The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 33

Tristan’s thunderous roar shredded Cassandra’s heart. She raced into the alley to witness him rip Opheron from his throat and snap the Deathstalker’s neck.

And although Opheron appeared to be courting death for the second time this evening, she knew he would heal.

No fudging way was Cassandra going to let that happen.

As soon as Opheron’s limp body hit the cobblestones, she plunged the Typhon steel dagger into his heart then rushed over to Tristan.

His palm was pressed against his neck as he sucked in shallow breaths, his chest heaving in pain.

“Tristan, open your eyes,” she begged, cupping his face. “Look at me!”

He gripped her wrists and forced his eyes open. There was a greenish tint at the edges, seeping toward his irises. She tried not to spook him by letting her hysteria show.

The paralyzing venom seized his muscles, and he fell against the alley wall, tearing feathers loose as he slid down and taking Cassandra with him since she refused to let go.

Hadriel rushed over and placed a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “We need to get him the antivenom. Now.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Cassandra screeched. Tristan’s hands fell away from hers, incapable of holding on.

“We don’t have much time,” Hadriel said. “If the venom paralyzes his lungs, even with his healing powers, he won’t last more than ten minutes before…”

“Before what?”

“Before True death. An end that even the strongest Fae cannot come back from.”

Cassandra’s entire body went ice-cold and boiling hot. He couldn’t die now. Not with their connection budding to life, fragile and confusing yet utterly addictive.

“Reena!” Hadriel yelled, but the tiger bi-form was right behind him.

“I have antivenom behind the bar,” Reena said in a shaky voice.

Tristan’s eyes fluttered shut and his breathing slowed.

Hadriel hauled the rapidly deteriorating warrior into his arms, carefully tucking Tristan’s dark wings, then launched into the black velvet sky.

Cassandra stalked over to Opheron, ripped the dagger from his chest, and kicked him in the side—useless but comforting. She wiped the dagger against his ridiculous white pants, then grabbed Tristan’s pistol, shoving both into her satchel.

“Get on!” Reena ordered Cassandra before transforming into her tiger form—a breathtaking scene full of dissolving clothes, stretching skin, elongating claws, and ripple after ripple of soft, sleek fur.

Cassandra was shocked into stasis, mesmerized by the massive beast towering over her. Reena growled, spurring Cassandra into motion, and she swung onto Reena’s back, then wrapped her limbs around the tiger’s middle.

Cassandra had barely gotten a hold when Reena took off at a gallop through the winding streets, her paws pounding the cobblestones. Reena’s powerful muscles shifted beneath her silky fur, her booming heart beating a frantic rhythm as they sped toward the Fang and Claw.

A few minutes—an eternity—later, Reena came to a skidding halt beneath that familiar red awning, then reared up and threw Cassandra from her back.

The crowd gathered outside scattered as Reena snarled at them.

Cassandra barreled into the tavern and nearly collapsed with relief when she saw two pairs of black and white wings behind the mahogany bar. Hadriel’s wings moved frantically, as if he were searching for something.

Reena, in human form, burst in behind Cassandra. “Alright, lovelies, tavern’s closed for the night!” she shouted. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Out!”

The patrons grumbled, ignoring her, swigging their drinks and Delirium.

Reena’s world-shattering roar burst pint glasses, shook tables, and popped a few bulbs in the bobbing light spheres swaying from the copper-tile ceiling.

A hush fell over the crowd before every individual—mortal and Fae—jolted into motion, scurrying over each other to rush out the door.

“That was impressive,” Cassandra whispered.

Reena shrugged and strode for the bar to help Hadriel locate the antivenom, barking orders at the white-winged Windrider. “Get him out here and lay him on the couch!”

Maneuvering between tables and armchairs, Hadriel carried Tristan toward a plush, rust-colored couch in the center of the room.

Cassandra darted over to help Hadriel drape Tristan’s beautiful, glimmering wings over the cushions, careful not to damage his feathers. He looked paler than he had after he’d depleted his magic, a sickly green tinging his skin.

Cassandra fixated on his chest, willing it into motion and fighting back tears until she noted a subtle rise and fall. A relieved half-sob shuddered past her lips.

She pulled up a chair and grabbed his listless hand, then stroked her thumbs along the back, trying to force her own warmth and life into him.

“Found it!” Reena crowed from behind the bar, holding up a small bottle of viscous maroon liquid.

Reena launched over the bar, as agile as she’d been in her tiger form, and scrambled over to Tristan. She uncorked the bottle then pinched open Tristan’s mouth and poured the entire contents through his pursed lips. She tipped his chin back, massaging his throat to ensure he swallowed every drop.

“Now what?” Cassandra yelped, failing to hide her panic.

“Now we wait,” Reena sighed. “The antivenom can take hours to cleanse a Fae’s bloodstream.”

“What is it? It looks like blood.”

“It is—from a honey badger bi-form. It neutralizes the toxins in a Deathstalker’s venom. But it’s extremely rare. There are fewer than a hundred honey badger bi-forms left in Ethyrios, and as you can imagine, they’re not eager to share their bodily fluids.”

“How’d you get it?”

“One owed me a favor.” Reena aimed a petrifying smile at Cassandra, and she didn’t dare ask the Beastrunner to elaborate.

“We’re going to be here awhile?” Cassandra asked, and Reena nodded with a look of pity. “Then we need to get word to Cael at the Temple.”

Reena’s brows knit together. “Temple?”

“Tristan and Cael have been staying there to investigate the disappearance of three of my fellow Sisters.”

Reena looked like she was about to swallow her tongue. “You cannot be a Shrouded Sister.”

Cassandra pulled down her sleeve, exposing her tattoo. “For the past eight years.”

“Wow. Would not have predicted that. It must make whatever is going on between you two even more thrilling, huh? Nothing like a forbidden romance to get those juices flowing.” Reena gave her a feline smile.

“Nothing’s going on between us,” Cassandra said—too quickly based on Reena’s knowing grin. “I’m helping with the investigation, that’s all. We were trying to get information from Opheron tonight. Obviously it didn’t go well. Cael’s expecting us and might worry.”

Reena barked a sarcastic laugh. “You don’t know Cael very well, do you, sweetie?”

Cassandra reconsidered her phrasing. “He’s expecting us and will be grumpy that we’re kicking too much ass without him?”

“That’s more like it. Hadriel, be an angel and fly over to let Cael know what happened, would you?”

“Tell him to let Xenia know I’m safe, please!” Cassandra hollered to Hadriel’s back as he rushed out of the bar—on a tight leash, that one. Cassandra shifted her gaze to Reena. “Do you think we’ll be able to return by morning?”

“I do. Tristan is as strong and stubborn as an ox. Even unconscious, he’ll fight against the venom. It’ll help the honey badger blood do its work faster.” Cassandra fought the urge to swat Reena’s hand away as the Beastrunner smoothed a few dark strands of hair from Tristan’s brow.

Reena gripped the back of the couch, leaned her chin against her chest, and blew out a long breath. “I don’t know about you, Cassandra, but I could use a drink. What’s your poison tonight?” Cassandra frowned. “Sorry, poor choice of words.” Reena’s low, slow chuckle followed her to the bar.

“What’s the strongest thing you’ve got back there?” Cassandra asked, her gaze glued to Tristan’s face. His breathing had begun to normalize, and he looked peaceful—she could almost convince herself that he was sleeping.

“Delirium, of course, sugar, but if I gave you that, your black-winged bodyguard would wring my neck when he wakes up. Too intense. You don’t need that after the shit you went through tonight. I do have a wicked spirit from the southern colonies called Aguaver. Citrusy goodness that’ll burn all your troubles away. Tastes great with a squeeze of lime and a sprinkle of salt. Two shots to start?”

Cassandra laughed, nodding. Getting drunk with Reena would be the perfect activity to chase away the worry eating a hole in her gut.

Cassandra downed her fifth—or was it sixth?—shot of Aguaver and slammed the empty glass down with a dramatic flourish among the growing pile between her and Reena.

“Feexe!” she slurred, bursting into raucous giggles and clumsily propping her chin on her hands. “I tried to say five and six at the same time. It came out feexe. Feeeeeeeeve. Fever. Fiver. Five!”

The two Reenas across from her chuckled. Since when were there two?

“Reena,” she whispered. “Do you know you have a twin?”

“Ok sweetie, that’s enough Aguaver,” both Reenas echoed before combining into a single Reena as they rose and approached Cassandra.

“Bloody Stygios, that was creepy. You just meshed with yourself! Meshed. Mess. Yes, tonight was a big ole mess.”

Reena hauled Cassandra out of her chair, then marched across the room and plopped her into an armchair with a view of Tristan. He hadn’t budged in the hour Cassandra had spent getting plastered, but his breathing was steady and his skin was regaining its tanned hue.

Cassandra rested her elbows on her knees and stared at him. Every few minutes, his wings twitched, rustling his feathers and piercing Cassandra’s chest with a bittersweet arrow of hope.

Reena ambled over to the bar, pulled down a pint glass, and filled it with water.

“He is so pretty, isn’t he?” Cassandra sighed, unabashedly drawing her gaze down the sculpted perfection of his body. High Gods, if he hadn’t just escaped True death, she would strut over there, unzip his leather pants, and sink herself down onto his enormous—

Reena shoved the glass in Cassandra’s face, tearing her from her decadent reverie.

“No!” she squealed, rearing back. “No more Aguaver!”

“It’s water, sweetie,” Reena replied flatly. “And if you don’t down several glasses now, you’ll have a bitch of a hangover tomorrow.”

Cassandra drained the glass, spilling most of the water into her lap, then smacked her lips together and dangled the empty cup towards Reena.

“Barkeep!” Cassandra shouted. “Another!” Then burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. How’d she get so hilarious tonight?

Reena took the cup and rolled her eyes. “Tristan, if you can hear me, you owe me big time for babysitting your precious mortal.”

“Ree-nuh,” Cassandra whined. “Tell me a story!”

Reena snorted, amused, as she returned to the bar for a refill, her auburn hair shining like molten metal beneath the pendant lights. “You want a bedtime story, sugar?”

“Not a bedtime story. A story about bedtime.”

Reena laughed. “What’s the difference?”

Cassandra attempted a wicked grin but only succeeded in drooling all over her chin. She wiped her face with her sleeve, and a sharp stab of conscience poked her as she glimpsed her tattoo.

Shrouded Sisters were not supposed to drink alcohol, let alone get drunk—another line crossed tonight. Tristan was right; she was a bad girl. Naughty Sister! She cackled maniacally before remembering Reena had asked her a question.

“A bedtime story is for children,” Cassandra said. “A pretty lie disguising the ugly truths of the world. I’ve had enough pretty lies.” She giggled at her philosophical musings. “A story about bedtime is exactly what it sounds like—bedtime being sexy times.”

“You want me to tell you a story about sex?” Reena laughed, incredulous. “Is that allowed, Sister? Letha will strike me down if I corrupt one of her disciples.”

“Tristan would’ve been struck down multiple times this week if that were true,” Cassandra mused, earning raised eyebrows and an impressed grin from Reena. “Besides, I know more than you’d expect. Come on, tell me something scandalous about Tristan and Cael. When they found out that I’d come here alone on Sunday to talk to you, they looked scared enough to wet themselves. You must have major dirt on them. You know you wanna tell me.”

Reena chuckled, pulling up a chair next to Cassandra and placing another glass of water on the low table between them.

“There was this one time—”

“I knew it!” Cassandra blurted.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Sorry, I got excited. Please continue, lovely storyteller, barkeep, tiger lady.” Cassandra grabbed the glass and gulped the water.

Reena side-eyed her, then went on with her story. “Years ago, there was a prominent mortal couple in the colonies with two beautiful twenty-two-year-old twin daughters. Tristan and Cael used to pant after them whenever they attended events at the Vicereine’s palace.”

Cassandra’s jealousy, fueled by the Aguaver, flared to life. “I changed my mind. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“This was ninety years ago. Those twins are dead.”

“Oh, good. Do go on.”

“So, the two winged fools made a wager over who could convince a twin to kiss him first. I don’t even remember what they wagered. Doesn’t matter because it was always more about bragging rights with those two.”

Cassandra snorted. “Why would they bet on something so easy? You know what they look like, right? What woman wouldn’t want to kiss either one of them? Or both of them? At the same time!”

Cassandra wasn’t sure if the Aguaver was encouraging these thoughts or if they’d been there all along, buried beneath a forced veneer of propriety.

“Preach, Sister. But the twins’ family barely tolerated the Fae. The only reason they came to the Vicereine’s gatherings was to mingle with the other influential mortals. Tristan and Cael had to work for the sisters’ attention. They did win them over eventually, and the twins agreed to come to live music night at the Fang and Claw.

“Tristan and Cael had decided the best way to earn a kiss was to serenade their chosen twin. And they’d each separately confided in me their plans for sabotage.

“Without realizing it, they’d come up with the same idea—add extra emotion drops to the other’s Delirium. They each paid me to make up the concoction and serve it to the other before they took the stage that night.”

Reena snickered to herself. “Idiots. I happily took their money. Served them their enhanced Delirium at the same time and boy did those emotion drops work fast.

“The drops amplified their amorous feelings and they hit on almost everyone in the bar while the twins watched, increasingly annoyed.

“Cael performed first, a sappy love ballad that set the Delirium humming—he cried the whole time as he sang it into the eyes of the wrong twin.”

Cassandra almost fell out of her chair laughing.

“She smacks him across the face, comforting her devastated sister who can’t believe Cael didn’t recognize her. Cael skulks away, and now it’s Tristan’s turn. And his song is not a sappy love ballad, but a bawdy, seductive number with a pulsing beat.

“The Delirium is working him into a very special frenzy. He strips off his clothes—and I mean everything—and he’s half-heartedly hiding his considerable you-know-what with his wings. The bar’s going absolutely nuts, as you can imagine.

“The song ends, he gets down on his knees, and he grabs the hand…of the wrong High-Gods-damn twin!”

Cassandra did fall out of her chair this time and rolled on the floor, clutching her stomach as tears streamed down her face.

“Nobody won the bet. They beat the crap out of each other when I told them what they’d done. And those twins never visited the Fang and Claw again. One of them married some plain-faced mortal accountant and had a bunch of kids. Not sure what happened to the other one. Neither gave Tristan or Cael the time of day afterwards.”

Cassandra’s hilarity subsided, and she pulled herself up into the armchair, wiping her eyes and giggling.

There was a knock at the entrance, and Reena rose to answer it. She cracked the door open, whispering to the individual on the other side. Cassandra could spy bright white through the window and wondered why Reena didn’t invite him in.

Reena ambled back to Cassandra. “I’ve gotta go, sugar. Hadriel’s waiting for me.” Ah, Reena and Hadriel needed some privacy. Cassandra’s chest tightened at how easily they’d decided to spend the night together. No complications, no rules. She envied their freedom. “You’ll be okay, right? I’ll lock the door behind me. No one will come in and bother you. As soon as he wakes up, you can head out. The door will lock again behind you.”

“How will we get back to the Temple? Will he be able to walk?”

Reena chuckled, her golden eyes sparkling. “When he wakes up with that Beastrunner blood coursing through his system, he’ll feel strong enough to teleport.”

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously. Fae can’t do that,” Reena said flatly, as if it were obvious—coming from a female who could turn into a tiger. “Just an expression. He’ll feel rigorous, be able to fly to the Temple in seconds.”

Cassandra rose and threw her arms around Reena. The Beastrunner seemed taken aback, then closed her arms around Cassandra, purring softly.

“Thank you, Reena,” Cassandra said in a thick voice. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

“Take care of yourself, sweetie. But maybe lay off the Aguaver.” Reena winked, then sashayed to the door, supple hips swaying. She flicked a switch and half the light spheres winked out, bathing the room in patchy shadows. “Sleep well,” Reena cooed as she closed the door.

As soon as it clicked shut, Cassandra turned toward the beautiful Windrider resting on the couch.

Maybe it was the Aguaver, or maybe it was the sight of him so serene and vulnerable, but Cassandra couldn’t help walking toward him. Couldn’t help running her fingertips through his hair, over his magnificent wings. His breathing hitched, as if he could sense her touch even in his unconscious state.

Nothing but pitch-black darkness shone through the window’s iron scrollwork, and the only sound was the wind snapping the fabric awning outside.

They were completely alone.

So she untied her cloak and let it fall to the floor.

Climbed onto the couch and nestled between Tristan and the cushions.

Wrapped her small body around his much larger one.

And promptly fell asleep cradling Tristan in her arms.

Honey and rosewood.

The familiar scent invaded Tristan’s nostrils, and his body roared to life, his heart hammering out of his chest as his eyes popped open. He sucked in a shuddering breath.

What he saw as his vision adjusted was puzzling. Were those…the copper ceiling tiles of the Fang and Claw?

A delicate warmth radiated into his side, and he tipped his chin down to replace Cassandra curled around him. Her arm was wedged underneath her and tangled in his wing, the other thrown across his chest. Her leg was a comforting weight atop his own, her thigh temptingly close to his groin. Her supple breasts pressed into his ribs, her head nestled in his armpit as she breathed her sweet scent into his face—likely what had woken him up.

How in Ethyrios had they ended up like this?

The last thing Tristan remembered was snapping Opheron’s neck after that fucking venomous fuck had bitten him.

Based on how spectacular Tristan was feeling, he knew he’d been dosed with antivenom. Buzzing energy itched through his limbs and he felt strong enough to fly to the continent and back.

But he certainly wasn’t going to move now—not when his Daredevil was clinging to his side like she never wanted to let go.

High Gods, the feel of her coming on his fingers last night had been the best and worst kind of torture. His cock stirred at the thought, anxious to join the next round—if there was one.

“Down boy,” he whispered, refusing to disturb her peaceful slumber with his base needs.

The first creeping light of dawn tiptoed through the window’s scrollwork. It couldn’t be more than five in the morning—he could let her get a few more hours of sleep before they returned to the Temple. They’d skip training, had earned the break after last night’s exertions. If the abbess tried to give Cass shit about it, he’d give it right back to the polar bear bitch.

He draped his arm around her, unable to keep from cupping the perfect swell of her ass in his palm.

Tristan relished the closeness.

How long had it been since he’d slept with a female in his arms? Months. Longer if you didn’t count the ones he’d spent the night fucking—and none of those diversions had lasted more than a sleepover or two, according to the wishes of both parties.

He stroked his fingers through the silky hair at Cassandra’s temple, and she stirred against him, nuzzling in and exhaling a long, slow breath.

Tristan closed his eyes and pulled her closer.

He’d savor the contact.

For as long as he could.

Cassandra was drooling.

Even through the Aguaver-soaked haze of her awakening mind, she could tell.

Stickiness pooled at the corner of her mouth, her lips resting in saliva against a slick, leathery surface.

Wait—leathery?

Oh, Frenzied Dienses.

She jerked upright and stars bloomed in her vision, her head pounding in protest. Why was a herd of elephant bi-forms waltzing through her skull?

She cracked open her eyes to a honey-brown pair, glimmering with far too much amusement for this early in the morning.

Cassandra became aware of two things.

First, she was using Tristan as a body pillow, and he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she could feel the enticing weight of his hand on her ass. And when she shifted her thigh, it brushed a pliable hardness between his legs—as if that body part was excited to greet the day with her.

Second, she was never drinking another drop of Aguaver again. Ever.

“Based on that puddle of drool, you must’ve been dreaming about me,” Tristan whispered. “Good morning, Daredevil.”

Her knee crushed his overeager body part in her scramble from the couch, and she toppled to the floor in a clumsy pile.

“Oof!” Tristan grunted, grabbing his groin and grimacing in pain as he pivoted toward her.

“Sorry! So sorry. I—,” Cassandra stuttered, rising between his knees. “Did I hurt you?”

“A little. But seeing you on your knees like that makes me feel better.” Tristan winked, and she laughed, cheeks heating as she gazed between his legs.

He stood and helped her to her feet. Dizziness consumed her and she almost toppled over, groaning as her head throbbed and leaning against Tristan to steady herself.

“How do you look worse than me this morning?” he asked.

“Aguaver,” she choked out.

Tristan’s booming laugh assaulted her tender eardrums.

He gave her an apologetic smirk and pulled her towards the bar. “Come here, I know the world’s fastest hangover cure.”

He gripped her waist in his strong hands and perched her on a stool, then massaged her shoulders agonizingly briefly before stepping behind the bar. He grabbed a white ceramic mug and filled it with boiling water from the tap, then stirred in honey, lemon juice and grated ginger.

“Sip this.” He placed the mug before her. “It will make you feel better.”

Cassandra sniffed the wafting steam. The smell, fresh and sweet and spiced, defuzzed her senses. She took a tentative sip that burned down her throat and settled in her gut, loosening the vise around her head.

“Thank you,” she sighed, taking a deeper gulp. “It’s helping.”

He crossed his arms atop the bar and leaned forward, sleep-tousled dark hair sliding across his brow. He seemed so at ease despite his brush with death.

“I should be thanking you,” he said. “For taking care of me last night.”

She waved dismissively. “It was all Reena and Hadriel.”

He grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb across her palm and awakening other parts of her. “You watched over me while I healed though. And apparently decided to be my blanket.”

She snatched her hand away. “It was the Aguaver.”

“Sure it was. Must’ve been the Aguaver that inspired those requests in the alley too. Something about making you laugh again?” His voice dropped an octave. “And making you come again. I’ve already made you laugh this morning, so…”

“Temporary insanity caused by a near-death experience,” she whispered. It had all seemed so clear last night, how easy it would be to allow herself to experiment with Tristan. In the harsh light of day, with her head pounding a monotonous beat, she wasn’t so sure—even if her traitorous body most certainly was.

Goosebumps broke out along her limbs as she remembered the torturous, exquisite feel of his hand between her thighs. She wanted him to do it again so badly she could barely stand it.

Her scent must’ve shifted because his lip curved upwards, exposing his dimple and that sharp canine, the one she could still feel against her neck, her earlobe.

“Whatever you say, Cass. Finish up; we need to get back to the Temple in time for breakfast. That drink will help, but you need food to soak up the Aguaver in your stomach.”

Her gorge rose at the mention of food, and she covered her mouth as she fought the urge to vomit. “We need to view Opheron’s memories too,” she reminded him once the nausea subsided. A sharp pain sliced through her chest at the Deathstalker’s name.

“I ended him,” she said quietly, staring down into the mug cupped between her murderous hands. “The female too. I stabbed them both in the heart with the Typhon steel dagger.”

“Hey, look at me.” He grabbed her chin and forced her eyes up. “You did nothing wrong. Ending an enemy’s life is not easy. And in a situation like last night, when you don’t have time to weigh the pros and cons, you err on the side of survival. You did the right thing, Cass, trust me. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

She released a shuddering breath, and he swept his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a spilled tear. His words eased some, but not all, of the pain. She tried to ignore it as she gulped down the rest of the drink and stepped off the stool.

“I pulled five of his memories. We should grab Xenia and Cael and head to my extraction room as soon as we get back.”

“After you eat something, sure,” he said, coming around the bar and picking up her cloak and satchel from the floor.

“I don’t need you to tell me when to eat,” she grumbled.

“How many hangovers have you had in your life?”

“How many have you had?”

“A few. Fae don’t typically get them. If we pace ourselves, we can heal before the symptoms take hold.”

“Of course you can.” She rolled her eyes as he draped her cloak over her shoulders, then tied it closed before looping her satchel across his chest.

“But I’ve helped plenty of mortals through theirs. And trust me, a heaping pile of eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes will do wonders.”

“That only sounds mildly disgusting,” she said, turning to walk out the door before he grabbed her wrist, halting her.

“You’re a little unsteady on your feet this morning, friend. Probably best if I carry you.” Tristan delicately swept her into his arms, careful not to jerk her around and slosh the roiling contents of her stomach.

“Can you open the door, please?” he asked.

She turned the burnished silver knob, and he elbowed the door open, ducking and sidestepping to maneuver both Cassandra and his massive wings over the threshold without knocking either against the frame.

Even the mellow morning light was a shock to Cassandra’s liquor-addled senses. She winced and pinched her eyes closed. Though the fresh air did taste life-affirming as she greedily sucked it in.

“There’s no gentle way to launch into the sky, Cass. So hold on tight and try not to puke all over me.” She kicked his rib with her heel. “I see you haven’t lost your spirit,” he chuckled, then shot upwards with a blast of his wind and a flap of his wings. She pressed her face into his leather jacket, taking several deep breaths to calm the sudden vertigo.

He held her head in his massive hand, massaging her scalp in soothing circles to chase away the headache.

By the time they reached the Temple grounds several minutes later, touching down between the woods and their windows, the headache was gone.

He settled her onto the dewy grass and before he let go, she threw her arms around him, relishing the reassuring beat of his heart against her cheek. “You were right about being indestructible. I’m glad you didn’t die last night, Birdman.”

His answering chuckle rumbled through her as he planted his chin atop her head and tightened his hold. “Me too, Daredevil. Me too.”