The Girl Who Kissed the Sun (Death Fields 4)

My back stiffens. “Cole was there?” The last time I’d seen him he’d gutted himself with my hatchet, giving me time to escape. I wasn’t sure if he’d even survived the wound.

“Waiting for me,” he says. “He saved the children in that home, and their parents. We met the following night.”

I’m aware Cole is no longer human and I tell him so. “He saved me when Chloe took over the Fort.”

“I know,” he replies. “He told me.”

A strange knot builds in my stomach. “You’re here—alive—does that mean he’s not?”

“We had a meeting,” Wyatt says, watching me closely. “Not a fight. It was peaceful. Cole isn’t a Hybrid—not exactly. He’s more like Paul. It’s the result of being given the two different vaccines, Jude calls them Mutts. If he told me the truth, then he’s working inside Chloe’s operation.”

“To what end? One person can’t stop her.”

“No, he can’t.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But if we don’t do something she’s going come here next, and if she gains control of the South and Northeast there’ll be no stopping her. Ever.”

“It feels impossible.”

He reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers. Our skin is dirty, covered in blood and soot and you can barely tell where one ends and the other begins. I’m struck by the gravity of his voice when he says, “I need your help on this.”

I think about the snow-covered village waiting for me a couple of hours away. The pristine white and peaceful nights. The place that allowed me to sleep with my boots off and eat three meals a day. “Do I have a choice?”

“With me?” he replies. “Always.”

“But?”

“But she’s coming and I’d really like you by my side.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m not sure it’s a battle we can avoid.”

His eyes tell a different story—there’s longing—something more. Fate didn’t bring us together. Perseverance did, and this man traveled through hell and back for me to stand by him.

“Can we talk in the morning?” I ask. “I need to think about some things.”

“Of course.” He drops my hand, but brushes his fingers over my forehead. “Get some rest.”

I nod and he moves to the door. “Wyatt?”

He pauses.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

*

I wake when the sun hits the window, my ankle throbbing painfully.

I sit up and touch the hot skin and wince.

“You’ll need to stay off that for a few days.”

“Holy—” I nearly jump out of the bed before my brain registers Wyatt sprawled across the small chair in the corner of the room. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” He stretches on the hard chair, his back cracking. He cleaned up overnight. A pile of dirty clothes sits near the dresser. He managed to scrub most of the ash and grime from his body, which revealed the cuts and bruises near his eye and jaw. Some new, others fading. He changed shirts. From the looks of the blue and black flannel, I guess he took it from one of the closets in the house.

I glance down at my filthy hands and can’t imagine what my hair and face look like at the moment.

He notices and says, “I brought up some soap and water for cleaning. It should still be warm.” He jumps up and shoves his hand into his pocket. “Oh, and Jane gave me some pills for the swelling.”

I see the bowl on the dresser and a stack of washcloths. He drags the chair over and places the bowl on top. I sit up, scooting my back against the headboard, and he drops the pills in one hand and hands me the rag in another. After taking the medicine, I lean over and dip the cloth into the bowl, but the chair is too low and all I do is get the water dirty and make a mess.

“Can I help?” he asks.