He doesn’t answer. A little blood is seeping through the gray T-shirt that’s under his open jacket.
I scuttle backward and cringe from the pain. I stop moving and try to control my anger. “You knocked me out before—in my car—you escaped . . .”
He plucks a piece of ripped-up seat belt off his leg. I don’t know how it got there.
“You lost consciousness. I availed myself of the opportunity to leave.” He smiles. It’s a wicked smile. Kind but not kind. Handsome but dangerous. Feral almost. I can see why Nick nearly killed him. Nick . . . My father’s warning echoes in my ear. Still, I need to call someone—the fire department at least.
“Do you have a cell phone?” I ask.
He gently touches my cheek. Gently? “I do, but I cannot let you use it. Then they will have my number.”
I try not to shrink away. “Please. I’m hurt . . .”
He seems to think about it and then nods. He does something. “I am blocking the number. I have called 9-1-1.” He then speaks into the phone. “There has been a one-car accident on Route 3 about a mile past the Bedford Convenience Store. The car is on fire. One person injured. It’s not life threatening.
“There. Done.” He clicks the phone off and stares at me. “You still look faint. Can you manage sitting up?”
“Thank you.” I fall back into the snow as he starts to put his arm around to support me. It gets stuck under my body, really awkwardly. “Sorry.”
“I apologize,” he says at the same time. I didn’t know pixies could actually say they were sorry. He pulls his arm out slowly so it doesn’t hurt me too much.
He seems to listen to the woods. “I am going to have to go in a second, little one. Are you going to be all right by yourself?”
“Little one?” Anger wells up in me again.
“I do not know your name.” He squints down at me. His eyes are a beautiful deep green like the tops of pine trees, but it’s a glamour. It’s not what he really looks like. His eyes are silver like all pixie eyes. The glamour makes him look human. It’s part of the magic. “I should know your name now that we have both rescued each other.”
I don’t give it to him. I don’t want him to do what my father did and start whispering it at me when I’m in the woods, trying to get me confused. Instead I ask again, “Why were you in the road?”
“I was waiting for you.”
I nod like it makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. “I don’t feel right.”
“You are in shock.” He lightly presses his fingers against my arm. “You are hurt. You are also turning a bit blue.”
“It’s cold.”
He lifts an eyebrow and shifts position, cringing again as he moves. “I do not believe that is why.”
“Are you hurt?” I ask. “Your stomach—”
“Is already healing. I am not at a hundred percent yet, but I appreciate you asking and thank you for saving me that day.”
The snow shocks the skin on my bare palm. I study him. He looks so normal. I try to focus on his face, that wind-ruffled blond hair, his eyes. Try to see the pixie under the good looks. “Why were you waiting for me on the road?”
“I want you to lead me to them.”
“To who? The other pixies?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I say. I take a big breath and my ribs sting with pain.
He puts his hand behind my head. “No deep breaths. I believe you have bruised your ribs.”
We are so close. His face is inches away. I swallow hard. “You have to promise not to hurt my friends. Hurt me if you have to, but leave my friends alone.”
“I shall never hurt you.” His eyes stare into mine for a minute. “I hate to leave you, but you will be all right.”
He sounds so sincere, as if he really wants to help. “Tell me about the Valkyrie,” I press. My chest burns.
“I shall sometime.”
“No. Now.”
He slips his hand out from the back of my head and then stands up and pats my shoulder like a mom would. He only does this a couple of times before he says, “Your wolf is almost here.”
I cough and then manage, “My wolf? How do you know that?”
“His scent is all over you.” He flinches as if the scent is bad, like cooking broccoli or something. For a second he almost looks sweet and young, like I can see the little boy he used to be. It makes me want to comfort him—almost.
I struggle toward him. One hand goes back into the biting snow for balance. “What do you mean my wolf?” My father warned me about this. “He’s not mine. I don’t own him. People don’t own each other.”
But he’s already gone, the jerk, just melded into the fog. I’m alone on the snowbank. Yoko is a burning mess. There are sirens in the distance.
He’s put it all together already, I bet. Pixies are like that: cunning and smart. They aren’t perfectly evil, just evil enough. Figures.
“Zara!” Nick’s voice brings me back to reality. It’s a struggle. My eyes open. He stands over me and blocks out the scene. “Oh . . . oh, baby.”
“I’m okay,” I manage. I reach out my good hand so I can touch him. He looks so warm. I want his warmth. “I killed Yoko.”
“Are you cold? You’re a little blue.” He reaches down and scoops me against his sweatshirt. I scream from the pain. He loosens his hold right away. “Baby?”
“My arm,” I gasp. “And my chest.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His face is full of shock and worry. There is a piece of pixie dust on it. “I just wanted to hold you.”
“It wasn’t you.”
He gently leans me back on the ground. He whips off his coat, tucks it under my legs, and then plops himself on the snow so I can rest on him. Sirens get closer. The trees sway in the wind. He smells like warmth and Old Spice and a little bit of antiseptic from the hospital.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He rocks back and forth. “What happened? Did you hit black ice?”
“There was a pixie. The same one—the one I let go.”
He stiffens. “What happened? What did he do to you?” His voice turns positively icy. “Did he kiss you?”