Page 84 of Hallowed Bones

An aura buzzes beneath the surface of my skin—a wild magic that before I might not have known but now I recognize with an almost instinctive sense. Anger builds up in my chest, tightening fists around my lungs.

“You can’t expect me to meet you and trust you automatically,” I tell him. “I hardly know you, and you don’t know me.”

“You’re the one who won’t let us get to know you,” Reyes shoots back.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I widen my eyes. “I haven’t run screaming from the room or house even though I went to bed in my own dorm and woke up somewhere else.”

“It’s because you can’t,” he argues.

“Bullshit!” I grip the sheets, shoving the tray toward the end of the mattress. “I can do whatever the fuck I—” I turn toward the edge of the bed and slide my legs until my feet hit the floor. Reyes shoots up from his chair, but Cameron remains seated, eyes on the two of us. The second I try to stand to prove my ability to him, I nearly collapse.

Reyes’s arms are around me in a heartbeat, his chest against mine. He’s holding me up when the muscles of my weakened limbs turn to soft noodles. The position—Reyes at my front, arms wrapped around me, his scent invading my nose, all spice and male heat—reminds me of something else. A long-ago memory. A dream.

Dreamwalker. That’s right; Reyes is a dreamwalker, and I was in his dreams. Before I’d ever met him, I’d been in his dreams. Together, we’d run from that awful fire, the flames licking at our heels until it’d turned into a rolling tidal wave. It’d crashed over our heads, sending us down into the depths of water so dark all I’d been able to see was him, and in the last seconds before I’d woken, he’d opened his mouth and offered me his air.

Reyes had died for me in his dreams. Why am I getting so fucking angry at him? He’s right. I have been pushing them away. I’ve been scared and unwilling to face the truth even with the evidence in front of me.

I sag back into the mattress, my ass hitting the edge, and Reyes lets me, though his hands linger on my shoulders. Panting through a raw throat, I gasp in air, but it struggles to reach my lungs. Over and over again, I gulp down breath after breath, and not a single one of them does what it should.

“Hey, no, no, no.” Reyes’s tone loses its sharp edge as he goes to his knees in front of me. His hands move to cup my face, warming my cheeks. “I didn’t mean—shit, I’m sorry, shortcake. I was just worried about you. I didn’t mean to freak you out. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Flashes and broken fragments of the last several weeks assail me. The creature’s jagged limbs, the clicking, scratching noises it had made. The forest path and the specter, Ezra’s arms around me much like Reyes’s. The dream. Lyall’s kiss. All of it flows into me. My pulse stutters.

“You’re okay,” Reyes continues to murmur. “That’s it. Take a breath. Hold it in. Then slowly release.” I follow his orders. Instead of trying to suck down as much air as possible, I take one big, giant gulp and hold it for as long as I can before exhaling through my mouth. It helps.

My pulse slows to a more sedate pace. My ears stop ringing with the sound of a distant bell. My skin doesn’t feel quite so tight over my bones anymore.

Reaching up with trembling hands, I touch the back of Reyes’s knuckles. “What’s wrong with me?” The question comes out as a whisper.

It’s Cameron that answers, though. “You’re still recovering,” he tells me. “Darkrot takes time to fully heal. The cuts are gone and your fever has finally broken, so you’re well on your way.”

“Can you breathe better?” Reyes asks.

I nod, eyes focused on my lap with confusion. That’s when I realize that I’m not dressed in my own clothes. The white T-shirt I’m wearing isn’t one of my own. It’s far too big, and instead of my normal sleep shorts, I’m dressed in a pair of ill-fitting plaid boxers.

“Who—?” I pluck at the hem of the shorts and glance up.

Cameron grimaces. “You were sweating through your clothes,” he says apologetically. “We wanted to keep you comfortable.”

“So you changed me while I was passed out?” I arch a brow, unable to picture Cameron of all people stripping me naked while I was unconscious.

And to back up that expectation, Cameron hurriedly shakes his head in denial. “No!” he says. “O-of course not.” His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose in his sudden movement, and he absently pushes them back into place.

“I did,” Reyes states.

I swing my gaze back to his as my jaw drops. He changed me?

Reyes shrugs at my expression, releasing me to take a step back now that I’m no longer mid–panic attack. “If you think I or Cameron are the kind of men to take advantage of a sick woman who doesn’t even know where she is, then you really don’t know us,” he tells me, and I suppose that he has a fair point.

None of the Sons of Salem strike me as the type. Still, though, it’s unsettling to realize that he’s seen me naked and I haven’t gotten the chance to return the favor. I eye him speculatively.

“Does this mean the next time you’re changing, I can pop in for a show?”

The corners of Reyes’s mouth curl up. “Shortcake, you don’t even have to wait.” He bends closer, the shadow of his much larger body blocking out much of the light from the windows as he does. “I’ll give you a show anytime you want. Fair warning, though.” He holds up a finger. “One touch is all it will take for you to become part of that show. So I hope your self-control is good, because if not…” His eyes skim over my front and then pause on the place between my legs. I clench my thighs automatically.

I’d only meant to tease him and ease the tension in the room. How the heck had he managed to turn the tables on me?

“Enough.” Cameron huffs out a breath, smacking Reyes on the back of the head. “We should go let the others know that she’s awake. They’ll want to see her and talk.”