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The pain’s all downhill.
Only the hill’s a jagged obsidian cliff with lava veins and no bottom.
I’ll fall forever, hurting and burning.
Even if I had to take the old Wyverns—the ones who weren’t there when I needed them the most—I’d take them so fast.
I’d take them right now, a thousand million times.
I’d run into their arms.
Let alone the ones who feed me snacks, wrap me in blankets, and shave my bullies’ heads.
Noelle needs to be bald.
I’m telling JJ.
My belly wrenches, another twist that sparks a moan. I snap my jaw shut.
Gonna save myself and pray they’re on the way.
They’ll come for me.
They will.
Just need to stay away from Dominik and survive until my rescue.
But it’s hard to plan when my brain steams and the heat chews up my insides, that empty, gnawing ache hijacking my brain.
Like, didn’t we do this before? Thought we gave you plenty of time to lock down a thick knot.
I shake myself.
Shut up, hormones.
Have to focus.
Plan.
Find a lifeboat, the steering wheel, or at least a freaking harpoon.
I crawl onto the deck and wrench myself up with the railing.
There’s no harbor.
Open water stretches to the fuzzy horizon.
Gonna be sick.
I reel, but orange flashes at the corner of my eye. A life vest, mounted to the wall.
I rip it down and jam my arms through the holes, trying not to look too hard at the stinging gore on my left arm, or the bruises dotting every other scrap of skin.
Seriously.
What the hell did they feed me to put me in heat when I’m this beaten?
It’s not sustainable.
