Her heart thudded.
Suck it up, she ordered herself. Get it over with.
Straightening her shoulders, she marched toward the steps.
That noise again, like a prowling cat or a raccoon testing the garbage cans or.
She caught her breath. Or like an escaped patient, skulking in the bushes.
Goose bumps rose along her arms. She stood frozen, her mind racing, her breath whooshing in and out of her lungs.
He couldn’t be.
Here?
Maybe. Why not? How far could he get, with a skul fracture and the heth around his throat?
She thrust her hand into her skirt pocket, wrapping her fingers around the knife — his knife, Justin’s — and was instantly electrified as if she’d grabbed a live plug. Her nerves sizzled.
Like a bug flying into a bug zapper.
She strained her senses.
There? Almost. Almost. There.
A whisper of warmth, male, animal, alive. A swirl of wild energy, around the corner, behind the house. Intangible.
Unmistakable.
Justin was here, somewhere nearby.
Clutching the knife like a divining rod, she plunged into the darkness at the side of the house, stepping over beds of hostas and lilies of the val ey, creeping under the black and staring windows. It was like her Seeking — was it only this morning? — or the game she’d played as a child. Warm.
Cold. Warmer. Hot.
She shivered. A dangerous game, with high stakes and an unpredictable playmate.
Warm, warmer.
A thick oak raised its arms over the backyard, obscuring the star-strewn sky. She stepped into the mottled light, her gaze scanning the dappled ground, the silvered plants, the velvet shadows. Against the foundation, the door to the storm cel ar yawned open, a gaping black hole.
HOT.
The knife burned in her pocket. The air left her lungs.
There. Sprawled across the stone threshold, one arm reaching for the wooden door as if to shut it behind him.
His hair was bleached, his skin pale in the moonlight. The bandage on his forehead was dark with blood.
Justin lifted his head and met her gaze, his eyes nearly black in the shadows, burning with intensity. “Help. me.”
She inhaled through her teeth. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Like a fox, bloodied and desperate, run to earth under the farmer’s house.
Incredibly, he smiled. Or was that a distortion of the moonlight? “No,” he whispered agreement.
She took a cautious step forward, keeping her ankles out of reach. “You need to go back to the infirmary.”
“Can’t. breathe.”
“It’s the heth.”
He stared at her dumbly.
“Cutting off your air.” He must be very strong — or stubborn
— to have overcome both Zayin’s binding and Miriam’s sleep spel.
It was clear, however, that he’d reached the end of his rope.
Literal y. His breath wheezed alarmingly. His head sank back to the ground. His body was cut in two by the shadow of the cel ar, his legs disappearing down the stairs.
He turned his face to watch her, eyes open, unmoving, like a wounded animal.
She bit her lip. There was no way she could undo the Master Guardian’s heth. She didn’t have the power. Or the nerve.
But she couldn’t stand idly by and watch him choke. Not if she could help him.
“Here.” She knelt in the long grass beside his head, feeling his thin breath warm and moist against her bare knee.
Cautiously, she touched his throat, tested the leather thong.
It didn’t feel tight. The bead, black and smooth as onyx, was almost invisible in the dark. She gave an experimental tug, and her fingers stung as if she’d grabbed a thistle in the garden. Ouch. She jerked her hand away.
She drew a slow breath. Now what?
In her mind, she could hear Simon’s calm, lecturing voice as he addressed the fundamental powers class.
“Magic is a matter of discernment, will, and grace. Before you attempt to use your gift, you must understand what should be; what can be; what must be.”
What should be.
She was already on her knees. Ignoring the bead, she gripped the cord between two fingers and her thumb.
Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and focused on the knot.
Imagined it loosening, softening, sliding.
She felt a faint vibration in her fingertips, a lurch in her stomach. Opening her eyes, she peered hopeful y at Justin.
His widened gaze met hers. His mouth opened soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air. Like a man dying.
Oh, skies. She had to do something.
What can be.
Air, she thought frantical y. That was her element, wasn’t it?
If she couldn’t break the heth’s power, she would at least give him air.
She flung herself on him, rol ed him to his back. With one hand, she tilted his head, pinched his nose. The other she slapped to his chest. His throat arched. His mouth gaped.
Drawing a deep breath, she leaned forward and opened her mouth over his.
His lips were warm, moist, firm. She blew her breath into him, poured herself into him. The world spun.
In you. Me, in you. My breath, my life, in you.
She was the air fil ing his mouth, dilating his throat, swel ing his lungs. He tasted like salt and sweat and freedom, dark, rich, forbidden flavors.
What must be.
Inside her, something fluttered and erupted, a thousand beating wings fighting the sky. Roaring fil ed her head, a rush like wind or the sea. Power thrummed and thundered along her veins, wel ed and spil ed from her eyes, her mouth, her hands. It lifted her up, she was rising, fal ing, flying.
No, that was his chest, she realized, dazed.
Justin’s chest, rising, his lungs expanding with air.
His arms closed around her. She gasped and released him. They both shuddered.
She pushed herself up, one hand on his hard, lean torso, one hand on the cold ground. Dizzy, she looked down at him. “Are you al right?”
His eyes met hers, black as night with a thin edge of gold like the sickle moon. “What. was that?”
She rocked back on her heels, pressing her lips together, holding the taste of him inside. What was she doing? What had she done?
“First aid,” she said.
Wicked laughter lit his eyes.
It was more than first aid, and they both knew it.
More than a kiss. Did he realize?
She was no magic handler. Al nephilim were taught what they were and what they once could do. Most learned to shield and make a little light, to bend air and set wards. But most gifts remained latent. This went beyond anything Lara had done — or felt — before.
She rubbed her arms, holding herself together. “We have to get you back.”
The animation drained from his face. He was stil very pale, she noted with a thrum of anxiety. “Can’t.”
She felt another flutter. Panic, this time. “I can’t hide an attempted escape. But if I return you — if you return of your own volition — the governors wil be more lenient on us both.”
“Can’t. ” Another slow, rasping breath. “Walk.”
“Oh.”
His eyes drifted shut again as if the effort of speaking had exhausted his strength. His lashes looked very long and dark against the sharp white angles of his face.
Her angel’s breath had revived him. But for how long?
Lara hugged her elbows as she considered her options.