Scarred (Never After #2)(92)

“Tristan,” a small voice chokes out, and when it registers who it is, then I do force my lids open, staring down into the horrified face of Simon, his toy sword limp at his side and his face scrunched in terror. “What have they done to you?”

My tongue swipes over my chapped lips and my mouth pries itself apart, unsticking my dry tongue from the roof. “Little lion,” I rasp out. “You shouldn’t be here.”

His eyes glance around the courtyard, the sun setting behind the horizon and casting an orangey glow on the ground. I flick my gaze to the guard standing at the side, his eyes looking at Simon and then to me, but not moving from his spot.

“Leave, Simon.” I try to infuse strength in my voice but come up short.

He hiccups, stepping closer, and when he does, the guard moves too, tightening his grip on the rifle at his side.

“Simon. Leave.” Urgency spreads through me.

He shakes his head, big fat tears spilling from his eyes. “I can’t… Where’s lady? Why isn’t she here?” His voice grows manic. “She could save you, why di-did they do—”

“Simon.” Pain tears through my side, the scabbed over wounds reopening, and I grimace. “Go to your mother, okay? I’ll be fine. This is just…”

The guard moves over now, stepping in front of me and blocking my view, and my chest splits open, realizing that this is the last time I’ll ever see Simon’s face. The last time I’ll get to hear his voice or tell him he’s strong. The last moment that he’ll see me and know that I’m not.

He doesn’t even know we’re family.

Simon rages, throwing his toy sword up at the guard. “Unhand him.”

The guard chuckles. “Might want to work on that roar, kid. Get out of here. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Something cracks in the distance and all of our eyes turn toward the noise.

“What was that?” the guard asks.

Another sound, this time closer, and although I can’t explain it, a feeling trickles down my spine, infusing me with a bit of strength.

Simon’s gaze locks on mine. “I’m going to save you.”

Panic wraps around my middle, not knowing what’s about to happen, but feeling in my gut that whatever it is, it’s no place for him to be. “Someone already is,” I lie. “Go wait for me in the tunnels, okay?” My voice is breathy, and weak. “I’ll meet you there.”

His lower lip trembles. “Promise?”

“Promise.”





Something tugs at my wrists, causing the worst physical pain of my life as my arms drop from where they’ve been hung. My eyes spring open, meeting the silent, pitch black of the night, and my body drops to the ground.

Delicate hands grab at my face, and I try to shake the fog from my mind so I can focus on what’s in front of me.

Something in the air has shifted.

Something has changed.

Water dribbles over me, and I tilt my head back, opening my mouth, gulping the liquid, allowing it to soothe my parched throat and sore muscles. Finally, logic filters back in and Sara’s beautiful, perfect features come into my view, looking like an angel of death as she grins.

She’s tied her hair in a bun, but curls fall out of the edges, and there’s a deep red line smeared across her cheek that looks a lot like blood.

“Are we in Heaven?” I murmur. I try to lift my hand, but agony shoots through my limb.

She grimaces. “No, my love. Right now? We’re in hell.”

I cringe when she helps pull me to a sitting position, and I shake my head of the haze and glance around. The guard from earlier is dead, sprawled on the ground with a shiny dagger sticking from the front of his throat.

“How?”

“Shh,” she whispers, her arms running down my naked chest and over my torn up body. “I’ll have to relocate your shoulders.” Her eyes meet mine. “It will hurt.”

I manage a soft smirk. “No more than thinking you were dead.”

She smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss against my lips, and with a sharp snap of her body weight, there’s an acute, agonizing pain, followed by a dull throb.

Groaning, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip until I taste blood.

“One more time, ready?”

“Ye-”

She snaps it back into place before I can finish the word, and I let out another groan of pain. Glancing around, she digs a small bottle out of her pocket.

Laudanum. “Are you going to drug me now?”

She lifts a brow. “Just take a little. For the pain.”

I grab the bottle and allow the bitter liquid to slide down my throat, and then she helps me to a stand. My body is worn and tired, shaky and bruised. But I’m alive. She’s alive.

“How is this possible?”

Shouts sound in the distance and she places her hand over mine, looking at me. Fear squeezes my chest. I just got her back, I’m not ready to lose her again.

“Can you run?” she whispers.

I nod, and she pulls me along with her, my muscles screaming in protest and my lungs burning as we sprint from the middle of the court to the far east side, hiding behind a wall that leads into the tunnels.

The courtyard lights flare to life, and dogs bark in the distance, and I know before anything is said, that means the military will be flooding here soon. If I hadn’t convinced Michael to send away most of his troops, she wouldn’t have even made it to me.