A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(80)

“You are a poison in this family, Arwen. You’re killing your mother.”

As he lifted his hand to strike me again, I called out, begging him to stop, but nobody heard me.

***

“Shh, Arwen. Nobody is hurting you. You’re going to be all right.”

I sobbed and sobbed, cries wracking through me at the pain.

Please stop, I thought. I can’t take any more.

“Stop what? Arwen?” He sounded frantic. Scared.

But so was I.

***

The bed was like a bath of silk, soaking me in sheets and leaving me weightless. Layers of gossamer lined the four-post bed, and twinkling lights peeked through in pockets. I hadn’t noticed a fireplace before, but the fickle, dancing flames through the canopy were a comfort. A slow lullaby sounded from an instrument somewhere. Haunted and bewitching, the notes weaved through the room, like wisps of moonlight. It made me want to sing. Or maybe cry.

“You’re awake,” Kane said, from a corner of the room I couldn’t see.

My eyes ached with tears at the soft sound of his voice.

The melancholy song ceased, and I heard him place something on the floor.

What had I seen before falling unconscious? The images of black, mist-like smoke coiling around me, lulling me into sleep, were hazy but I knew I had seen them. The feeling—it hadn’t been like anything I had felt before. Not like magic, not like a potion. It was as if something had seeped inside my soul and eased my anguish. It was a dark and twisted mercy of some kind.

Kane approached me slowly and held his cool palm on my forehead. It felt delicious. I leaned into it like an animal, rubbing my hot face on his hand.

“I have something even better for you.”

I whimpered at the loss of contact. The bed shifted and Kane was beside me, pulling my body against his and laying a cold compress on my forehead. It felt like heaven, and I turned my face away so he could run it along my neck and shoulders and arms—

My eyes shot open. “What am I wearing?” I could hear the slurring of my words.

Kane blushed. He was so cute.

“Thank you, bird. You’re in one of my shirts. It was all I had.”

I nodded my face into his body, cradling my aching wrist against his chest.

“You’re warm,” I said.

“Not as warm as you. Your fever hasn’t subsided.”

I hummed.

“Arwen,” he continued. “Why were you in the woods tonight?” He paused. His poor eyes were anguished. “I could have lost you.”

He held my wrist to him like it was very delicate. My heart thumped.

“I tried to find you.” I peered up and was met with a pained expression. I reached my good hand toward his rumpled brows and touched his temple. “It’s all right, I got what I needed.”

“And what was that?”

“For my mother. To heal her.”

Kane nodded, but I could tell he had no idea what I was saying. “Sleep, little bird. I’ll be right here.”

So I did.

***

I woke to shuddering and gasping. I looked around for the source only to realize the grotesque noises were coming from me. It was midday, and I felt like a hog roasting over a spit. I lashed at the sheets and rolled around, searching for some relief from the mountains of covers that swallowed me whole. I rolled onto a hard body and knew from the familiar scent it was Kane. He smelled like a sweaty cedar tree. If it had been doused in whiskey and set on fire.

“Clearly, I need to bathe,” he said, his voice laced with sleep.

I had to stop doing that—my fever was making it impossible to tell my thoughts from my words. I was a delirious mess, everything was blurring together, and I thought I might have been babbling. Damn this fever.

Kane’s answering laugh shook the mattress beneath us. Ugh. Had I said that out loud too?

“Why are you in my bed?” I asked. I was aiming for snarky, but it came out like a lost child.

“Actually, you are in my bed.”

I held my ground. “Why am I in your bed?”

Kane laughed again, a bright and hearty boom that brought a lopsided grin to my groggy face.

“It’s so good to have you back, even just a little.”

I wasn’t sure where I had gone but I smiled anyway. “You’re welcome.”

“Can you eat?” He made to leave the bed in search of food, but I wrapped my arms and legs around him like a vine.

“Don’t leave,” I was pathetic. It was all right. I had made peace with it in death.

“You aren’t dead, Arwen.”

Of course I was. He was reading my mind, and I was pantsless.

“I’m not reading your mind, you’re talking to me. And you’re pantsless because you keep taking off your pants.” he motioned toward the floor, and I peered over to see my leathers in a heap. I whispered an internal prayer of thanks to the Stones that there were no undergarments down there as well. I curled toward him again.

“I can’t keep holding you like this,” he said. His body had tensed. I couldn’t tell if I had dreamt it. “But I can’t seem to let you go either.”

“What was that?” I asked. “The…” I didn’t know how to explain it. The twisted darkness that had filled his room like living shadows.