Repairer of the Breach (Stones of Fire Book 4) by Sarah Ashwood (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

rose, a tiny, effervescent cloud. I held my breath, hoping, praying, I was doing the right thing and hadn’t been hoodwinked into pouring acid or poison onto him. There was a split-second where the water mixed with the ichor, bubbling like hydrogen peroxide on a scrape. Then the bubbles faded, the color of the Talos’ blood evaporated, the water seeped into the wound, and the wound closed in on itself, the edges of bronze flesh sealing themselves back together.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

The words escaped in a sigh of relief.

Still on my knees, I rotated to slide a palm under the Talos’ bronze head, lifting it off the sand.

“Carter,” I said, bending over him, “if you can hear me, I’m going to give you this water. I think it’ll help you. Please try to drink it. Please try to wake up.”

Again, I had no idea if he could hear me or not. However, if any part of his mind could be reached, I was praying he would accept the water and not fight it, since it was likely his final chance. I brought the vial to his lips and poured several drops onto his closed bronze mouth. Waited. Nothing at first. I tried a little more. He remained immobile, motionless, unresponsive. My nerves fired, tension curdling in my stomach. What if I was wrong? What if this didn’t do anything? What if it had healed the wound but couldn’t wake him up? What if—

His mouth parted a little. It wasn’t much, but my heart leapt with hope. Carefully, I urged several more drops from the vial into his mouth. His lips closed as he swallowed. Parted. I gave him another sip. He swallowed that too. Behind my glasses, tears flooded my eyes as he took several more sips, each one with more force. His bronze throat moved as he swallowed. His limbs twitched. He shifted restlessly. Then his hand reached up, cold and hard but animate, and clasped my wrist, like he was hanging onto me for comfort or support or dear life.

“Carter, I’m here,” I said, encouraging him. “I’m here. Come back to me. Please.”

The hand clasping my wrist squeezed in response. A half-broken sob escaped. He was okay! He was going to return. And he did. Sip by sip he grew stronger until he was able to move his legs and both of his arms. Finally, he sat up, his grip on me never releasing, like he didn’t want to let go. He turned his head, looking right into my face.

“Carter…” Overcome, I sat the vial down and threw my arms around his neck, leaning into him. “You’re back. You’re alive. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Alive, but not human yet. That came a moment later. In my excitement I’d acted, embracing the statue, but as I leaned into him I felt cold, hard bronze melt away, replaced with flesh. His human side reemerged, replacing the Talos, and I fell against him, fighting tears of abject relief. He let go of my wrist and circled my back with one arm, clasping my head with his other palm, pressing my face into his shoulder.

“Ellie.”

His voice was rough from disuse, weak, but it was him. It was him. Not the shapeshifter, not the Talos. Him.

“Carter,” I whispered, reaching up to remove my glasses so I could press into him harder, hug him tighter. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment, except to tighten his hold. I could tell by the way he hugged me, clung to me, that he was thinking the same thing. Was quietly expressing his gratitude that we were both alive and uninjured.

Finally, I made myself draw back so I could see his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” I questioned worriedly. I couldn’t keep from reaching up to touch the lines of his face, reassuring myself that he truly was himself and unscathed.

“Like I’ve been to hell and back,” he answered roughly. “Which reminds me—where are we?”

“Well, not there,” I chuckled weakly. “At least I don’t think that’s where we are. It’s not hot enough.”

He smiled, but it was grim. “You wouldn’t be there anyway, Ms. Goody Two Shoes. Me, yes. You, no.”

“Don’t say that,” I reprimanded. “Besides, we really can’t be there anyway. I—I think I may’ve seen an angel.”

His dark eyebrows rose. “A what?”

“An angel,” I repeated, my voice strengthening with the force of my conviction.

“There’s no such thing,” he scoffed.

Now it was my turn to be incredulous. “You shapeshift into a living bronze statue. Your blood unlocked the magic of some ancient stones and brought us both through some magic portal into another world, and you want to claim angels don’t exist?”

It took him a minute, but he finally relented. “Fine.” He rolled his eyes a little. “I’ll give you that one. But it still doesn’t seem likely. What makes you think you saw an angel and not some sort of shapeshifter?”

“Obviously I can’t know for sure,” I admitted, “but…”

With that, I proceeded to run down the course of events from the time I woke up on the beach until his awakening. He listened attentively, no longer quite embracing me, but still sitting close enough on the sand that our bodies touched. Speaking of touching, I couldn’t quit touching him, tracing my palm up and down his upper arm, reassuring myself that he truly was okay and promising him nonverbally that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“So I brought all that back with me,” I concluded. “The sword. The water from the fountain—”

“The shirt for me?”

“Over there.” I nodded towards where I’d laid it. When I did, I noticed my little feathered friend was gone. I guess he figured I didn’t need him anymore. It might have been nice to present him to Carter as a backup to my story. Oh well…

“Are you getting cold?” I asked, letting it go.

He hadn’t complained, but goosebumps were popping up all over his flesh. The breeze hadn’t relented. I guessed he must be chilled. Which was something I wasn’t.