From behind him, a groan followed by a hoarse cough had him looking over his shoulder. David frowned. “Is he…”
Caleb looked up with a smile. “He’s healing.”
David examined the blood-soaked sword. Maybe having the cursed metal inside them delayed the Grail’s healing.
He laid the sword on the deck, careful to keep the blade from touching anything, and took out a pinch from his herb pouch. Aura still wasn’t moving. He brought his hand over the wound, about to spread the herbs over her, when her chest rose. Or had he imagined it?
He waited, each second ticking in his head like a countdown stopwatch.
She winced, and relief swamped him. David put the herbs away and took her hand. “Agent Henderson?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A tiny light pierced through the abyss of darkness, pulling her in like a moth to the flame. Warmth filtered into her veins, followed by a dull ache.
Pain.
A moan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open. Was she alive?
She blinked as Agent Bale came into focus over her. She quickly turned her head toward Greyson.
He was still laid out on the deck, but he was awake and staring back at her. His lips curved into a hint of a smile.
They were alive.
She couldn’t find words. Maybe there weren’t any.
Other voices she recognized encroached on them. Flynn, Colton, Char, Harmony, Keegan—they all blurred together. The rest of the world didn’t matter. She lost herself in Greyson’s gaze, wondering what he was thinking. She opened her mouth, but no words escaped her dry throat. She tried to wet her lips, wanting to tell him how she felt, how they’d done the impossible.
Or had they?
She broke eye contact, peering down at her body. The sword was gone.
She looked up at Agent Bale, her voice so weak she didn’t recognize it at first. “The sword?”
“It’s right here.” He pointed to the deck beside him.
She cleared her throat, trying to muster the strength to speak. “Did…it…work?”
“I don’t know yet.” He reached for the Tyrfing and held it up with a gloved hand. Gingerly, he tapped the tip against the deck, repeating it a little harder the second time. The hollow thunks made her smile. The blade didn’t go through.
The curse was broken.
Agent Bale set the sword aside. “You did it.”
She turned her head to look at Greyson again, only to find him gone. She lifted her gaze. Caleb had his arm around Greyson’s waist, helping him back to the stern, probably to the captain’s chambers so they wouldn’t have to try to navigate the debris blocking the stairs to the lower decks.
He didn’t look back.
She closed her eyes, trying to rein in her emotions. She’d never told him how she felt. He’d walked away thinking she’d rejected him.
“Can you get up?”
Agent Bale’s voice snapped her back into the present. She looked up at him and nodded. “I think so. I might need some help.”
He offered his hand, and she took it, wincing as her abdominal muscles seized. “Not completely healed yet,” she gasped.
“I’ve got the helicopter waiting to get you back to the airport. Let me box up the Tyrfing and we’ll get back to D.C.”
D.C. Reality settled back over her like a suffocating embrace she couldn’t escape.
“Wait.” She looked past him to the demon. “Is Mamon…dead?”
Agent Bale looked over his shoulder and nodded. “They can recover from almost any wound our weapons can dish out, but you used a mythical sword. He can’t put himself back together.”
The sword. Her gaze shifted to the Tyrfing. The sun glinted off the blade of the legendary sword, and she realized it no longer belonged in a vault. The curse was broken.
And she knew someone who deserved to have it.
She braced herself and then took the hilt, half expecting the shock again, but nothing happened, reminding her it was only metal now. She gripped her still-tender middle and struggled to her feet. Agent Bale helped steady her, frowning.
“You need to rest, Henderson.”
“I’m healing. I’ll be fine.” She met his eyes. “This sword isn’t cursed anymore, so there’s no reason for us to keep it any longer, right?”
He raised a brow. “I guess that’s true.”
“Good.” She sucked in a sip of air, trying not to move her abs. “Then I’ll meet you at the helicopter in a minute.”
He didn’t argue with her as she turned and slowly made her way down the damaged deck, toward the stern. She told herself she wanted to be certain Greyson was healing, too, that she owed him this sword as a debt of gratitude for his help in retrieving it.
But the truth was, she needed to tell him how she felt. It wouldn’t change their reality. She was about to get on a helicopter to D.C., but at least he’d know. There would be another crisis, another threat to Americans, and Bale would need her. She had to go.
But she wished it could be different. Didn’t that count for something?
She took a large step to get around a hole and winced as the move tugged at her tender middle. As she reached the captain’s quarters, Caleb stepped out. He had a gash in his forehead that was already healing, and blood on his shirt. She couldn’t be sure if it was his or Greyson’s.
He frowned as soon as he noticed her. “You’re still here?” He crossed his arms, keeping his voice low and controlled. “You have your sword. Shouldn’t you be back in D.C.?”
Caleb had been kind to her. No longer. Greyson must’ve told him what had happened between them.
She’d envisioned anger might make leaving easier, but it stung. She cleared her raw throat and lifted her chin. “I wanted to be sure Greyson is all right.”
“He’s fine.” Caleb didn’t move out of her way.
The door opened behind him, and a battered Greyson peered out. His shirt was off, revealing the cut in the center of his abdomen. It was no longer pumping out blood, but the wound was still open, probably similar to her own, but she hadn’t taken the time to inspect it yet.
Greyson’s voice was raw and gruff. “I can protect myself, Caleb.”
The navigator glanced over his shoulder. “I’m doing you a favor, mate.”
“Let her by,” he grunted and vanished from the doorway.
A muscle jumped in Caleb’s cheek, but he stepped aside, growling, “He’s had enough games.”