The world came backto her in fragments. Pain first—a dull pulse behind her temples. A deeper ache sinking into her hips and wrists. Araya whimpered as the silk sheets scraped against her raw skin, the cloying scent of vanilla choking her.
She was in bed—in Jaxon’s bed.
She jerked upright, pain splitting her skull with flashes of memory that left her gasping for breath. His hands pinning her down, the crack of her wrist as she fought to free herself, the moment her body betrayed her and went still, panic driving her to flee before her mind could catch up. Her stomach heaved, the room swaying around her as she clawed her way free of the sheets.
She’d barely reached the basin when her knees gave out, her stomach twisting violently. She gagged, her body convulsing as sickness tore through her in relentless waves. Each heave sent fresh agony jolting through her aching joints, bruises burning hot where he’d held her down as cold sweat rolled down her spine.
When it finally passed, Araya sagged against the cool porcelain, her forehead pressed to the rim of the basin as she fought to steady her breathing. The shaking wouldn’t stop—whether from exhaustion,pain, or the lingering nausea twisting in her gut, she didn’t know. Her arms felt boneless, too heavy to lift, and her knees throbbed where they’d hit the tile.
She still wore yesterday’s shift—the thin linen clung to her skin, sour with sweat and vomit. Her overdress lay crumpled on the floor where she must have shed it, but she didn’t remember undressing. She didn’t remember climbing into bed, or anything at all after Jaxon had left her broken on the floor of his office.
This was worse than last time. So much worse.
When Jaxon had drained her all those months ago, he’d left her with enough power that she could stand. Speak. She’d been weak and tired—but not broken. Not curled up on the cold tile, too sick to scream and too weak to run.
Gritting her teeth, Araya reached for her magic—part of her still unable to believe that Jaxon would have left her defenseless. There had to be some spark left?—
But where her magic should have sat, Araya found nothing but an aching void. There was nothing left inside her to reach for—no warmth curling in her chest, no lifeline. Only a vast, terrible emptiness.
Araya shuddered, her stomach cramping again even though there she had nothing left to purge. This went beyond depletion—it was devastation. Jaxon hadn’t just taken too much. He’d takeneverything.
She braced a hand against the floor to push herself up, but the room spun around her. Araya dropped back to the floor, clenching her jaw and squeezing her eyes shut. Her skull throbbed with every heartbeat, a dull, relentless pulse behind her eyes. Bruises bloomed along her arms, the imprint of his fingers biting into her flesh, and pain flared through her pelvis each time she shifted, her hips aching and bruised where he’d held her down.
Araya forced herself to breathe through it, sucking in sharp breaths through her nose as she willed herself to stay conscious. Shehad to pull herself together, to figure out what she was going to do before he?—
“Gods, Starling.”
Araya flinched, her breath catching in her throat as Jaxon loomed over her. Every instinct screamed at her to stay still and quiet—to not do anything to provoke him. But the survival instinct that had kept her alive all these years was at war with something else now—the raw, burning humiliation that he was seeing her like this, broken and weak.
Jaxon crouched beside her, his expression unreadable—though something dangerously close to regret flickered in his eyes. He reached out, his fingers brushing the cut along her hairline before she could react.
Pain flared behind her eyes, blinding her. Her stomach twisted again, a fresh wave of nausea leaving her bent over the bowl. But she had nothing left to come up, her shoulders shaking with violent, useless convulsions that left her breathing ragged and her skin clammy.
A hand steadied her, slipping around her waist when she had finally finished.
“Easy,” Jaxon murmured. “Let me see.”
He eased her back until she was sitting on the floor, her pulse thundering in her ears. He studied her for a long, silent moment, his brown eyes sharp as he took in the bruises, her raw skin, how she couldn’t stop shaking.
Finally, he sighed. Before she could react, his hands were on her again. He hooked an arm around her waist, lifting her effortlessly, ignoring the way she hissed in pain. Her stomach heaved violently, nausea still gnawing at her, but she bit down hard on her lip to keep from retching again.
“Jaxon—”
He didn’t answer, just adjusted his grip, maneuvering her out of the bathing chamber and depositing her on the edge of the bed likeshe was something fragile—a delicate possession in desperate need of repair.
“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, throwing open her wardrobe. He selected a simple, dark dress, dropping it on the bed beside her before grabbing the hem of her shift and stripping it off over her head in one smooth motion.
Araya sucked in a sharp breath as cold air licked over her bruised skin, her arms reflexively curling around herself in a feeble attempt to shield what little dignity she had left.
Jaxon sighed, clicking his tongue at her. “You’re acting like I haven’t already claimed every inch of you.” His fingers curled around her wrists, prying them away with a patient force that was somehow even more terrifying than his rage had been. But all he did was drag the fresh dress on over her head, guiding her arms into the sleeves.
Araya shuddered, tears pouring freely down her face as he smoothed the fabric over her shoulders, fastening the buttons like she couldn’t be trusted to do it properly. Maybe she couldn’t. Her head spun, her body trying to drag her back down into the numb relief of unconsciousness.
His thumb lingered on one of the deep purple bruises marring her forearm—the shape of his fingers, branded into her skin. “I have to go to the Aetherium,” he said, straightening. “You’re in no condition to come—I’m going to arrange for a carriage and a guard to take you to Serafina’s clinic.”
Araya blinked, wondering if she’d heard him correctly.Serafina—the name sparked a flicker of hope, faint but stubborn beneath the fog of pain and exhaustion. But?—
“I don’t need a guard,” she rasped.
