Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)

Gabriel is kissing me. Willingly. Passionately.

I meld against him, forgetting the people, the battle, the fears. All those things disappear like dew in the early morning sunlight. The only things left are the pressure of his mouth against mine, the pulse throbbing in my ears. My body touching his, his warmth soaking through my surcoat.

No, my blood soaking through my clothes. I stiffen as reality returns, and the throbbing returns with it.

Gabriel pulls away first and drops his stare to my torn surcoat. “You’re injured.”

I clutch the material against my side and offer a tight smile. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

With a gentleness he didn’t display while fighting, he takes my hand and leads us toward a fat olive tree. Its wide trunk provides protection as he yanks at the ribbons binding my surcoat. I wince as he eases the material over my head. Pain rips through my side as he moves my arm enough to observe the laceration through my ripped chemise.

“It looks worse than it is.”

“Oh,” I say through the throbbing.

“You cannot heal yourself, can you?” he asks.

“No.” I lick my dry lips. “No healer can. At least, not a Kyanite healer.”

“Here.” He grabs the hem of his surcoat, rips the material, and ties it around my body. “This will stop the flow of blood.”

I rest my forehead against his chest, needing this moment, needing him. After earlier, I require calm, peace, life.

“Sol,” he says after a moment. “I told you to stay hidden.”

“I know.”

He guides me to a grassy knoll at the foot of the olive tree. “I need to tend to my men. Then, I’ll return to you, and care for your wound.”

An empty sensation falls over me as he rises and walks away, disappearing into the sea of soldiers. They all wear the same surcoats. The same hissing serpent.

They’re all Bloodstone.

Yet, I cared if they lived or died earlier. I cared if Astarobane burned to the ground. Mostly, because I cared about the life I created here with Gabriel.

I didn’t want to lose that illusion of a different life, a different path—one I could have walked if revenge didn’t burn a flame inside me.

Now, the illusion is all gone.

Most of the cottages are on fire. The streets are lined with bodies. The sky is thick with smoke.

It’s all gone, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to draw that picture again. To make it real. Vivid. Worth living.

Kassandra’s death was the first sign that I could never stay here.

This is the last.

I sit in the tent Gabriel had raised for us earlier. Gabriel kneels in front of me. Concentration lines deepen across his brow as he holds a cloth against the cut. Fire explodes through my side as I keep perfectly still. If I thrash or stiffen, it will only make the pain worse.

After several moments, he pulls the material back. “It’s deep, but not too long. You’re lucky.”

“Lucky?” I ask when the throbbing subsides enough to think. “Lucky would have meant not getting injured.”

Gabriel sinks back against his heels. “You are fortunate the injury isn’t worse.”

As he stitches my wound, I try to think of anything other than the searing pain. It refuses to wane or to fade. So, I concentrate on my breathing, and I count the amount of times the torch shudders over the tent. Five hundred and fifty-seven. Or was it five hundred and fifty-eight?

After he finishes, he stands and moves to the washing stand. He cleans his hands, dries them, then turns to where I sit.

“I saw you with Addie.”

I shiver and readjust my position, slumping deeper against the sofa Gabriel dragged into our makeshift home. “When Luc came to get her?”

“No. Before.” He grabs a blanket from the table and places it over me, draping it to warm my body. “I tried to reach her. Then, you were there, grabbing her. Fighting.”

“Oh.” I dig my thumb into my palm and avoid his gaze.

“You were brave.”

“Gabriel, I—”

“—there’s no need to fret, Sol. I’m complimenting you.” He moves to where I sit, kneels, and grabs my hand, stopping my movement. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“It doesn’t.” I swallow and pin my focus beyond his shoulders. “I don’t even think about it anymore.”

“You should.” He turns my hand over and runs his fingers against my palm. “You need a new outlet, something that will not cause you injury.” Tenderly, he lifts my hand and presses his mouth against the indentation.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Nobody has ever touched me so caringly before. Nor has anyone ever tried to stop my habit.

“I’ll stop,” I whisper.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No.”

Boldly, I scoot forward enough to brush my mouth against his. He clutches my shoulders and deepens the kiss. I welcome it, the familiarity, threading between us. The warmth that pierces the ice the Malachite’s attack left.

He pulls away and skims my cheek with his knuckles. “Would you like wine?”

I swallow and try to not think about him ending our kiss so soon. “I’m all right.”

His attention lowers to my side and lifts back to me. “Are you certain?”

“I am not a piece of pottery. I will not shatter from a simple wound.”

“There’s nothing simple about your wound,” he says, his words low, guarded with all the things he hides from me.

I note the frown deepening between his brow, the stiffness of his jaw, the tightness of his lips.

“Have I upset you?” I grip the blanket, pulling it closer to my body.

He stares vacantly, his focus caught beyond my shoulder.

“Gabriel,” I say when he still doesn’t speak.

A muscle ticks in his jaw as he meets my gaze. “You fought with skill.”

“I fought with desperation.” There’s truth in my words. Real truth. I was desperate to save Adelaide’s life. There’s nothing fabricated about that.

“Perhaps. But it doesn’t make you any less skilled.”

“I told you,” I begin. “My father taught me how to fight. It was necessary with how often our villages were attacked.”

Gabriel runs a hand across his brow, lowers it, only to raise it and rub it across his forehead again. “What I witnessed was more than learning to defend oneself.”

There’s no way to explain why I joined a mercenary army. Not without revealing my real reason for coming here.

“Gabriel.” I lick my lower lip but find no words. At least nothing that would appease him.

He meets my gaze, his eyes distant, unreadable.

“Thank you for saving Adelaide.” Even though he speaks with gratitude, I detect everything he doesn’t say.

He doesn’t trust me. Again.

Not long ago, he pulled me to his lap, caressed me, adored my body. Now he sits stiffly, as though internally distancing himself from me.

I would never want to take back running into that square and saving Adelaide. Though, I wish Gabriel hadn’t witnessed my fighting.

Everything has changed with Gabriel like the shifting of the seasons. My summer skipped fall, and now winter is darkening everything.