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“Great,” Ana groused. “I’ll look them all up then. Try and figure out where they’ve taken her.”
She paused for a moment, mulling her options. “Or I can call for reinforcements.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, setting one foot in front of the other and fighting the burst of nausea that the movements awakened.
“You’ll see,” she replied, reaching into her pocket for her Touch.
As she typed furiously on her device, I dragged shuddering breaths into my lungs, fighting the panic that sat in my chest like an immovable stone. With each inhale, I could still smell Twyla in the air, her floral-iron scent clinging to our sheets, our pillows, our everything. I held each breath for as long as I could, treasuring even the smallest part of her that remained in this room.
I’d almost forgotten what grief felt like—in Twyla’s arms, she made it seem like life was easy. In truth, without her presence by my side, I felt the old claws of grief and fears of abandonment creeping back in, tearing through the neat line of stitches I’d sewn over the old wounds.
She didn’t want to go, I reminded myself. She didn’t want to leave me.
The thought gave me a little more strength—just a spark of hope clamoring between panic and pain.
I stood in front of the broken window, tilting my head to the breeze. The night sky spread out in front of me like an endless glittering canvas.
Somewhere in this great cluster was the other half of my heart, and I knew beyond doubt that she longed to come home.
Ana guided me back to her living room, stuffing a few iron replacers into my mouth as I wavered on my feet.
I swallowed the pills gratefully. Despite the painkiller, my body felt cold and weak, limbs on the verge of trembling.
Ana had checked again and assured me that the wound was only skin-deep but that I’d need stitches if the sealant didn’t work, but my mind wasn’t on that. My vision still constantly swam with images of Twyla, screaming, reaching for me as I was knocked unconscious.
I couldn’t unsee it. I couldn’t unhear her scream of desperation.
As each second ticked away, I was finally able to wrap my mind around what was truly bothering me. It wasn’t the throbbing pain in my head or the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me. It was the fact that I’d let her down—my Blood Mate. I hadn’t been able to protect her.
I was alone in my head now. No errant thoughts from that beautiful voice, no extra heartbeat behind my temple. Nothing. After getting used to the feeling of her inside me, the emptiness was nauseating.
The more I wished for it, the further I reached for that connection, the more I realized how truly alone I now was, how I’d lost her...how all I had left of her was her screams.
Gingerly, I peeled the undershirt off my body and stuffed it into the disposal bin beside me. Ana had laid out a change of clothes and sanitizing cloths, and I swiped the latter over my body gratefully, removing the streaks of blood that ran down my shoulder and arms.
Ana was standing a few feet away with her back to me, tapping furiously into her Touch, her muscles taut with tension. I briefly wondered how Ana had known that something was going on. Those hunters had been so quiet that I’d barely heard them until it was too late. Had she heard the shattering glass all the way across the field? Had she heard Twyla’s screams, her pleas?
I swiped the cloths across my shoulders and back furiously, heedless of the pain. The smell of sanitizer and blood filled the room.
“Gentle,” Ana cautioned, still typing away. She hadn’t looked up from her Touch. “I still think I should give you another painkiller at least.”
“No.” I wanted to feel it.
I dumped the soiled cloths into the bin and slid a clean shirt over my head. It was Ana’s, worn and comfortable, but much too long. I tucked the ends into the soft work pants she’d provided before I sat on the edge of the worn couch and closed my eyes. I tried, I really did, to reach Twyla’s mind. I just wanted to know if she was okay. I’d take anything—a flutter of her heartbeat, even the acid of her fear. I just wanted to feel her again.
“They’re here.”
I stood, trying my best not to wobble on my feet.
Ana opened her front door to three peacekeepers in full gear. They clicked their heels together in unison when they saw her—a form of greeting in the corps.
“I’m retired,” Ana reminded them. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You’ll always be our Commander.” The voice was matter-of-fact. All three of them were wearing helmets covering their faces so I couldn’t make out who had spoken.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Ana stepped aside and let them through.
Their heavy boots thudded on the stone surface of the little cottage floor. With five people in the room, the space now seemed smaller, the ceiling lower. Claustrophobic.
