JAMES
Desi grabbed my hand and before I even had a chance to process the warmth and light that filled my whole body, we were standing in the catacombs, the darkness beaten back by Desi’s glow. “They’re down here.”
“Why are they even here? And you didn’t tell me why Marcus took Miri.”
“I did.” Desi struck out down the tunnel to my left, and I followed.
“No, princess. You didn’t.”
We took at least twenty paces before Desi stopped and turned to me. Her eyes, now swimming with golden lights, like tiny fireflies, met mine and I resisted the sudden urge to fall to my knees and worship her. It’s just Desi, I reminded myself at least ten times.
“It’s a trap.”
I felt her words like a physical thing. Like a punch to the gut. As if she heard my thoughts (which she might have), she reached up and pressed her fingertips to the swollen glob of pain on my cheek. Her warmth slipped beneath my skin and erased the ache, smoothed away the headache pounding behind my eyes.