Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(57)

Eighteen


I could hear the TV. I heard the voices of some cheesy commercial chatter around me, almost like I was in the studio. I lay still, letting the sound wash over me as I replayed the dream in my mind, my face cringing at the lingering picture of Ryland’s contorted face. I shifted my weight out of habit, surprised when my body obeyed my command. Unlike the dream however, the movement triggered a hundred aches and pains. While it didn’t feel as bad as the last pain I remembered, it still was far from comfortable.

“Yes, Ovailia, I have felt them a few times, but nothing close as of yet.”

At Ilyan’s voice, I opened my eyes to a dark room. I lay in a curled position on the long couch, a huge pile of blankets set on top of me. It made my body seem overly large and lumpy.

Ilyan sat on the floor, his back resting against the couch by my knees, looking unfocused at the television directly across from me, the screen dim with some show about crab fishing. I watched it for a minute before Ilyan’s voice spoke again, pulling my mind away from the flickering box.

“Her spine hasn’t quite fused yet, but it is close. Once that has finished, we will be leaving. You need to keep him there; I will reunite them soon. Besides, I am not in the mood to babysit.”

I looked away from Ilyan, feeling awkward for eavesdropping on his phone call.

“Manners, Ovailia, mr?vy.” Ilyan’s voice was so stern it made my hair stand on end. The raised inflection must have awoken someone else in the room, and I heard someone gasp for air near my head. I rotated toward the noise, the movement sending an even sharper jolt of pain through my spine.

Curled up in the big overstuffed chair, Wyn still slept with a blanket over her legs. Part of me wished that the Wyn I had seen before—the Wyn who had pushed me under the water—was just a figment of my imagination. There she sat though, dark tattoos running down the side of her face and arm. Looking at them now, they didn’t seem quite as sinister as they had before, but their presence still sent an unpleasant clench through my body.

“Finish setting your trails, and wait for my signal.” I heard Ilyan click his phone shut and shift his weight.

I couldn’t look away from Wyn. I didn’t want to try anyway; my body had begun to hurt and I wasn’t sure I could move.

“The marks were a gift from her father and brother when they kicked her out of her home. I believe they had hoped the marks would kill her, but instead, they just linger.”

I turned to the voice, shocked to see Ilyan sitting right by my head, his back arched so he could meet me at eye level.

“Broth… er?” I was surprised when my voice cooperated, even though it was almost agony to get that one word out.

“Yes, her brother. Not me, thankfully, but I might as well have been responsible; she was spying for me at the time, after all.” His voice sounded so angry and upset, the blame he felt still ravishing through him.

“Broth… brother?” I tried again, desperately hoping Ilyan would understand my meaning and explain more.

“No, Joclyn, I am not her brother, but I am a friend.”

I arched my back to get a closer look at Wyn again, the movement sending a violent spasm through my spine. I groaned in pain as it shot through me.

“Why… spy?” My voice strained, the words leaving me gasping, and my throat burning.

“Why was she spying for me?” Ilyan reworded my question, and I nodded my head, letting my back slide back into a more comfortable position.

“It’s complicated,” he said simply. “Wyn was spying on her father, her brother and their boss for me quite some time ago. She inadvertently saved me from a sticky situation and so I asked her to do me a favor.”

“How… marks?” My words crept out, each one hurting.

“Wyn’s kind—the Trpaslík—are a vicious race who punish traitors cruelly.”

I opened my mouth to question further, but he cut me off.

“I would really prefer that you not worry about all this right now. You need to heal, and the faster the better.” He must be irritated again; his accent was getting stronger and causing his consonants to turn into Zs and Vs.

“Please?” I wasn’t begging. The words were coming a bit easier now, my voice stronger and laced with irritation.

“You’re going to want to keep your back straight if you want it to heal properly.” He spoke simply as he smoothly changed the subject, like healing on a couch was the obvious thing to do.

“Hos… hospital,” I whispered, the rough movements sending sharp pains through me.

“I can’t take you to a hospital, Joclyn,” Ilyan answered my mostly unasked question softly. “They will be searching for you at hospitals.”

His hands wound under the pile of blankets I had been placed under, pushing and pulling my body to straighten my back and bringing my head back to look at him. I called out as he moved me, each shift in weight sending pain shooting through my body.

“Besides,” he continued, “I can heal you much quicker.” He winked at me mischievously as he finished aligning my back, causing the pain to stop. He kept his palms flat against the skin on my back, sending that familiar warmth through me.

“What…?” I tried again, frustrated when I could still only manage one agonizing word at a time.