Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(51)

My vision faded in again as I was dragged into the shelter behind a large dumpster. Something heavy crashed against my feet, the weight twisting my body at an odd angle that I was happy I couldn’t feel. I looked around, desperate to see who or what had pulled me into the shadows, but found nothing.

My vision kept threatening to fade out again, but I fought it, desperate to see what was going on around me. The sweet-and-sour smell of garbage filled my nostrils and gave me something else to focus on in the effort to stay conscious.

The steady sound of footsteps on crunching gravel filled the alley, the thudding of heavy feet running along the broken surface of the asphalt vibrating in my head. I listened as the steps got louder, the angry voices that accompanied them becoming real. My head swam with sound and the vibration that I could not ignore; the agony within my head swelling with the new pain. My vision, and now my hearing, continued to fade as I fought against the blackness that was trying so hard to take me.

“He is going to pay for this!”

“…already is, mostly dead anyway…”

“If only… dead… get his car…”

Their voices faded in and out so fast, I could barely make out what the angry men were saying. I watched as two pair of shoes ran past the dumpster, the vibrations beginning to lessen as they moved away from me. My heart relaxed a bit at their departure.

Although they hadn’t found me, I was still dying behind a dumpster.

I lay amongst the garbage for who knows how long, my body unable to move, my vision and hearing blacking in and out frequently. I knew I only had a matter of minutes left; I could feel everything giving out in an undeniable finality.

Suddenly, the weight on my feet lifted and I heard a sigh of relief behind me. I couldn’t turn to see who it was, but I felt my insides tighten in stress and fear.

The dumpster that lay beside me moved to the other side of the alley, the heavy box making very little noise. I heard the soft crunching of feet move closer to me before carefully torn jeans kneeled down in front of me and a soft hand came to rest on my cheek. My vision gave way as I felt the person’s warm hands move underneath my limp body and lift me to a hard chest.

“Don’t worry, Siln?,” a heavily accented voice said. “I’ve got you.”

Ilyan had found me.





Sixteen


I could have sworn I was flying. I could feel the wind whip through my hair, the calm sensation of rising and falling evident as we moved. I could very well have been running, although being held while someone else ran tended to be a jostling experience. What I felt now was smooth and calming, like a gentle rocking.

The wind on my hair ceased as the rocking motion stopped and I felt a subtle drop as Ilyan sat down, lowering me onto his lap. I could feel the slight pressure of his folded legs under my body as he laid me against them. I felt as if my body had been attached to someone else’s, and I was only getting brief explanations of what I should be feeling.

“Come back to me now, Siln?,” Ilyan crooned, his hand smoothing my hair. “I need you to see me.”

Although I knew my eyes were open, I still wasn’t seeing anything. My vision had blacked out shortly after Ilyan had found me, followed by my consciousness. I had come back to myself only moments before, but my vision still hadn’t returned.

Ilyan moved my head gently, placing it in a more comfortable position against his leg, so that I could see him, I assumed. Still, the blackness consumed me. My body continued its attempt to drag me into death, but I didn’t take notice of its attempts, thanks to the overwhelming numbness I felt. Perhaps, if I hadn’t had the dull wash of pain to focus on, I would have gladly let it take me. I heard Ilyan exhale as he ran his fingers down my neck, tracing the silver chain of my necklace.

“Joclyn,” Ilyan whispered reverently. “I need you to focus on my hand. Focus on my hand against your cheek. We have to do something, and it is really going to hurt.”

Hurt? How could anything hurt? I felt so numb.

“Brother,” he said, and for one fleeting second I was terrified that someone else had found me, but Ilyan’s voice was smooth and calm. Who else was here?

“Brother,” he repeated, “I have her now; I need you to release her.” He paused as if waiting for a response, but none came.

“Listen to me, please,” Ilyan pleaded. “I cannot save her if you don’t let her go. I will protect her and keep her safe. But please, let her go. Let me save her life and give you the opportunity to save yours.” Still he waited, but nothing happened; no one responded to his pleas.

“She is dying, as are you. You must trust me.”

I felt my heart go into overdrive. Dying? Of course I knew it was true. In fact, I would have gladly chosen death not more than a few moments ago.

Ilyan waited before exhaling deeply, as if he had received a response.

“Focus on my hand, Joclyn.” Ilyan had a panicked edge in his voice that jerked my mind right back to him. “I’m right here.”

I couldn’t understand why he was so panicked or what was so scary, until I began to feel it. First, Ilyan’s concerned face swam into view as my vision returned, his hand plastered against my cheek. Soon after, the numbness began to dissipate. As it moved out of me, the intense pain of before began to come back. I felt it first in the tips of my fingers and toes then it moved up my arms and into my legs. A loud wailing began to fill my ears, the deep melancholy sound seeming to fully embody how I felt. It filled my ears with such sadness and heartbreak, it rattled in my bones. My eyes darted around, desperate to find the owner, but instead only found Ilyan, his lips a hard line.