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Sebastian’s voice.
The dull thud of camel feet.
The sway of riding on camelback.
The feeling of Sebastian’s strong arms around him.
Sometimes, when reality flooded back to him, it brought pain along with it. Sometimes it did not. Either way, it never lasted long. The darkness was always quick to rise up and drag him back into its depths.
After a time, perhaps hours or perhaps years later, the sway Peregrine associated with riding camelback ceased. Sebastian’s arms went away. Even the sounds of conversation abandoned him. The next time the darkness let him escape, Peregrine woke swaddled in sheets and with a pillow tucked under his head. He still couldn’t open his eyes, but the darkness was tinged with red, like sunlight bright enough to shine through his eyelids had fallen over his face.
All was silent for a while, then Sebastian spoke from some faraway place. “Where is Everard?”
“Delayed, I suppose. He said he was planning to fly. Perhaps there is bad weather.”
“Bad weather won’t stop a determined dragon from flying, Alistair.”
“And a dead doctor won’t stop what’s wrong with your omega.”
Sebastian grunted.
“I’ll continue to treat him until Everard arrives,” Alistair said. “It’s kept him alive so far.”
“But it hasn’t managed to wake him up. He’s not getting any better. The wounds—”
“Will heal when Everard arrives, I’m sure.”
“They seep that awful, unnatural color.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a scholar, not a medical professional. The fact that he’s yet to perish is a miracle.”
This time Sebastian growled, but if the conversation continued, Peregrine didn’t hear it. Searing pain throbbed inside of him and the darkness rose up and swallowed him again.
* * *
“He’s full of rot,” came a new voice the next time Peregrine awoke, this one barely masking its disgust. “The skin around his wounds has decayed and fever has all but eaten him up. Really, brother, you’d be better off finding a new omega. This one is fit for the grave.”
“Everard,” Sebastian seethed. “You will heal him.”
“Fine. If you insist. I suppose I did come all this way—it would be a shame to leave without making at least a little effort.”
“You will make more than a little effort.”
“I always do. There’s no need to bring out the scary voice, brother. You really must better learn to control your emotions.”
Peregrine wished he could open his eyes, but he hadn’t enough strength. All of his energy was being stolen away by a throbbing pain inside of him that pricked him like needles with every new beat of his heart.
“How long has he been like this?” The new voice—Everard—asked as a strange warmth rushed through Peregrine. It had the same feel to it as the fire that’d torn through him right after the attack, only this one was far easier to tolerate. It barely hurt at all.
“Close to a fortnight.”
“How is it you managed to keep him alive? The boy’s wounds are severe, and the rot has tunneled into him. By all accounts, he should be dead.”
“Alistair used his magic to heal him.”
“Alistair? Well, I’ll be damned.”
The warmth flowing through his veins pulled tightly on something painful inside of him, causing him to cry out and thrash. Both men by his bedside gasped and a large pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders, anchoring him to the bed.
