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Strong arms slip behind my back and beneath my legs, lifting me out of the bed. My head sinks against Reyes’s chest. The room tilts and spins again. Afraid of potentially vomiting on him, I close my eyes. It doesn’t stop the sensation of falling and twisting, but it does lessen it to some degree.

Air washes over me, cool and refreshing, when Reyes steps outside. A second set of footsteps hurries along with him. My mind drifts as the heat underneath my skin burns out of control, spiraling through me as my arms throb. A pain-filled gasp breaks free when Reyes unintentionally squeezes my bicep where his hand rests with his arm around my back. My eyes fly open to see cloudy sky and the gray stone of Ipswich’s buildings.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” Reyes says, holding me closer.

Tears prick my eyes. Everything is too bright and too blurry and too much. It hurts. I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m scared.

“We’re almost there.” I’m not sure who says it, Amelie or Reyes. What I do know, however, is that I’m not ready for the waking world anymore. I collapse into Reyes and close my eyes as the darkness invades once more, oblivion taking over as I’m cast back into unconsciousness.

I wake in intervals. The first, lying down on an uncomfortable bed with plastic crinkling underneath me. Voices whisper back and forth behind a thin curtain, and the lights are turned down low. The second time, I’m in another person’s arms—a man’s by the flat hardness of the chest my cheek is pressed against. He smells of citrus and forest as he walks with purpose, shoes crunching over gravel.

“Take care of her,” I hear a female voice say. “If she gets worse, call this number, but she should be fine now. Keep her drinking the tea I gave you, and it should get rid of any lingering effects.”

“Thank you, Dr. Davies.” Is that Reyes? It sounds like it, but he’s far away. He’s not the one holding me.

I grumble, squirming to free my hand from where it’s trapped between me and the chest holding me. “Shhh.” A male voice soothes me. “You’ll be all right, Rabbit. Just go back to sleep, and you’ll be better when you wake up.”

His words are more than a promise—they’re something I want more than anything else. If sleeping will fix me, then sleep is what I’ll do. I let my eyes slide shut once more and fall back into the abyss. Praying to whatever god will listen this time … I won’t wake up wishing for death.

My lungs ache before I even open my eyes. It’s as if something heavy is pressing down and crushing my rib cage. More and more weight is added to my already straining lungs.

Forcing my eyes open with a gasp, I’m relieved when the crushing pressure alleviates. Dust particles drift in front of my field of vision, made clear by the soft morning light slanting in through the gauzy curtains. It makes the unfamiliar room I’m in appear dreamlike and hazy.

The air smells of pine and old books, and something warm—masculine—lingers beneath it. The ceiling above me is wood-beamed and unfamiliar. My body feels like a wrung-out dishrag, every limb heavy, joints swollen with fatigue. The bed I’m in is wide and massive, a king four-poster with a dark wood headboard and footboard. Across from me, the wall is covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves upon bookshelves.

I try to sit up, but a firm hand presses gently against my shoulder and I go still. My eyes shoot to the figure leaning over from a chair that’s been pulled closer to the side of the bed that I hadn’t noticed before now.

“Easy,” a voice says—low, calm, threaded with something like concern.

Cameron.

Sunlight glints on the wired frames of his glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose. My heart thumps once, slow and heavy. His hair is a mess of tangled curls and unkempt strands—as if he’s shoved a hand through the locks many times and forgotten to brush them out. There’s a light shade of stubble on his normally clean-shaven jawline and bruises beneath his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

I part my lips to respond, but a croak is the only thing that emerges. I try to speak a second time, but all I manage is a rasp. My throat feels like it’s been scorched. Horrified and wincing at the sound of my own voice along with the pain, I stare back at him helplessly. A light chuckle sounds as Cameron’s lips curl upward.

“One second,” he says, turning to the nightstand. A pitcher of water rests there alongside two glasses, one empty and dry and the other half full with droplets of condensation rolling down its sides. He lifts the pitcher and pours a hefty amount of water into the obviously unused glass before picking that up and offering it to me.

“Here,” he urges as I grab at it. “Slowly, though—” His fingers gently hold the bottom as I put the rim to my lips and start gulping back the liquid. “Slowly,” he repeats. “You don’t want to get sick again.”

My lashes flutter as I polish off the contents of the glass and release it to him with a gasp. “Again?” I ask, my voice sounding far better than before.

Cameron turns and sets the now-empty glass on the nightstand before taking his seat once more. “Yes, again,” he states.

I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”

Cameron eyes me, his earlier smile fading. He tips his head to the side, and I automatically follow the movement by mimicking it. I catch myself and straighten once more, reaching up to shove the black-and-white strands of my hair away from my face.

“What do you remember?” Cameron asks.

“I…” My eyes scan down to his clothes as I try to think back. Unlike his friends, Cameron has always dressed more conservatively or, rather, more like a man from a different time. Today is no different. I let my attention roll from the brown-and-gray sweater he’s wearing over an off-white oxford shirt to the black slacks that disappear toward the floor.

“Haven?” I blink and realize that I’ve been staring at him for so long that I’ve forgotten his question.

Clearing my throat, I return my attention to his expectant face. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “What did you say?”

His brows draw together, firming two lines that crease his skin. “I asked what you remember,” he reminds me. “From before? Do you remember being sick?”