Chapter Forty-Six Samuel

Chapter Forty-Six

Samuel

S amuel didn't know what time it was. Hells, he didn't know what day it was. All he knew was that the sun was shining brightly in his eyes and his entire body hurt. It was an ache deep in his bones, unlike anything he had ever known, and he groaned.

"Get Shan," someone said sharply—Anton?—and then he felt the bed sink under the sudden weight. Anton leaned over him, blocking the brightness of the sun and coming into focus. "Hey, Samuel."

"When is it?" he asked, the question mostly nonsensical, but Anton nodded all the same.

"You've been out for a week," Anton said. "And it's mid-afternoon. You've just missed lunch."

Samuel licked his lips, realizing that his mouth was terribly dry. A week? Pushing himself up on his elbows, he nearly collapsed under his own weakness, but Anton caught him, rearranging the pillows with one hand so that he could settle into a sitting position.

"What happened?" he rasped out, and Anton looked away.

"We should probably let Shan answer that," he said, moving away to fetch some water. "You gave us all quite a scare. But she'll be here shortly; we've been taking shifts looking after you."

He pressed the glass to Samuel's lips, and he gratefully sipped at the cool liquid. Anton held the glass firmly, only giving him tiny sips, and Samuel chased every drop. "Easy now," Anton chided. "You've been on a diet of just broth. Don't rush yourself."

"I didn't realize you were a nurse," Samuel muttered, and Anton laughed.

"I have many hidden depths, you know," he said, placing the glass to the side. "But, no, we just hired one. And his instructions were very strict. Oh, there she is."

Samuel glanced up to see Shan standing in the doorway, relief on her face as she took him in. He felt so terribly exposed, lying in bed with nothing more than a nightshirt while she stood there in one of her lovely day dresses, her hair neatly pulled back in a braid, fresh-faced and gorgeous.

He ran his hand across his jaw, wincing at the feel of a scruffy beard against his fingers. Hells, he must look a mess.

But Shan didn't say anything, only crossed the room, shoving her brother aside so that she could take his place on the bed. "You're awake."

"I am," he said, dumbly, as she ran her hand over his face, turning him this way and that, as if afraid that he was some kind of illusion. "I hear it's been a few days."

"You had us worried," she admitted, sitting back and placing her hands demurely in her lap. The door softly closed behind her, and he looked up to see that Anton had left them alone. Behind a closed door with no chaperone. Well, he supposed that he had been an invalid in her guest room for nearly a week, and propriety was long gone between them anyway.

"What happened, Shan?"

"What do you remember?" she countered, looking up at him with a question in her eyes.

He leaned his head back against the pillows. It was all a blur. Isaac. The betrayal. Pain like nothing he had never known.

Fire.

Power.

Shan.

An overwhelming sense of emotion that felt too raw to be real.

"It's… not all clear," he admitted, flexing his hands to study the new scars that ran across his skin. A gift from Isaac, burned into his very flesh. "But I'm different now, I know that."

"You're a Blood Worker," Shan said, quietly. "You're just what you were always supposed to be, if the power in your blood hadn't been stifling it."

He shuddered, the memory rising in him. His power had always been addicting, but what he had done, what he had accessed, was beyond everything he ever dreamed of. It had been a madness. "What did I—" he choked on the words. "Did I kill him?"

"Isaac lives," Shan said gently, squeezing his hand. "The King has him imprisoned, for now."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I was so scared." Shan was looking at him with something like awe, and he wanted to hide from it. "Please don't look at me like that."

"You drew the power into yourself, Samuel," she said. "The blood that Isaac had spilled, the blood he used to light the flames. You called it into yourself, harnessed it to your will. Twisted his magic away from him. Blood and steel, you're so strong."

"Shan," he whispered, but she just moved closer.

"Most people don't realize how easy Blood Working really is. It's as natural as breathing, and once you taste the power it turns into something instinctual. But it nearly destroyed you." She brushed her hand against his cheek, barely a touch. "I've never seen anyone take to Blood Working like you did, but, even so, you weren't ready. You weren't trained. It nearly ate you alive."

"You saved me," he whispered, remembering. It had been her connection, that bridge between them, that had pulled him back to his humanity.

"Maybe we should just accept that we saved each other?" Shan smiled at him, and he swore he could feel a lingering echo of her relief.

But that was madness. The bridge had clearly shattered when he released the fire.

"Yes, we did." He leaned into her touch. "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"About everything."

"No," she said. "We were both fooled by Isaac. By Alessi. They wanted to take down the King, and I cannot fault them for that even if I cannot abide their methods." She stared at the wall, her eyes unfocused and sad. "Damn it all, Isaac. I should have reached out to him sooner. Perhaps if I had—"

"It's not your fault," Samuel said, though he wasn't sure he believed it. Secrets and lies and schemes had brought them to this point, and they played a dangerous game.

"We could have been allies," she said. "We should have been allies. But now we're enemies."

"He still lives, Shan," he said, though he remembered the way Isaac had explained his power. His methods.

"Yes," Shan whispered, "but he is in the grasp of the King. And even if he wasn't, I don't know if we could trust him."

He inclined his head. "We still have each other, at least."

She looked at him in surprise. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Well. I am trapped in your bed, aren't I?" Her lips quirked into an amused smile, and he groaned. "Not like that, Shan."

"Of course not," she said, slyly. "I'd never take advantage of an ill man."

"Thank goodness you have some morals after all," he grumbled, and she threw back her head and laughed. "What now?"

"The King hasn't been back here since the day of… well, everything. But don't worry, he is pleased with us." Shan ran her thumb across the scars on the back of his hand. "He tried to heal you, but there wasn't anything he could do. You just needed time. I suppose I should send him a message. He'll probably want to see us."

"Can I get a bath and a shave first?"

Shan studied him. "I don't know, the beard makes you look more mature."

"It itches," he replied.

"Do as you like," she said with a grin. "Besides, you kind of smell."

"You wound me, dear lady," Samuel said, placing his hand over his heart, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Focus on getting your strength back and let me worry about the future." She stood, smoothing her skirts. "I'll call for a bath to be drawn, and I'll see if the cook can make you some soup." She held up a finger as he started to protest. "Easy food first, Samuel."

Frowning, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine."

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his forehead, gentle and kind. He pushed himself up on his elbows, trying to chase her, but she grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him fast.

"Samuel, wait," she said, as he tried to ignore the way she affected him so. "You're still recovering, darling." Brushing the hair from his face, she added, "We have all the time in the world."

"You're right," he admitted, though he did not want to. They had already wasted so much time, but now that his power was gone, he could at least have this.

Isaac was lost to them, perhaps forever, but he could still have her.

"Hey, Shan," he called, catching her with her hand on the doorknob. "Thanks."

She glanced back, her brow furrowed. "You don't have to thank me, Samuel. I take care of my own."

With that, she was gone, leaving him with a feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the sun on his face.