If I open my eyes, will everyone be in pieces? Will their blood be wetting the soil?
Away.Get away!
The ground seems to shake, convincing me I’ve fallen headfirst into one of my nightmares. There’s a deep snarl, somehow tangible over my tortured sounds.
They’re here.
They’ve finally come for me.
I scream louder.
Strong hands weave under my knees, around my back, and I’m pulled against a hard chest that smells like leather and a cold winter’s day.
It’s not a comforting sort of hold, but a cage of arms that pin me in place. It claims and commands ... the sort of grip that can only belong to one person.
I peel my lids open to see the man from the hall standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, his sight trained above my head, set on the person carrying me.
There’s a seed of hate in those cerulean orbs, mildly veiled by a wash of confusion.
A flash of light lures my attention to the silver sword hanging from his white-knuckled grip, and my mouth tingles, stomach threatening to spill.
But I can’t peel my gaze away.
A hand sweeps over my eyes, severing the sight, creating a protective bubble that allows me to pretend there aren’t countless bystanders watching me unravel.
My next scream is muffled, absorbed by a cold, robust chest, and it’s not until the sound tapers that I realize Rhordyn’s heart rate is no longer slow and sludgy ...
It’sviolent.
“You’re okay,” Rhordyn murmurs, as if he’s trying to soften his voice.
An impossible task.
He’s rocking with me while warm, sulfur-smelling water laps at my body. It’s a balm to my blazing skin, though it does little to temper the throb of my bloated brain.
I’m convinced it’s about to cleave open and spill my thoughts, my essence ...me.
I try to open my eyes, but a wall sconce sends light knifing into the smudge of my vision.
“It hurts,” I moan through my sandpaper throat, palms bracketing my temples.
Rhordyn’s hand sweeps across my brow, and I nuzzle closer to his chest, breathing hard, searching for that calm spot inside me.
I jolt from another wave of pressure, and a wild scream belts out of me as my spine volutes like a squirming snake.
“Orlaith, I need you to relax.”
“I can’t,” I force out through clenched teeth.
“I can put you to sleep if you think it’ll help. There’s a spot right here”—firm fingers probe the cleft between two taut muscles in my neck—”all I have to do is push.”
“No.”
If he knocks me out, that doesn’t fix the problem.
I keep running ... hiding ... and I’m sick of it. I need to learn to handle myself.
I press my hands to his chest andshove, shocked when he allows me to fall out of his sturdy grip.
