Such a friendly, heartwarming guy…
* * *
“Alright,dude. You’ve been lying on your backside for three—er—” I looked out the window, at the sun crawling over the horizon. “Almost four days. At some point, youhaveto wake up.”
I hoped.
Cheriour lay on his bed. Back safe and sound in his pigsty of a bedroom at Niall. And he hadn’t moved since we arrived.
Er, no. That wasn’t entirely true. About an hour after Quinn partially healed him, Cheriour had opened his eyes and emitted a grumbledeerrghuhbefore he puked all over himself. And, since I’d been in the middle of re-wrapping his bandages, guess who got sprayed with rancid, pea-green soup? Me.
“Y’know what,” I’d said, mopping bile off my shirt, “we’re even now. I got my bodily fluids on you, you got yours on me. And we haven’t evenslepttogether yet. Just took a beeline right to the gross stuff.”
He’d closed his eyes. Out for the count again.
And now, as the sun creepy-crawled its way into the sky, I jiggled my knee, rattling Cheriour’s thin mattress. “I’ve got, like, ten minutes,” I said. “Before Quinn’s awake and on the prowl again. Sure would be nice if you’d wake up before I go. My day would be filled with a lot less anxiety.”
No response.
I sighed. Not that I’d been expecting anything to happen, but it would’ve been nice.
I wasn’tforbiddenfrom leaving my room and wandering the castle anymore. Quinn had honored his promise to remove all restrictions and guards. But I avoided Quinn like the freaking plague. NowayI’d chance getting trapped in a dark corridor with him.Hell. No.Thankfully, even heartless bastards needed their beauty sleep. So I was generally safe roaming the halls and visiting Cheriour’s room, between midnight and dawn.
But, with the sun up, it was time to GTFO.
I blew out a long breath and pressed my fingers to Cheriour’s cheek. His fever had burned out yesterday. And his wounds were healing. Some of the smaller ones had scabbed over. His broken ankle looked normal. No more kankle. The crater in his ribcage was still red, still ugly, but it had stopped seeping yellow pus and was starting to close.
“I guess you want me to worry today, huh? Spend the afternoonpiningfor you? ‘Cause I’m gonna.” I brushed my fingers over his cheek, trailing them over his crooked nose, brushing them over his lips…
Fuck me. I’d had so many dreams about those lips.Hotdreams.
Most of the time, at least. Sometimes the horny moments dissolved into horror scenes. Because, y’know, my brain liked to get me all hot and bothered and then torment me with images of him dying in my arms.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid fucking kiss. I remembered every second in full 8Kdetail. I wanted to kiss him again. Properly. I wanted to make him shake and moan and whimper—there was nothing hotter than a guy’s desperate whimpering.
But more than that, I wanted to see his gorgeous eyes again. Hear his slow drawl. Without his steady, quiet presence at my side, I felt like I couldn’t take a full deep breath anymore; my chest hurt too much. Almost as though…
As though I wasmourning.
Crazy, right? I’d only known the guy a month. I shouldn’t have beenthisupset over potentially losing him.
Too much shit has happened recently,I kept telling myself.I’ve been off the pill, and I’m due for my period. My emotions don’t know which way is up anymore.
I brushed my fingers against Cheriour’s cheek one last time and left the room, my chest heavy.
* * *
Abby Normal was nota happy camper.
Probably because she’d spent the last four days confined in a chintzy round pen. She was basically like a hamster on a wheel, running around in circles. And, with the six-foot-high fencing, she didn’t have a shot at jumping out.
Or maybe her accommodations weren’t the problem, and she was pissed that people hurled curses and brandished weapons at her every time they came close to her pen. And “close”meant anywhere within a general mile radius.
Or maybe she was bitter because her meals were runty pigs or cows. Y’know, the slaughterhouse rejects that had zero meat on their bones. She didn’t get much blood from them. Definitely didn’t get anyfreshblood, since the carcasses were long dead by the time they got tossed in her pen.
If I were in her shoes—er,hooves—I’d be in a major bitch mode too.
I leaned against the coarse wooden fence, watching as she ran around. And around. And—oop, she changed directions. Now she went around to the right.
