Page 26 of Pucked Around and Found Out

I get up. I make coffee. I stand at the window and watch the dark outside and wait for the city to get light.

Focus.

CHAPTER TEN

TOREN

I come to with a sigh and slowly blink my eyes open, my throat sore and drier than the fucking desert. I try to swallow my spit to moisten it but it does nothing. I push myself up and frown as I look around.

This is not my room.

I passed out!

I was with Tate and Omen. Memories come flooding back—Xaden and the warehouse, Meekan, Masen and my dad.

Their lips.

Bile rushes up my throat. I’m disgusted. Even with the sirens in the distance, Caspian made sure not to leave Xaden’s prizes behind and snatched the lips off the cart before rushing out of there. Images of Meekan and my father’s lips inside his treasure jar run through my mind. He wants to frame my lips and place them above his bed so he can view them every morning when he wakes. He wants them to be the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes each night.

I harden my resolve. I can’t let my feelings for Xaden cloud my judgment any longer, I’m useless if I continue to allow them to control my decisions. I need to start thinking of him as my enemy.

I’m woman enough to admit it to myself, I love him.

He thinks love makes you weak, he’s wrong. It can be a driving force that pushes you to excel beyond your wildest imagination. It can be your strength if you allow it to guide you.

I climb out of bed and look around the room, when I find the adjoining bathroom I almost weep with gratitude. There are clothes laid out on the counter for me with some toiletries and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude.

I shower and change quickly. The nausea hits before I've even finished drying off.

I grip the edge of the sink and breathe through my nose and wait for it to pass, the way I have learned to wait for it — without panic, without trying to fight it, just riding it out until the wave recedes. This is the third time this morning. Or what I'm assuming is morning. I genuinely do not know what time it is or how long I was out or what my body has been doing while I wasn't inside it properly, but whatever it was doing, the pregnancy kept going regardless.

It always does.

I stand at the mirror and look at myself for a moment. The woman looking back doesn't look like someone who just spent however many hours being detained by the CIA. She looks like someone who slept badly in the wrong position. The bruise from Fiona's slap has started to yellow at the edges. My eyes are clearer than they should be.

I press both hands flat to my stomach.

Still here,

I think it in the direction of the small, determined presence growing inside me that apparently survived a warehouse, a CIA interrogation, dehydration, and twenty-odd hours of unconsciousness without complaint.

Both of us still here.

I let that be enough for a moment.

Then I straighten and don’t give myself time to overthink as I leave the room. As I slowly descend the stairs I hear voices. The old Toren would have tucked tail and hidden in the bedroom, not daring to come out but not now, not this version of me. She is strong, fierce and ready to claim her place as the head of her family and fight the war that has been brewing.

I follow the sound of voices down the stairs. I look around and take in my surroundings. It’s a beautiful place, a log cabin with large windows that let in sunlight. It’s the type of place you see in movies, where families come to spend Christmas and have the most spectacular views of the mountains.

As I reach the landing, I keep my head high as I round the corner. The living room is large, with a huge fireplace and floor to ceiling windows giving you a perfect view of the woods and mountains in the distance. The architect who designed this home knew what he was doing. I continue forward and enter the Master Chef worthy kitchen. I want to stare at all the appliances and marble counters, but my attention is snatched by the presence of the Filthy Few, Denver Kings, Nova, Tate, Vivian and the person I can only assume is The Butcher, sitting around the large table.

All their gazes are on me but my sole focus is on the man sitting by Omen, the one who offered me friendship with no strings attached and cared about me when I wasn’t even sure I cared about myself.

He looks pale and utterly exhausted but he plasters a smile on his face for my benefit. “Hey, Tor.” The sound of his voice has all my worries fleeting. I rush across the room, ignoring the stares of the others as I come to his side and bend down to hug him, careful not to apply too much pressure and hurt him.

“Hi, Carn,” I whisper. He softens in my hold and wraps a single arm around me, holding me close and offering me comfort. I know I should let go, this isn’t right to be holding him this long, but I was terrified I would lose him, never see him again. Now that he’s here in front of me, I don’t want to let go.

“I’m okay, Tor,” he says low enough for just me to hear.