The cult wanted me dead, and they'd almost succeeded. They'd keep trying until they accomplished their goal, and I would never know where the next attempt would come from.

I buried my face in Ezra's chest, shaking with sobs. I'd almost died. Almost died. So close to the end. To nothingness. To no longer being a person, only a memory in the hearts of those left behind.

I dragged my head up. Ezra gazed down at me as my hand slid up his chest, along his neck, and curled into his hair.

Before I could pull his head down, he was kissing me.

I clamped my mouth against his, kissing him back with equal ferocity. All my fear and helplessness fled as fire ignited in my blood. My arms were around his neck, both hands fisted in his hair. His arms held me against him, fierce but gentle.

Tilting my head, I opened my mouth for him and his tongue found mine. Fatigue forgotten, I pressed into him. My flimsy towel caught between us, the fluffy cotton rubbing against my bare skin as it slid down. His breath rushing out, he grabbed the back of the towel, the muscles in his arms bunching as he held it in place.

"Tori," he rasped. "You should be in bed."

"Only if you get in with me."

He stifled a groan. I arched into him, cold air finding my skin as one edge of my towel dropped, exposing my naked side.

Catching the towel's end, he swept it back around me—then scooped me off my feet. He strode out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The sight of medical equipment tucked in the corner only slightly cooled my libido.

He set me on the bed, then flipped the blankets over me and my askew towel. Marching back into the bathroom, he returned with another towel and dropped it over my wet hair.

"Dry off," he told me. "Then get some sleep."

I pushed the towel up so I could see him. "I'm not tired."

"You looked ready to fall over a moment ago."

"Well, now I'm horizontal, so it's all good."

He choked on a laugh.

Pushing the towel off my head, I reached for him. He leaned down and our mouths met again. Soft, gentle, deep. A fire stoked by more than lust.

Slow, delicious heat unfurled in my center. My fingers curled around his wrist. Without breaking our kiss, I drew his hand downward. His warm fingers slid over my neck, trailing through droplets of cold water from the bath. Along my shoulder, tracing my collarbone.

I guided his hand farther down. Under the blanket. Pushing the towel aside.

He crushed his mouth against mine, breath rushing through his nose. I arched up into his palm—then his other hand was under the covers too. Sliding over my bare skin, tracing my curves. The bed dipped as he put his knee on the mattress.

I got my fingers back into his hair, holding his mouth to mine, not letting him pull away even for an instant. I would allow my own hands to wander later. Right now, I wanted him touching me. I wanted his hands on my body, exploring and teasing. Heat built in me, and the room spun as I sucked in air.

Uh, actually… the room was really spinning.

He pulled back, took one look at me, and muttered a curse under his breath. "I knew you should be sleeping."

I caught his wrists as he withdrew his hands. "Nuh-uh. I'm good. Just needed a breather."

"Nice try." He tugged his arms free, then pulled the blanket up to my chin. "I should've been on my guard against your seductress ways."

"Excuse me?"

"Luring me into your hospital bed." He shook his head, somber deadpan in full force. "Just think how I'd feel if you passed out while I was kissing you."

"To be frank, Ezra…" I arched an eyebrow. "I was luring you in for a lot more than mere kissing."

"Duplicitous," he intoned.

I laughed, and his grin flashed, its appearance stealing the air from my lungs. His smile was already sexy enough, but add in the faint flush in his cheeks and the way his gaze kept sliding down toward my blanket-covered chest as though he couldn't stop himself, and hot damn.

I was ready to drag him into the bed by force.

Puffing out a breath, I reminded myself that there was a slight chance I might actually pass out, and I didn't want to miss the moment when I finally got the aeromage out of his clothes and into my bed. I'd just have to be patient for a short while longer.

Considering Robin and Amalia had already begun preparing the ritual that would either save him or destroy him, I wouldn't have long to wait.