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Istood motionless before the floor-length mirror in the corner of my room. Dried blood covered my body—and smeared my leathers. My hair was a tattered mess on the top of my head.
Recalling Breana’s lifeless body, I winced. Devastation weighed heavy on my chest, crushing my ribs.
Lilian’s mangled corpse at the river.
The shrill of Lewis’s scream.
I wanted to save everyone. Yet death surrounded me—there was no escaping it. Not in my dreams, not in the waking world. Not in this realm or any other.
My breaths came in deep heaves as the weight of Breana’s body settled over me, cutting off my air supply. I clawed at my clothes as the surrounding walls closed in—everything was too much. Everything screamed to be acknowledged.
Too tight.
The silence too loud.
I dropped to my knees with a silent sob but was quickly brought back to my feet and met with a warm, firm grip.
Talon’s warm scent enveloped me before his arms did, and I melted into his touch. Secure and strong—everything I failed to be.
“It’s going to be okay.” His breath brushed my hair.
I nodded absently, unable to find words. Everything felt like a blur, like it wasn’t real. I wanted to believe his words. Though how could I?
I wanted to cry out: Stars help me! But I didn’t. I couldn’t. My head rested against his firm chest, staring into the nothingness. “It was supposed to be me, wasn’t it?”
Talon’s silence was my confirmation. I’d heard the murmurs from the faerie court, noticed their sideways glances as I stumbled out of the arena. Breana wasn’t supposed to be dead.
I was.
“You should get cleaned up, come on.” He peeled the blood-coated strands of hair out of my face.
I barked a laugh, the sound foreign to my ears and dripping with sarcasm. He couldn’t lie. For whatever reason, that made me laugh harder. Nothing about this situation was funny. Something inside me was fundamentally altered—either that or I’d finally reached the point of delirium.
Talon’s voice dropped an octave as he stepped closer. “Elowyn, look at me.” It was a gentle command. Soft and comforting.
But I refused it.
I could barely look at myself, let alone at him.
Talon exhaled and scooped me into his arms, carrying me into the bathroom, where he set me on the bench by the clawfoot tub.
My body was limp, and it took every ounce of energy not to tip over, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball in the corner of the room.
Talon left me and turned on the tub’s faucet. Then tested the water with his palm, getting it to the perfect temperature before he took my face into his wet hands—those emerald gems fixed with concern. “You can’t shut down on me now, firefly. Are you able to get in yourself?”
I shook my head.
“Okay.”
I didn’t dare breathe as he unbuckled my vest, pushing it over my shoulders and onto the ground.
His face remained neutral as he tossed it aside. “Lift your arms,” he said, voice just above a whisper.
I complied.
Talon stood, gripped the hem of my shirt, and lifted it over my head—leaving me in just my brassiere—and my newly exposed skin pimpled from the cool air. Or from his deft touch as he grabbed my waist to help me stand.
“Here, hold on to me.” He brought my hands to his shoulders, the vein in his neck pulsing hard.
