‘Be careful. He’s not himself.’
‘Yes, he is, but he’s doing what he’s been told to do. Don’t worry. No one understands him like I do.’
I wanted to question that, wanted to cast doubt—surely the Fallen, able to read minds and appear where no one expected, had learned and known things about Gall that even Melek didn’t? However, there was no gain in pressing him. I knew my mate wouldn’t back down. He also wouldn’t look for trouble.
I just had to pray Gall was willing to listen. Because I was getting Istral out of here whether Gall came or not.
4. Trust
~ YILAN ~
Inside the wide bedchamber that looked very masculine—peppered with fur and leather, dark furniture and tapestries, and a bedhead so tall it would dwarf even a Nephilim—Istral turned to close the door behind her, then backed away from it, one hand to her throat, staring at it as if it might fly open.
I didn’t want to startle her again, and was considering where best to let myself appear when she spoke, her sweet voice breathy, barely above a whisper.
“I know you’re here.”
I let go of the power immediately, stepping out of the shadow of the wall with arms wide. “Izzy!”
With a broken sob, my sister turned and threw herself at me, burying her face in my shoulder and sobbing so hard, at first I was afraid. I clutched her head to me, and held her as tightly as I dared. Her body jerked with each broken exhale, yet she made barely any sound.
My poor, sweet, loving sister, so willing to give of herself, to encourage and uplift, to soothe with smiles, broke down in my arms, crying with such weight I feared it would tear her chest open. Much faster than I expected, though, the tearing sobs became cries, then soft weeping.
The moment she raised her head to meet my welling eyes with her own—bloodshot, and powders they’d painted her with smeared by her wiping hands—I realized she was still in that awful, bloodied dress and hissed.
Soothing her with quiet words and reassuring her as best I could, I led her to the adjoining bathing room.
“What are you—?”
“We’re going to get rid of this… this… mess, Izzy. Don’t worry. I’m here.”
I kept up the gentle assurances, as I started on the buttons at the back of that repulsive bodice. After a few seconds of desperately trying to peel the tight loops from the covered buttons, I swore and gripped both sides with my hands, tearing them apart.
Istral felt the jerk and gasped, looking over her shoulder as the bodice loosened on her chest.
“Don’t worry. The Nephilim would expect this,” I said as flatly as I could, my upper lip curling back from my teeth with disgust at the bald truth.
Istral nodded quickly, then began to peel the tight sleeves off, pushing the lace away faster and faster, while I moved down to the skirt.
I didn’t even try to unbutton that, but gave it the same treatment, though the thicker waistband took some wrestling. Soon we were both frantically pushing and pulling at the fabric, until she could finally step out of the torn pieces.
My relief was short-lived as Istral covered herself with her hands, then jerked, looking down at her body where blood hadcaked, been smeared, and dried. The lines of the rope visible in the flaking, near-black around her navel, and smeared all the way to her waist.
Istral’s eyes widened, and she took another step back, pulling her arms away, her hands trembling.
“Izzy… Izzy, look at me,” I breathed, knowing how close she must be to taking what we’d always termeda turn.When her wide, bright eyes met mine, I kept my expression as calm and easy as I was capable. “We’re going to wash it all away. Don’t even look, okay? Come with me.”
I opened my arms, beckoning her with my hands, until she blinked and stepped forward. Then I turned the faucet for the water to run into the bath, and quietly urged her to step into the steaming flow.
Grabbing a wash cloth from the servant’s cupboard just to the side of the bath, I plunged it into the water and brought it up to her belly. But it came away red—the smears thicker, and covering more of her skin.
Istral whimpered and tensed, and my heart dropped.
I pulled the plug on the bath so the reddening water would drain away, and thrust the washcloth under the faucet, but held her gaze with my own, talking calmly and quietly.
“Don’t look,” I instructed her. “Just watch my face. Ignore what I’m doing. It’s going to be fine.”
She blinked rapidly, but nodded, her precious curls bouncing around her face, as I grabbed the cake of masculine-smelling soap and lathered the cloth, then began scrubbing at her stomach again, keeping my eyes on hers as much as I could.
