Page 82 of A Match Made in Error

In my chest, the rattling emotion is shifting from anger to fear and the grief of what almost was. They nearly took her from me. The muscles in my throat tighten. I don’t have time to freak out. Not now. She needs me. “Are you hurt?” I pull back, lifting up her arms and looking through the rips in her clothes for blood. Poppy doesn’t answer, and her breathing turns ragged once more. “Sweetheart, talk to me.” My voice cracks. “Are you hurt?”

My desperation must pierce the veil of her panic because she finally looks at me, really looks at me, and answers, “No,” she breathes. “Not physically.”

I take the first full breath since I woke up and tug her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her like I could shield her from all the hurt and misery of this world. “Breathe with me, Pop. I’ve got you.”

Another cannon goes off, and Poppy’s whole body flinches. I watch her eyes dart to the closest bungalow when the screams of another woman rip through the night air. I know what she’s thinking. Her heart is too good and too pure, and she wants to help them. But it’s not safe, and I’m far too selfish a bastard for that.

“No. Stay with me.” My hands are on her face once more, locking her gaze onto mine. “I can’t protect you over there.” My mouth goes dry, knowing my powers are almost wiped out for the night, and I can’t withstand another fight like we just faced. “If you get hurt, I will never forgive myself.”

Another scream. “We have to help them!” she whimpers helplessly, bottom lip trembling.

I shake my head. “Don’t make me choose between saving them and saving you. You already know how that ends.” I pull her in and inhale deeply. Warm vanilla and the smell I’ve always known was my home slows my racing heart. “I thought I was going to lose you,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve never been scared like that.”

She pulls back, golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I knew you’d save me.”

“Damn right.” I kiss her hair. “And I always will.”

Her pupils dilate widely, and I can practically hear her racing thoughts as the adrenaline ebbs away and anxiety sets in. “What is going to happen now? Where do we go? What about the Moirai? What about the Festival?” Her mind is spinning, focusing on trivial things even though we are not fully out of danger yet.

“I don’t care about the Festival. I care about you.” I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to emulate calmness for her, but my mind is racing too. Racing through plans on how to get us out of here.

“Tell a joke or something.” Her laugh sounds far off and manic. “I’m freaking out, and you’re acting very un-Riven-like.” No, I think this is the closest to the true me I’ve been in a long time.

“I don’t joke when it comes to you.”

Her bottom lip starts to shake again. “I’m scared.”

Me too. “If anyone else comes for you tonight, I won’t be gentle. I would burn the island to the ground to protect you.” My grip on her tightens. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

She nods a couple of times, eyes falling to the side in thought. “If we die, I want you to know—this is your fault.”

A clipped laugh escapes me. “Now who’s the one telling jokes?”

Her eyes admonish me, a silent scolding. “Riven, just get me somewhere safe. You’re in charge here.” My eyes flick down to her lips for a fleeting moment before another cannon goes off. “Great idea. Put the man with limited impulse control in charge. No notes.” Where the hells are the Moirai?

“Riven, what’s happening?” The panic in her voice has my head snapping to the glowing sigil flashing on her palms. I hold my hand up beside hers, the same symbol glowing on my palm. The one we received when we won the first trial.

“I know where we can go.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

POPPY

The entrance to the sacred spring opens like a quiet secret.

One moment, the island is all canons and distant cries and the lingering echo of madness, and the next, I step between two towering slabs of warm stone and the world softens. Steam drifts lazily through the air, catching on the late evening light. The hot spring sits nestled in the hollow of the rocks, and the water within is clear and glowing, rippling gently where it spills over smooth edges. Ferns and trailing vines spill down the side, their leaves glossy with mist, littered with pale tropical flowers. The air smells of minerals and salt, and something faintly sweet, and the water breathes out a steady warmth that loosens the tightness still coiled in my chest.

Magic hums here. I can sense it. Soft and ancient. Moirai magic. The kind meant for intimacy and peace.

The Moirai sealed this place so that only those invited may enter, and once inside, the world falls blessedly quiet. No battle cries from the intruders, no screams carried on the wind. Even the ocean feels distant, reduced to the faintest whisper beyond the cliffs.

And for the first time since the attack, I can breathe.

“What do we do now?” I ask, breathing steadier but still on edge. How in the seven hells did pirates get to this island? Past the kraken? And without the Moirai knowing no less.

“Survive the night.” Riven’s voice is even, more of that soldier’s breathwork, no doubt. “I can start a fire. Or you can sit on my lap until we get one from friction.” His eyebrows wiggle, his old flirtatious self emerging with shocking speed after our near-death experience.

“We need to call for help,” I argue. “There are other people here who don’t have shadow-wielding soldiers as their match. Like Aoife and Noah! They need our help!”