Chapter 216
The first thing Zara saw when her eyes cracked open was green—vivid, storm-tossed green staring straight at her. Winter. His hand was around hers, firm and warm, grounding her in the present while her mind still staggered under the weight of the dream—vision?—she’d just escaped.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For a disoriented moment, she couldn’t breathe.
The shade was achingly familiar, like the dream that still clung to her skin like mist. All she could focus on was the familiar shade of his irises, almost identical to the ones in the dream. The child’s eyes.
"Zara?" His brows were furrowed, concern written across his usually unreadable face. He looked like he hadn’t blinked once since she fell. When had she fallen?
"You’re awake," he added, and held up a cloth. "Here. Your nose is bleeding."
She blinked, finally aware of the warm trickle down her lip. She swiped at her face, smeared red against her sleeve, and let him hand her the cloth.
Disoriented, she looked around, but the world didn’t seem to be cooperating with her senses. Her vision trembled at the edges, her ears rang, and her stomach roiled with nausea. She leaned back against the side of the truck’s interior, the metal biting into her spine. The thick scent of wet earth, engine oil, and the coppery tang of her own blood churned in her gut.
"What..." she breathed, voice barely more than a tremble.
"You passed out," Winter said softly, kneeling beside her. "Only for a few seconds, but—Zara, you scared the hell out of me."
She tried to sit up, but another wave of nausea rolled over her like a tide. Her breath shuddered in her chest. She gripped the edge of the seat to steady herself, the cloth still clutched in her fingers.
What the hell had that been?