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And then, I can breathe.
My body reacts on instinct, desperately sucking in a gulp of air, but it's too much too fast. My lungs don't know how to handle the change from having nothing to having a steady flow, and they cough in protest at being deprived. My chest burns as I take another breath, but the next inhale doesn't hurt as much.
The piano melody playing within the Red Keep blends into a high-pitched ring. I stick my finger in my ear as I wait for the sound to clear and for the bursts of gold and brown in my eyes to turn from blurry blobs to clarity.
"Are you okay?" a deep voice growls.
I recognize it as belonging to the soldier I met earlier and glare at him. That feeling is coming back, the overwhelming need to be with Ezra, and it's clouding the rational thought to thank the man from the woods.
I drop to my knees when I see Ezra on the ground, unconscious, with blood leaking from his mouth. Anger simmers under my skin, and I snarl at the soldier without meaning to. "What did you do?"
The man from the woods frowns, displeased at my reaction to seeing him again, but I can't make myself care. My heart is breaking. My best friend is dying in my lap, and this man wants what... Gratitude?
"Most women would say thank you," he states, his voice dripping with arrogance and a bit of sarcasm.
I clench my teeth, wanting nothing to do with him, and grit out, "Thanks," then turn my attention back to Ezra. I touch his neck and search for the beat of his heart. His pulse beats steadily beneath my fingers. The relief I feel is so strong that tears flood my eyes, and for once, I let them fall.
Alive.
Ezra is alive.
The man from the woods crouches down to my level. He ignores Ezra and brushes my hair to the side. His gaze settles on my neck, and that frown of his deepens. I’m sure my skin is turning a dreadful shade of purple, but I'm not worried about the mark or who might see it because it’ll be gone come morning light.
“You're hurt.”
"I'm fine," I insist because physically, I will be. Emotionally, I'm not so sure.
My insides are being torn to bits. I'm angry, worried, on the verge of an emotional breakdown, and oddly turned on. Nothing I feel lasts for more than a few seconds, and I can't make heads or tails as to which emotion to focus on first.
I look down at Ezra, and my heart races for more reasons than it should. He's still out cold, his breathing slow but steady. "He's the one you should be worried about."
"Why do you care about him?" The soldier from the woods huffs out a displeased breath. "That man was hurtingyou."
"He was my friend." Was sounds too final. Too close to giving up on who we were. I correct myself to say, "Is. He is my friend."
My voice cracks from too much emotion, but Ezra should be awake by now. Knock-outs don't last this long. He should have been out for a minute, two at most. Any longer, and there could be brain damage. "Something is wrong with him."
"I could have told you that." The man from the woods snorts as he stands.
I look up at him, irritated and painfully helpless. I haven't felt this pathetic since the night of the fires when I woke up, and my family didn't. Holding Ezra, cradling his unconscious head in my lap, I wish I had listened when he suggested trying to kill Graves another night. Stars above, I wish…
"Hey?" the man from the woods says cautiously. He sets his hand on my arm, and I jump, startled by his touch. "I'm sorry," he starts. "It just irks the shit out of me when someone lays a hand on a woman. You say something is wrong with him?"
"I think he's been poisoned." I wipe my cheeks, embarrassed to be crying in public on the floor of a dirty old tavern. Another emotion to add to the cocktail of insanity I'm feeling.
"Your friend might just be an angry drunk," the soldier says dismissively.
I shake my head. "I've seen Ezra drunk. He turns into a teddy bear. This is different. His eyes were different."
"What do you mean?"
"They were black, like the pupils had swallowed all the color, and the whites were so bloodshot they almost looked red. Drinking doesn't do that to someone."
The soldier’s expression steels when he says, “No, it doesn’t.” He lifts one of Ezra's eyelids, and the lines of his frown deepen. "I will help you, but I need you to be completely honest."
"I'll tell you anything," I promise.
"Do you feel different tonight?"
