“Pax,” I squeal.
Not again. How many shirts do these guys want to tear into pieces? Sleeveless is not a fashion statement.
The damage isn't limited to my arms, which he seems to realize because he grips my collar and prepares to tear the whole chuckin’ shirt in half.
Now is not the time for Pax to see me naked. There’s still that chance that my scars will trigger him into a rage – he’s already too close. Me just saying the word ‘slave’ ended in him putting his claws through my arms. It’s not worth the risk, and there are more important things going on.
I pull away from him and practically throw myself at Killian – grateful that the big guy is less than a step away. Turning, I press my back into Killian’s chest.
Killian grumbles, but he wraps a knowing arm around me, ignoring the blood running in long dribbles down my arms he holds me tight.
“You probably should get some clothes on, brother,” Seth points out, his tone laced with a nervousness he rarely shows.
Thane rushes to the surface, and the wolf is staring at Killian, teeth bared as molten cracks form over Pax’s naked body.
He’s going to fight his brother.
First, Seth had his weapon out, now Thane wants to draw blood.
All I want to do is fix things, make things right with my guys – before it’s too late.
Thane and Pax, or Pax and Thane, step in close, and I press my hands to their chest trying to still their racing hearts. “Pax, Thane, I’m yours too. I’m mine – but I’m yours too.”
Thane meets my gaze – definitely Thane because his eyes are glowing gold, and his teeth are sharp and deadly.
“Put that wolf to bed,” Killian orders.
My mate looks down at the blood on his fingers, drawing in deep breaths.
“I need to see she’s okay,” he says, more man than wolf.
Killian stands firm. “She’s fine. I'll fix it.”
Pax brushes his fingers along my jaw, unable to hide the tremor in his touch.
“You don’t deserve this,” he says softly.
“Damn right, I don’t,” I blurt. “You guys are too good for me.”
His brow creases, and a huff-almost-laugh escapes.
Then he turns and walks off into the house.
Killian steps back, his hands running down the backs of my arms. I let out a little hiss and try not to squirm.
“Salt,” Killian mutters.
“Why salt?” I ask, but before anyone bothers answering, Roarke’s grabbed a jar from beside the fire and is handing it to him.
There’s an arrangement of discarded stuff beside the fire, plates, serving and carving tools, empty wine bottles, salt and seasonings. Well, not the salt, because the salt’s now in Killian’s hands.
“Damned wolf,” Killian grunts. “You never know where his claws have been.”
“What’s the salt for?” I press, then scream – because the salt is for me.
Specifically my arms and the pattern of punctures.
When I draw in a breath, it’s heavy with a kind of satisfaction. The salt feels good, fizzling and stinging and reminding me I’m alive. It doesn’t surprise me this time, but I’m not sure getting used to this kind of thing is a good idea. Or maybe it’s the best idea.
“Why is she enjoying this?” Roarke asks, passing Killian a wine bottle filled with water.
Killian dumps it down my arms.
“That’s cold,” I whisper, not really an important observation but it’s out there now.
“Mortals feel the cold more, don’t they?” Seth asks.
He grips the hem of his shirt and tears two long strips from it, passing them to Killian one at a time.
“It’s so nice,” I say, drawing out the ‘o’ in ‘so’ to a ridiculous length.
“The water temperature shouldn’t be colder unless she was using some of our immunity to temperature variations this whole time,” Roarke muses, giving Killian another bottle. “But I don’t understand why she’s enjoying these things.”
“Remember how I base jumped from the southern tower?” Seth says.
Roarke groans. “I should have made the connection earlier. Your actions were new, but your level of crazy didn’t go up.”
“Thank you,” Seth says, accepting the compliment.
Killian ties a sharp knot in the bandage, job done.
“I broke eight bones and found it funny,” Seth says.
“Same level of crazy,” Roarke mutters.
I’ve given up on the argument, and instead notice the giant pine beyond the cottage.
“Is the tree really the solution?” I ask, nodding to the parts of the thing sticking up over the cottage. But I don’t give any of them time to answer before adding, “What else is down the path?”
“Nothing,” Seth shrugs. “Just a wall of stone with the tree on top of it.”
“Eydis was running that way when they killed her, so maybe there’s a trap door or secret tunnel.”
Seth’s shaking his head. “Between all of the Sabers we’ve had here – the StrengthSeed has tried to smash through it. The ShimmerSeed has tried to appear inside it. The StoneSeed has tried to work it. It’s just granite – very old, very stubborn granite.”
“When was there a StrengthSeed, ShimmerSeed, and StoneSeed here?”
“Eliijah’s team,” Seth says, but Pax has wandered out of the house, fully dressed in his usual linen and cotton, and I lose focus on the conversation.
Instinctively moving towards him.
One step.
Then wall.
“Well, my last wish is to walk down that damn path,” I say.
Pax looks at me, his golden eyes gentle and no sign of Thane, then he nods.
“Okay?” I ask, the word full of uncertainty because this feels way too easy.
“Okay. If we can’t use magic, we have to use the saws and axes. We can work faster in teams. Alternate between sawing and resting. The source of the Spring has to be in the center of that trunk.”
“How does that even work?”
“The path leads to the cliff and the tree. I think a tap, or small bowl, may exist hidden at the end of the path. Something Eydis used a ward to keep secret with a key or potion to get access to. I haven’t found a key, and I have looked everywhere. Even if the tap is there, we can’t
