“Maura,” I murmured.
“Did they take her?”
He looked wild with worry. From what she’d said, it had seemed as if she loved him and wouldn’t admit it; maybe he loved her too. “Cara. Tell me who hurt you. I’ll make them pay.”
I tried to tell him, but I was so tired, and I was fading again.
I woke up in an unfamiliar place. The light was dim, as if it had shifted into night while I was asleep. I was on crisp sheets, the fabric coolagainst my skin. I moved restlessly and realized my legs were bare as fabric slipped against them.
When I moved to sit up, my head pounded, and I let myself fall back against the sheets.
The bed shifted as someone sat beside me, their weight making me slide slightly toward them. Someone stroked my hair back from my face, their palm warm and heavy and gentle. For a second, I thought it was my mother; I could’ve been in another time, another place. Longing for her swelled in my chest, a longing I hadn’t felt since I was little. I almost whispered her name.
I managed to turn my head to see a powerful, dark-haired figure, a regrettably handsome face, sharp eyes.
Fieran.
Thank fuck I hadn’t called himMam.
“What are you doing?” As I sat up on my elbow, sharp pain stabbed through my head. The world whirled around me, and my stomach heaved as if I’d be sick. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my bed,” he told me. “I wanted to keep an eye on you. Don’t worry, I’ve been sleeping on the floor.”
“I feel like I’m dying.” I rubbed my hand across my face, my hot, aching eyes.
“You’re not. They gave you a sleeping draught, but you’re too stubborn to let it work, apparently. That’s why you feel terrible.”
“I’m going to my own room.” I managed the words, my voice a rasp, but I couldn’t seem to get my body to cooperate.
“Are you?” His amusement was inescapable. “Don’t worry, Cara. You’re safe with me.”
It felt like a barb, an implication that he would never want me in his bed except for this practical reason. Even though I hated him, it stung.
“Sleep,” he told me. “Your head hurts because you’re fighting sleep. When you wake, you’ll be healed.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“Because of the nightmares?” He ran his hand over my hair, stroking it back. The weight of his hand on my hair felt strangely comforting.
“Nightmares?”
“You make noises in your sleep.”
“No, I don’t.”
His lips curled.
“I don’t remember them,” I admitted, and his smile died away. “But maybe it’s because of the monsters sleeping in their cages so close to us.”
A shiver ran through me, and I reached for him, remembering how good his body heat had felt when I was shivering in the healers’ quarters. “Hold me.”
He hesitated, and in the dim light and my confusion, I couldn’t read his face at all.
“I don’t want you,” I grumbled, putting my hand on his shoulder to push him away. Except my fingers tightened in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him close. “I want your warmth.”
“I could get you another blanket instead of my detestable self.” But even as he said the words, he moved closer. He slid his arm under my head, gently sliding and positioning our bodies until my head was on his shoulder, and his arm was wrapped carefully around my waist.
He was dreadful, but he was comfortable.
