There.
Reagan still lay where she’d fallen.
I couldn’t tell if she was breathing and my heart twisted.
I was afraid to check. If she was dead, I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t . . .
With a heavy tread, my wings scraping the ground behind me, I approached. Carefully knelt beside her. After inhaling a shaky breath, I touched her neck. Thump. Thump-thump.
Her pulse fluttered under my fingers and a rush of sweet relief coursed through my veins. I loosed a strangled exhale. Not caring if the other Fae saw, not caring what they thought, I gathered her into my arms and rose, cradling her to me as if she were fragile glass.
Holden said something about hiding my wings, but all I could manage in return was a quick warning for them to get out of here. Then I was walking, not once taking my eyes off Reagan’s face. A face marred with cuts and bruises.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered down at her, knowing she couldn’t hear me yet needing to reassure her anyway. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”
The entire way back to my apartment, I stared at the delicate vein in her neck that continued pumping, letting me know she was still alive. I knew, at some point, I was going to crash. The emotions flooding my body were too intense, too raw and real, and I could barely contain them. But I held them in, suppressed them so I could get her to safety.
I saved her. I saved her. I saved her.
My inner demon, normally so cynical, remained silent.
As I kicked open my apartment door, I lost track of her pulse. Panic flooded me. But then she twitched, eliciting a small moan, and I could breathe again. Ever so carefully, I placed her on my bed, grimacing when her right arm and left leg wouldn’t lay straight. Definitely broken.
She didn’t utter a sound as I climbed onto the mattress next to her and gently laid my palm over her heart tattoo, beginning the healing process. I didn’t know how much energy I still possessed after that fight, but I’d use up every single drop of magic on her. Long, agonizing minutes later, her limbs finally straightened, snapping back into place.
My magic should have been sapped at that point, but more streamed from my veins and into hers. Halfway through, as I was starting in on the cuts and bruises, she groaned. I froze, hand still splayed over her heart. Her lashes fluttered and, as her eyes cracked open, I did nothing but stare.
She blinked at me, a line forming between her brows. And, even when her gaze ran down my bare shoulder to the hand that rested over her heart, I didn’t move.
“Tarik?” Her voice was weak, tired. Her gaze flicked to where my wings were spread out behind me. “Oh. They’re beautiful.”
A million emotions jolted through me at that word. I sawed in a breath, the action tightening my chest. “You almost died. I suppose anything would look beautiful right about now.”
“I did?” Confusion pinched her expression. “Everything’s a touch foggy. But truly, you should release them more. You remind me of an angel. A dark angel, maybe . . . but I mean it. They’re beautiful.”
I gaped, completely dumbstruck. My heart couldn’t take much more of this. And did she forget Fae weren’t permitted to expose their wings? Maybe she’d suffered a concussion. I allowed my magic to thread toward her brain, double-checking for damage, but she was fine. A swallow lodged in my throat. “Uh . . .” I raised two trembling fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”
She chuckled softly. “Seven. You should get that checked.”
I cracked a smile, relieved beyond measure that she was joking with me. Maybe she didn’t hate me then. Or maybe she was simply grateful to be alive, and as soon as she was better, she’d remember all the vile things I’d said and done to her. I slid my hand off her chest and reached for my blanket, covering her naked form. I didn’t need her making jokes about that next.
Now that she was awake and becoming more aware, her gaze strayed to my apartment, taking in the water stains, peeling plaster, and overall lack of decor. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but a splotch of heat crept up my neck anyway. Careful not to jostle her body, I rose from the bed, angling my wings so they were less visible to her probing eyes. “You should, uh, get some sleep. You won’t be able to patrol tonight, not with the condition you’re in.”
“Tarik—” Reagan adjusted herself so she could meet my eyes more directly. “I—You’re right, you know. About Mordecai. And I . . . You’re right. But please. Please, don’t go to work in the morning. There are things I need to tell you, things you need to know. Hear me out before you go back again.”
Gaia, her admission was a knife to my chest. She was still trying to help. Still trying to make amends. After everything. I could see she was struggling to stay awake—her eyes held a dull sheen. She needed rest. This conversation could wait. I bent down and, when she didn’t flinch, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I need to tell you things, too. Many things. But they’ll keep until tomorrow. I almost watched you die tonight and—”
I couldn’t stand under that gaze any longer. Retreating into the room’s shadows, I flexed my shoulders, willing my wings to retract. The agony of their retreat stole my breath and I inhaled several times before heading to the window. “Get some sleep, Reagan. I’ll be on the roof. No one will disturb you tonight.” With that, I slid the pane up and ducked through, not waiting for her reply.
The weight of her stare had
