Splintered (Splintered, #1)(48)
At last, I understand. The other memory, the one I assumed was real all these years, was tinged by what my dad thought had happened. By what he witnessed when he glanced out from the kitchen window where he was making pancakes. He thought I was dancing behind Alison, when all the while I was trying to protect my friend.
Someone I thought was my friend. Does a friend fly away and leave you bleeding and heartbroken?
I’m wrung out. All the revelations jumble in my mind, too much to absorb. The trauma my body’s faced over the past several hours takes its toll. My bruises throb, and my limbs feel as heavy as stone.
Still on my knees, I droop against Morpheus’s thighs—a solid support. The cool leather of his pants cushions my cheek. I close my eyes. Yes … I’ve been here before, held safely against him.
At first, I think I’m imagining it when he bends over to scoop me into his arms. But when the scent of licorice and warm skin surrounds me, I know it’s real.
“You left,” I accuse him, fighting to stay awake. “I was hurt … and you left me.”
“A mistake I vow on my life-magic to never make again.” Even though he’s cradling me close, his response sounds far away. But distance doesn’t matter; he gave his word. I’ll be holding him to it.
My eyes squint open to see shadows fold over us. Or is it wings?
For an instant, concern for Jeb resurfaces in my mind; then I drift into a dark and dreamless sleep.
I’m warm … too warm. A blue haze blinks bright, then fades—like the sun refracting off waves. The flow of water trickles somewhere close, and even closer, there’s the rustle of clothes.
“Jeb?”
“Take it slow, luv.” Morpheus sits beside me—licorice-scented skin, wild blue hair, tattooed eyes with jewel-tipped points. I remember now. He carried me here from the mushroom lair. I woke up midflight before passing out from my fear of heights, then woke again for an instant as he tucked me in his bed.
The blue haze is actually sheets of falling water, drizzling from the elegant canopy attached to the bedframe. Liquidized curtains.
Morpheus’s wings slice through the waterfall, which curls back and leaves him dry. Each time he shifts, the watery curtain moves with him, as if some sort of invisible barrier stands between him and the downpour.
I try to sit up, but the pile of blankets is too heavy. Claustrophobia makes my heart pound.
“Morpheus?” My voice cracks, rough and gritty, as if I’ve been sucking down dry saltines. It must be from all the tears I swallowed in the ocean.
He lies beside me on the mattress, leaning on his elbow. His fingers weave through the strands of platinum hair splayed out on the pillow around my head. “You were crying in your sleep. Are you in pain?”
I nod, working my hand through the blankets to touch my throat. “Jeb,” I murmur.
Morpheus frowns. “Your friend’s safe and resting in the guest chambers. Which means you are mine for now.” He starts to pull the blankets back.
What felt like bindings a minute ago now feels like armor being peeled off. I’m not sure what I’m wearing underneath the covers, so I clamp the last remaining blanket in place at my collarbone.
Morpheus leans close. His hair brushes my exposed shoulder, tickling and soft. “Shy little blossom,” he whispers, his sweet breath cloaking me. “We’re simply going to meld your pain away.”
Meld … that doesn’t sound like something my dad would approve of. Jeb, either, for that matter. I start to push Morpheus back, but the blanket slides down my body in the curl of his pale, elegant fingers. I’m left in a long, strappy nightgown of champagne lace and satin. It covers all the right places, yet I feel exposed. Morpheus had to see me naked to put me into this. I cross my arms over my chest, cheeks hot.
He smiles. “No worries. My pets undressed you. When they took your clothes to be burned.”
“Burned? But … I don’t have anything else—”
“Hush now, and be still.”
“You said something about a banquet. There’s no way I’m wearing this.” I tighten my arms around myself.
He shakes his head, then pushes the hem of my gown until it’s just above my ankle, exposing my birthmark. I sit up, about to jerk my leg away, but his deep, dark eyes turn to mine. “Trust me.”
The fluttery sensation in my mind prods me to listen. Here in this place, where I no longer have the white noise of voices distracting me, I can hear my thoughts distinctly for the first time in years. I can understand that beating in my mind. The fluttering feeling—that’s me. I have another side, beyond good girl and obedient daughter, that’s instinctive and wild.
It’s that side that chooses to trust him, despite our bizarre past … or maybe because of it.
Rolling his shirt’s cuff to his elbow, Morpheus exposes that matching birthmark at his inner forearm—the one I remember from my dreams. Intrigued by our likenesses, I grasp his wrist with one hand, tracing the lines with my other. The maze glows beneath my touch. His features shift, and a rumble escapes his throat—something between a purr and a growl. His arm tenses, as if it takes his full concentration not to move while I appease my curiosity.
He’s a contradiction: taut magic coiled to strike, gentleness at war with severity, a tongue as sharp as a whip’s edge, yet skin so soft he could be swathed in clouds.