Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(54)

“Ryland? How did he…?” Wyn spluttered.

A strong hand gripped my shirt tightly and gave it one sharp tug. I felt the few strands of fabric that remained un-torn from the alley give way as my top was ripped from me and the shirt cast away.

“That’s how,” Ilyan sighed, his voice oddly reverent.

I heard Wyn’s voice sigh something in Czech I didn’t understand.

“You need to be careful with the pants,” Ilyan instructed her. “If you jostle her spine too much, it won’t heal correctly.”

I didn’t even have time to think about lying in my underwear on the bathroom floor in front of Ilyan before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, Joclyn. I have to bring the pain back, but it’s only for a moment. We will both be right here with you the entire time.” Ilyan didn’t even give me time to respond; he simply removed his hand from my face and the warmth and numbness disappeared instantly. It wasn’t like before when the pain built into a rage; this pain flooded through me in an instant, and I found myself screaming in agony, my immovable body desperately trying to escape the torture I was trapped in.

“Lift her!” Ilyan yelled over my screams.

I screamed louder as their strong hands moved me, sending another violent flame through my whole body. My screams bounced around the tile of the bathroom, trapping us all in the sound.

They lowered me into the tub, the hot water folding over me to envelop my body like a blanket, its touch relieving the pain. The mass of the water was heavier than what water normally felt like, but perhaps it was just my broken body that made it feel that way. My bottom hit the base of the tub with a thud, the impact sending an uncomfortable jolt up my back that made me call out in pain. The water smelled strongly of the flowers I had originally smelled, but something else was mixed in. It almost smelt like an odd combination of burning wood and mint.

“I don’t think this is moving fast enough, Ilyan; she is still weakening,” Wyn whispered into the silence. “She is going to have to go under.”

“I’ll go get the drevo.” The door opened and shut, leaving silence in the bathroom.

“Joclyn,” Wyn’s voice was hesitant; I couldn’t help but notice that the accent had disappeared. “You’ll need to go under the water. It is only for a minute, and Ilyan and I will be right here,” she said, hesitating again. “We… we won’t let anything happen to you.”

The door opened and shut.

“Should we take the necklace off?” Wyn asked, her accent returning.

“No. Perhaps the kouzlo will transfer to him and we can save two lives tonight.” He paused and I heard something heavy hit against the side of the tub. “Joclyn? Don’t be scared, Siln?.” His voice was too distant; I focused on it as it echoed around my brain.

I felt his hands pry my mouth open and something large and rough was placed inside. The large mass was coarse and uncomfortable against my tongue, the bitter dirt taste shocking me. I tried desperately to spit it out, but Ilyan’s hand stayed tight around my jaw, not allowing it to open again.

“It’s okay, Joclyn. It will help you.”

My body twitched in panic as I continually tried to force the uncomfortable mass off my tongue. I fought against Ilyan’s hand that he held against my jaw, and I fought against the invisible bonds that tied my body, but nothing responded.

What were they doing? Why wasn’t I in the hospital? I didn’t understand. I tried desperately to piece together what I had been told, what had happened. I knew the answer was right in front of me, but I couldn’t see it; I couldn’t piece it together.

My eyes snapped open to see the two faces peering over the bath at me. Ilyan looked down with something akin to worry and fear, but it was Wyn who was shocking. At first, she looked the way she always did—chin-length auburn hair and dark eyes—but her features had changed so drastically, she almost didn’t look like herself anymore.

Wyn’s eyes were darker than normal, but not only in color, the whites of her eyes were almost nonexistent. Her eyes were not the most shocking change; against the side of her face was a dark tattoo that ran from her hair line and disappeared down the side of her neck and under her shirt. The deep black lines swooped and spiked over her skin with jagged edges that were sharp like the barbed tendrils of a wire. My stomach clenched tightly, afraid the wire was going to cut into her fine skin and rip her apart. The marks looked like the swirls and flowers and thorns of a tribal tattoo, but turned so much more sinister almost, as if it were an infection.

She didn’t look ashamed or embarrassed as I looked at her, even though I was sure the surprise and confusion was clear on my face. She just looked at me sternly, her jaw set, before she reached forward and shoved me down, holding me under the water.

I panicked and fought against her, but my body couldn’t obey my mind. I could only stare at them from under the water as I tried in pointless desperation to move. I opened my mouth to scream, but it wouldn’t obey; instead it stayed clamped shut around the wad of dirt that still rested on my tongue. My chest began to burn for want of air, my vision began to darken again. I felt the weight leave my chest as Wyn removed her hand, but it was too late. I willingly drifted into the blackness.





Seventeen


The light was so bright I could see the veins in my eyelids. I looked at the thin, pink skin before opening them, blinking furiously in an attempt to preempt the pain that never came. My body rested against the hard, bright white floor of a huge, white space. There were no doors, windows, or even walls that I could see—only an endless white space.