Page 149 of The Incendiary

“Fera?” The door flew open. “It’s the middle of the n⁠—”

His face took on an ashen hue at the sight of me. I hadn’t looked in a mirror, but my vision was blurred in my swelling eye. I couldn’t possibly look okay.

“I need help,” I rushed out before I could turn and run.

Abram gestured for me to come inside. He stared for a moment, horrified, then cleared his throat and moved toward a cabinet I knew held his remedies for pain.

“Please sit,” he called over his shoulder. “What happened?”

I carefully lowered myself into a chair near an examination table, unable to lift myself up with my injured wrist. I winced at the pain in my ribs, as my sliced-up thighs ached and pulled with each movement. While I waited for Abram to return, I covered my legs with my jacket to hide the blood staining my pants as best I could, then picked mindlessly at my cuticles until one started bleeding. That pain helped distract me from the pain everywhere else.

“Hey.” Abram approached me carefully, like he feared I might snap. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” He rested his hand on my knee. I flinched, even though I didn’t think he could harm a mouse.

“I’m sorry.” He jerked back, horrified, like he had just touched molten iron. “I was just trying to… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I answered meekly. And his attempt to comfort me was okay. But I wasn’t okay. Angry tears flooded my eyes. I breathed steadily, deeply, like Gavin had taught me back when he was⁠—

No. Not gone.

“Fera?” Abram’s gently imploring tone nudged me back to the present.

I stared down at my hands. “Sometimes I’ll go to the showers in the middle of the night. It’s nice to be alone. Quiet,” I added. “They must have followed me or known I was there.”

I focused on the bruise forming on my right wrist. Colors I knew would turn bright by tomorrow splayed across the back of my hand, nearly up to my knuckles. I flinched, pain radiating up my arm as I remembered that particular blow.

“Who’s they?” questioned Abram. His cheeks grew pale, his knuckles white. “Who, Fera?”

I opened my mouth to tell him, then paused. “Would it matter?”

“Of course!” he insisted, eyes widening. “Fera, of course it matters.”

Did I want others to know that they had seen all of me? Did I want them wondering what else had transpired? I needed to warn everyone about those four men being traitors, but the rest?

“Please, Fera,” Abram urged softly. “I want to help you.”

I looked up and met his gaze. I could only imagine how helpless and broken I looked to him. He was so very kind.

“Let me help you,” said Abram.

The sound of those words broke something inside of me. Suddenly, I was back in Warrich with a wolf bite on my arm, sitting in an armchair in front of a fire, terrified and hungry. I was staring into a pair of hickory eyes filled with a longing I hadn’t yet understood.

I’d let a man help me then. In return, he’d brought me back to life.

This wasn’t the same man, but…

“Alec Gerard,” I whispered.

“Shit.” Abram unfastened a clear jar filled with small white tablets. “I’ve never been able to stand that piece of⁠—”

“And Otis Stoll. And Hendrix and Micah Sharpe.”

His eyes snapped up from the jar, but he didn’t look me directly in the eye. If I were him, I would be afraid of what I’d find, too.

“Gods,” he choked. “Fera, I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t have it in me to respond, but I let him carefully assess my limbs, neck, face, and back. My ribs were bruised where they’d kicked me, possibly broken. I was too drained to heal myself at the moment, so there wasn’t much to be done for me other than be careful and manage the pain. He suspected a fracture beneath my left eye, but no broken bones in my arms.

I knew my legs were fine enough given I could walk, so I didn’t let him test those. I kept my thighs sealed shut and hoped he didn’t notice the blood seeping through my clothing.