The Hierophant (Book 1 in The Arcana Series) by Madeline Claire Franklin Page B

upper arms and torso are covered in tattoos. Not pictures of anything, and not even tribal designs, but something far more abstract and beautiful. Intricate black lines cross over his chest, ribs, arms, and back. They lie across his skin in a way that reminds me of the elegant geometry of butterfly wings, but with the somber grace of a skeleton. I have no idea what it’s supposed to be, if anything at all, but it’s the most beautiful tattoo I’ve ever seen.
    “You—must be—freezing,” I try to say, but I’m shivering so badly, and my voice is so hoarse, it comes out as a stuttering whisper.
    Trebor raises his eyebrows and actually laughs. “I’ll be fine, Ana. We’ll keep each other warm.” And then he scoops me up into his arms and begins to carry me back to Kyla’s house, as if I’m seventy-five inches of nothing but cold air.
    I haven’t been carried like this since I was a child, but I manage to get comfortable. I put my arms around his neck and rest my hooded head against his shoulder. I’m so tired. He’s so warm. His coat is warm. It smells like him—like evergreens and sunshine and sky. I could almost fall asleep in his arms as he carries me, if it weren’t for the adrenaline still coursing through me, and the millions of questions I have about my life at this moment.
    I try asking one, just to keep myself awake. “How did you get to me, Trebor? You’re not even damp.”
    “You were closer to the shore than you probably realized,” he says, and the rumble of his voice, through his chest, beneath my ear, sends a pleasant shiver through me to combat the less pleasant sensations in my body at the moment. “I was able to get out to the rocks from there, and pull you out. I thought—” He hesitates.
    “What?” I can hear his heartbeat hit harder against the inside of his chest, and it makes my own heart hammer.
    “You weren’t breathing when I pulled you out. I thought you were dead.”
    I swallow. I knew how close I’d come to actually dying, but somehow it’s worse to hear him say it out loud.
    “And, on that note,” Trebor adds. “I apologize for any bruising from the CPR. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to use it.”
    I almost laugh, but it hurts. “I think that, given the circumstances, I can forgive you.” I feel my stomach dancing, confused by the mix of elation and terror settling into my nerves. “Thank you, by the way. For saving my life.”
    Trebor looks down at me and gives me a crooked smile. “Thank you for not dying.”
    We forge on through the woods, Trebor moving easily over roots and fallen trees, even with the lanky burden of my body in his arms. My shivering begins to subside as the dry jacket and Trebor’s body heat warm me. It’s nice, almost pleasant, the rhythm of his steps, his heart, nearly the same as my own. I feel safe, for the first time in ages.
    But then it dawns on me, like reality piercing the elation of a dream: I shouldn’t feel safe at all, really.
    “Wait,” I stop myself from dozing, eyes fluttering open even though I don’t remember closing them. “I saw you the other night. And last night. And your eyes—”
    “Shhh, don’t worry right now.”
    I want to obey that voice, but my mind is beginning to reel with frightening possibilities, with the fact of my vulnerability in this moment. I shiver again, nerves exciting the chill that has permeated to my core. “Who are you, really?”
    He doesn’t answer right away, and when I look up, he seems to be deliberating. His eyes flash again, reflecting the scattered moonlight.
    I’m not afraid , I tell myself, trying to unclench my body enough to breathe deeply.
    “ What are you?”
    Trebor halts completely. He looks down at me with an unreadable expression, and when his eyes catch the light, they flash again, like some kind of wild animal. But his face is not wild, not savage at all. It’s human, and earnest, with wide eyes under dark brows, and a mouth that has parted, just