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I don’t.
On silent feet I pad over to the bed, turning off the bedside lamps. Before I can stop to think or let logic back in, I lift the blankets and scoot in beside him. I don’t get too close – I’m nearest his really bruised side, and I don’t want to poke any tender places. So instead, I lie on my side facing him, and I settle for placing my hand flat on his chest. His skin feels very warm, his heart throbbing beneath my fingers. I wonder if he’s dreaming, and if he is, what he’s dreaming of. Blood. Money.
Me.
I stay like that, my hand on his chest, and eventually I fall asleep. I don’t have any dreams. But some time later, I’m woken in the darkness so suddenly that I almost feel like I’m dreaming. The bed feels like it’s moving, and it takes me longer than it should to realize that I really am awake.
But no. It’s not the bed moving. It’s Elio.
I suppress a cry and flinch out of the way just in time to avoid a flailing arm.
“Shit,” I whisper, pulse racing. I crawl to the edge of the bed and turn on the lamp before spinning back to see what the hell is going on.
The first thing I notice is the unnatural way Elio is arching, digging his head back into the pillows. The fist the flew by my head a second ago is now wrapped in blankets, and he’s pulling, like he’s fighting something.
“Elio? Elio!”
His eyes are open, but there’s no way that he sees me. His gaze shoots sightlessly around the room, wide and dark and blank. He’s panting hard, his skin flushed and sweaty. He groans, but it’s kind of choked. Muted. Like in the dream, he’s trying to scream.
He’s going to hurt himself.
He’s moving way too much for someone in his condition.
“Elio,” I say, crawling towards him. “Elio, you’re dreaming.”
“Fire… Get… Out…”
I barely register the words, they’re so strangled, so raw.
“Have to get my Songbird out."
“Elio! I’m right here!” Not knowing what else to do, I lean over his contorted face and press my hands to his jaw, trying to wake him, to focus him, to make him see me.
But I instantly draw back, gasping. He’s burning up. Like the fire in his dreams are so hot, so real, that the heat is licking its way out of his skin.
“Elio. It’s alright. I’ll be right back,” I stammer, flinging myself off of the bed. I wonder if some part of him recognizes that I’m getting further away, because he suddenly twists and thrashes harder, grunting, like he’s trying to fight his way back to me.
I want to go to him. Stay with him. Cradle his head in my arms.
But I leave him there, sprinting into the hallway. Fucking hell! The one time I need somebody, and there’s no one in that stupid spot at the top of the stairs!
I run down the hall to the stairs, going them so fast that my footsteps sound like a furious drumbeat on the metal.
“Hello!” I call out frantically. “I need someone!”
Curse and Enzo come instantly into view, both of them crossing from the kitchen towards me with ground-eating strides.
“What is it?” Enzo asks, both of them already mounting the stairs to meet me halfway. I instantly spin and start running back up, not wanting to waste a moment. I’ve already been away from him to long.
“It’s Elio,” I pant, my words flying up and out of my throat like something’s chasing them. “He’s burning up! We need to get Doctor Morelli here or take him to a hospital. Or…”
“Shit,” I hear Enzo mutter. In a matter of moments, both men are on the phone barking orders, Curse telling Morelli to get his ass over here now, and Enzo seeming to alert the other soldiers stationed on the property as to what’s happening.
The three of us burst into the room at the same time. Enzo turns on more lights while Curse and I both go straight to the bed. Elio’s still tense and twitching, the tendons in his neck standing up with brutal contrast, every muscle in his chest and abdomen contracting. The bruising looks so much darker today, his whole side painted with blackened violence.
Curse wears no expression, but his eyes are deadly focused as he whips the blankets away from Elio’s heated body. Shit. I should have done that before I left the room.
“I’ll get wet cloths,” Curse says tightly. “Get his pants off.”
