Ryn and Zeph both step closer, clearly not liking my point, and I ready myself to go full feral bitch in my efforts to mar them both. Pain explodes in my chest, and suddenly my neck feels like it’s on fire. I gasp and grab for my throat. I feel warmth there, and a flash of what happened to me in Kestrel fills my mind. I can feel the blade again as it slices across my neck. The shock and panic crawl back up my esophagus to bleed out of the open wound in my throat. Clawing fear ices through my veins, and my eyes land on Zeph’s. He looks just as panicked, and then everything blurs and I feel myself falling.
Was this all a dream? Am I still back with Lazza, hallucinating and dying? Something catches me, and booming yells bounce all around me as I pant through the pain and try to comprehend what’s happening to me. I hear the faint sound of laughter as I lose all my strength, and my hands fall powerless from my throat.
I can’t breathe.
I struggle silently to pull air into my lungs, but it’s useless. The shouting all around me fades to white noise, and just when I’m about to give in to whatever is happening to me, a blinding light flashes, and I’m suddenly being sucked out of the arms of whoever has me and thrown into a never-ending darkness that sets every nerve ending inside of me alight with pain. A silhouette of a man’s body, somehow bathed in both shadows and light, burns itself into my mind, and then as quick as a sharp inhale, everything in and around me just...stops.
2
My heart beats steadily in my chest, and my breaths are even and quiet. I lie breathing in and out, worried that one wrong move will invite back the pain. I know I passed out again, because the light teasing the other side of my closed eyelids is bright. I can tell it’s daytime instead of nighttime like it was the last time I came to, and that means, once again, that my body called it quits and shut down.
If I never pass out again for the rest of my life, I’ll be a happy fucking camper. I’m starting to be really not cool with taking involuntary little naps and waking up in strange places. It has not worked out well for me so far, and my body needs to get on board with staying awake and alert. It’s time to toughen up.
I peel my lids back and immediately regret it. Fuck, it’s bright. I thought we were in a cave; why the hell is it so damn sunny in here? I try again, slower this time. A headache is already starting to pound steadily at my temples, and I feel like the living embodiment of a dust-filled mummy. Minus the cozy wrapped bandages though, because it seems I’m once again sans clothing. I’m getting pretty sick of that happening too.
The blanket covering me is gray and a little scratchy. It looks worn, and I hold it to my chest as I work to sit up. I’m weak as shit, and it makes me wonder even more how long I’ve been out. I’m lying on another blanket that isn’t providing any cushion between my ass and the rocky floor of the cave it appears I’m still in. My whole body is stiff and sore, but I’ll take that any day of the week over the pain I felt before.
A fire that’s on its last leg is barely smoking next to me, and I look up to find a large hole in the top of the cave that’s to blame for the painful brightness going on all around me. I have no clue where I am right now. I can’t tell if this is the same cave I woke up in to find Ryn and Zeph arguing—at least I think that happened and isn’t just a figment of my imagination.
I look around, but no winged assholes are here to greet me. I freeze when my search lands on a prone figure lying on the ground.
Treno.
I try to stand up, but my body doesn’t seem overly interested in cooperating with me. I end up seal crawling toward him instead, and thank fuck he’s less than a handful of feet away from me, because by the time I get to him, I feel like I just jogged a lap around the globe. What the hell is wrong with me? I lean my forehead against Treno’s blanket clad body and work to pull oxygen into my lungs. I can feel his chest rise and fall steadily, and a flicker of relief moves through me.
I get my shit together and lift my head to take him in. The first thing I see is a pink line across his throat. I reach out to touch it, but it’s smooth, like it’s an echo of a wound. I pull my hand back and run my fingers over my own neck. There’s a raised line across my throat in exactly the same place. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I jerkily pull my hand away, not ready to deal with the reminder of what happened to me.
I focus back on Treno, his long white hair matted and tangled, and a sheen of sweat layers his skin. He looks sick. I reach out my palm to his forehead, expecting to find his skin burning beneath my touch, but he’s cool and clammy instead. I scoot up closer to his head and run my
