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EMBER
At some point in the tub with Rafferty, I drifted asleep. Something I only realize once I wake and find myself curled against a hard body on a bed far too small. My body feels weighted as though my skin is full of lead rather than blood and bone.
I open my mouth to speak—but a sharp pain reminds me I cannot. Fresh tears burn in my eyes at this newly realized torment—wanting to tell Rafferty everything I learned—the truth about him and Ailis—and being unable to utter a single word.
“Are you cold?” he asks, his chest vibrating beneath where my cheek rests.
Somehow, I manage to shake my head.
“Are you comfortable?”
I raise my face to look at him and nod.
His eyes are haunted, the black band thicker now—nearly obliterating half of the gold. I know it was my abduction that put it there, and I hate Ailis even more—if that were possible.
I need to tell him. I try to sit, maybe if there is paper and a pen—but my body does not obey. When I try to lift my arms, they remain still.
Same with my legs.
Panic churns my stomach, and my breathing turns ragged. Rafferty moves out from beneath me and sits on the edge of the bed as he presses a hand to the side of my face. I look up at him.
“Easy, love. You’re safe.”
I can’t move,I long to say.Why can I not move?
“The bond has taken a toll on you,” he explains. “But Wally is trying to save you. He’s getting Bea so they can find Ridley. If we can go through the bonding, we might be able to save you.”
But I see it in his eyes. Hidden beneath the hope is the very real possibility that I will not survive that long.
Hell, I can feel it myself if I cease the panic. Exhaustion is already weighing on me, and breathing is far more of a struggle than it was even moments ago. Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself. The worst thing I can do right now is panic.
I only wish I could speak so I could bring Rafferty a little peace in the knowledge that Ailis was not his true mate.
“I’m so sorry I failed you.”
My eyes flutter open. Tears stream down Rafferty’s face, falling to the sheets of the bed. I try to shake my head, but I’m far too tired to move, so all I can do is stare back at him.
“I failed you,” he repeats. “I should have stayed inside—protected you.”
His tone is so tortured that it shatters the small pieces of what’s left of my heart. I was always going to die, but now Rafferty is going to suffer the belief that he is the reason when he is not. Truthfully, being here with him bought me a stay of execution from this disease.
I try to shake my head again, to mumble any string of sounds that will make him understand none of this is his fault, but nothing comes out. I’m unable to move, to make a sound. Paralyzed to do anything but breathe—and even that grows more difficult with each passing moment.
The haunting images of what was done to me in that house will never leave. Being cut open, tortured, treated like a fucking piece of garbage—a sharp pain shoots through my head, and I moan.
“What is it?” Rafferty questions as he leans forward to brush his hand against my cheek. “Fuck, you’re cold.” He leaves my side, and I try to reach for him, but my arms are frozen at my sides.
Panic claws its way out of my throat. I’m completely helpless.
Completely and utterly helpless to do anything.
He throws some wood in a small stove near the bed and kneels with a piece of flint, sending sparks onto the kindling below the stack. Flames roar to life, so he closes it and rushes back over to my side. “I don’t know how to help. What can I do?”
My massive warrior on his knees at my bedside is something I’d hoped to never have to witness. Tears slip from his eyes as he cradles my hand between his. The most torturous part of it? I cannot feel the contact.
All I can feel are my own tears as they slide down my face.
“I want to help you,” he whispers, then leans down to press a kiss to my forehead. When he does, the room around us fades, disappearing from view completely.
