I stride into the house and down the hallway to her room. She’s where I laid her, but the blankets have been kicked away, twisted around her legs as they scissor restlessly across the sheets. Her head rolls from side to side, hair damp with sweat, her mouth parting on broken moans as her body fights something I cannot see.
Her hands claw weakly at the mattress, as though trying to anchor herself to the waking world.
Her skin burns beneath my touch when I press my hand to her cheek—unnaturally fevered. The power I poured into her is still settling, still colliding with mortal limits. I feel it beneath her skin—wild, untempered, roiling, and trying to stabilize.
And outside, the presence creeps closer.
For a moment, I force it from my mind as I pull Eridessa against me, bracing as her body arches again in uncontained anguish. Her fingers clutch at her nightgown, dragging it up over her waist. She claws at the fabric as if it’s suffocating her, attempting to tear it free.
I catch her wrists.
Her head jerks to the side with a strangled sound. She wrenches her hands from mine and turns on herself, nails raking across her skin, leaving angry welts in their wake.
“Eridessa—”
She whimpers in her sleep, her voice thin and unsteady. “Ah—God—no… no…” A gasp. “Orán—” My name splinters on her tongue. “Make it—make it stop. I c-can’t—can’t?—”
“Eri, what’s wrong? What is it?”
Her eyes roll beneath her lids. Her body slackens for half a second before another tremor takes her. A hoarse, shaking plea slips free. “Help… help m-me…”
“Tell me how.”
Her hand drifts to her inner thigh, fingers pressing in, kneading her flesh as her legs draw together, shifting against each other. Then her nails dig deeper—hard enough to break skin.
I catch her wrist and pull it away.
She fights me.
“Ple—please…” The word drags out of her. “I can’t—” She sobs, twisting, curling onto her side as much as she’s able, only to move her hand back between her legs again.
“Eri.”
“I’m sorry…” She tosses her head to the side. “I don’t… want to… but it hurts, Orán.”
The rope crosses my mind—binding her hands to stop her from harming herself—but the thought turns just as quickly. She wouldn’t understand, not like this. Waking restrained… it could do more damage than good.
So I try again.
I catch both her wrists in one hand and steady her face with the other, trying to hold her still. When she continues to struggle, I lift her, pulling her into my arms and cradling her against me.
Her eyes occasionally flutter open, but they are glazed, and her pupils are blown wide in a way that disturbs me greatly.
Her fingers suddenly grab my shirt and yank, ripping the seams. Her face presses to my chest, then drags upward to the crook of my neck, and I freeze in place. Her hand follows, splaying over my heart.
For a few seconds, she calms.
However, her touch, her nearness, does the opposite to me.
“Need this. Need you. Need to feel your skin.” Her heavy breaths pant over my neck, sending a sharp reaction through my body.
She knows not what she does. I hold to that, forcing the thought to steady my mind before it strays where it shouldn’t.
“Shh… It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Yet my body tightens, heat coiling low despite myself—worsening when her hands roam over my skin.
“It’s okay, Eliora. I’m here. Keep talking to me. Tell me what’s happening. What’s wrong?”
