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PROLOGUE
- Bel
Lilacs. The scent tickles my nostrils, wrapping me in comfort. The smell of my mother’s perfume surrounded me whenever I curled up on her lap as a kid and snuggled under the blankets while she read a book to me.
I sink deeper into the warmth of my mother’s body, promising never to leave her again now that she’s here, however fleeting that might be. I grip her tighter, the memory fading like leaves blowing in the wind. I’ll hold on to her memory forever. The moment I open my eyes, I know the pain will sweep back in and carry me away, ripping the perfectly constructed figment of solitude right out from under me.
"Maybel?" The deep, dark voice should terrify me but somehow doesn't. My name echoes around in the concaves of my mind, but I ignore the beacon slipping back into that tranquil space.
"Maybel? Wake up!" the voice calls again, and there's a hard edge this time. Fear strikes me, but I settle quickly because something about that voice is familiar.
The owner is someone my subconscious knows will not hurt me. I cling to the wispy clouds of my dream, slowly evaporating before my eyes. The smell of lilacs, the warmth of my mother’s arms around me, the soft thud of her heartbeat beneath my ear… it all slips through my fingers like sand through an hourglass.
Slowly, with the weight of ten cinder blocks on my eyes, I blink them open, then immediately regret it and slam them shut again with a groan. A throbbing sensation slices through my skull as it spears through me like a pencil straight to my pupil.
"Maybel?" A shadow moves above me, blocking out the light. I recognize that voice.
Sebastian. And suddenly, I have a whole other slew of problems I don't know what to do with.
"The light," I croak, my voice raw. "It hurts my head."
The brightness behind my eyelids dims, and it's like someone has pulled a five-pound weight off my face.
"Thank you." I wince while blinking my eyes open once more. It takes a moment to adjust to the room. As soon as they do, I’m struck by his disheveled image, noticing that he’s stripped off his tuxedo jacket and his bow tie hangs limply around his neck. He doesn’t appear to care.
When our gazes collide, he eases, his shoulders relaxing away from his ears. "Good, you’re awake."
I am, but a part of me doesn’t want to be, not when the events that transpired earlier come flooding back like a nightmare that refuses to let go.
Sebastian.
Drew.
Mom.
Fuck.
The pressure of it all threatens to suffocate me, and I scramble for the covers, wanting nothing more than to hide beneath them and escape the reality of my life. Sebastian doesn’t appear to agree and clamps a hand around my wrist, his hard grip stopping any further advancement. "No fast movements. You have a concussion from the fall, and they had to put in a few stitches to close up the gash on your head.”
I attempt to tug my hand from his grasp so I can check for myself, but his unbreakable grip stops me before I can even try. "Let go of me."
His mouth folds down into a straight line, and he slowly relaxes his grip before taking a step back. Just like Drew, he’s great at painting an illusion. Though his features may convey a calmness, his body language speaks otherwise. His tense posture is tight, as if he might leap back and grab me the second I twitch the wrong way.
"How’s your head feel?"
I nod once, but the action is painful, so I become as still as a statue. "It hurts. In fact, my entire body hurts.”
He sighs and smooths his hands down his thighs like he needs something to do, something to focus on. “Yeah, that’s probably from when you fainted. I caught you the best I could. It might also be adrenaline. Sometimes after a game, even if I don't take a hit, I’ll come home sore, every muscle in my body stiff."
I don’t respond and instead look at the other side of the massive hospital room. Everything is beige and white. Sterile and clean. The sheets are soft beneath my fingers, and the beep of the machines next to the bed are muted. It’s the complete opposite of all the hospital stays I’ve had with my mother, where the blankets are scratchy, the walls an off-yellow color, and the machines constantly beep because there aren’t enough staff to manage the influx of patients. A place like this will cost more than my entire college degree and then some. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I already know I’ve outstayed my welcome.
"I need to get out of here. I can't afford this." I don't look at him as I speak. The last thing I want to see on his face is disgust or pity. After everything, and even in my current state, I refuse to give up an ounce of dignity.
As if he's finally trusting I won't get up and sprint out of the room, he slumps into the cushy armchair beside my bed. "Don't worry about how much it’s going to cost. What you need to worry about is your health.”
I shift against the bed and try to hide my wince while I glare at him. "Only someone who doesn't have to worry about money says don't worry about money."
A dark spark enters his eyes, reminding me of the first time I saw him at The Hunt. Sebastian might appear kind and courteous, but everyone knows his true nature. His beast lingers just below the surface, waiting for the moment he can come out to play. "I said don't fucking worry about it, so don't fucking worry about it. It's all covered. You're not alone anymore, Bel."
