Yanking the shirt over my head, I run the cloth over my shoulders, my breasts, scrubbing as if I can remove the slick feeling that has settled over my skin.
When I finally throw the cloth down, gripping the wooden counter tightly, I bend my head over the bowl. My nails dig painfully into the wood, splinters forcing beneath them.
What is this?
This is not the cloying, drowning feel of Terrosan mud that I’m used to battling with. This is something worse. A thousand burning slashes across my skin. My hands scrabble for my back, gripping my wings. Tension softens at the familiar sensation of silk beneath my touch.
But only a little. My breathing is still audible as I raise my head. The glass propped against the counter is murky, but enough that I can see the sweat that still lines my brow, the usual paleness of my skin leeched far beyond my natural complexion. Even my lips are white and bloodless.
My legs still shake, and I twist, sliding down until I’m seated on the floor.
Perhaps I am approaching my fertile time. Heat creeps across my face at the thought. It has been years since I had any signat all, but the gripping fist in my abdomen, thattugging, feels almost familiar.
Or perhaps I am losing my mind. Maybe being here, in Asteria, has finally pushed me over the edge I have battled with for ten years.
Closing my eyes, I search for the maegis. I can feel it lingering, but it takes long minutes before the glow appears and the cavern opens up in my mind.
What is this?
It pulls back. My thoughts chase it down, pinning it in a dark corner.Do you know?
It feels as though it’savoidingthe question. But it stays silent, refusing to engage no matter how I try to phrase the chaos inside my mind.
Irritated, I let my eyes slide open again. Cool air dances over my limbs, and I shiver as I pull the shirt back on. Warmth lingers within the linen, and I catch the faint hint of Callan’s spice, buried deeply within the worn material.
Hesitating, I glance to the door.
It’s late. Far too late to have any sort of rational explanation for why I might knock on his door. I don’t even know where he sleeps
When I ease the bedroom door open, a single pair of scarlet eyes glimmer at me in the darkness, making me jump back before I recognize him.
Rio sits facing my door, a sleeping Esme curled against his chest. He scans me, the loose lines of his body tensing. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” I hold up my hand to stop him shifting as Esme stirs. My eyes flick between them. Taking in the way he cradles her. “You should bring her inside. I didn’t realise you were both out here.”
His lips lift. “Someone is always out here.”
They had mentioned watching me, but something tightens in my chest. “I was—do you know where his room is?”
He doesn’t ask who. Rio nods his head to the door beside mine. His quiet amusement grows at my bemused expression. “As if he’d have you anywhere else.”
And yet he still sits out here, even though Callan’s room is next to mine. The laughter in his eyes softens. “You both need rest. He won’t sleep otherwise.”
His gaze lowers to my hands, lines creasing his forehead. I force my nails to stop, even as my wrist itches.
Rio nods at the door. “Go on in. He won’t mind.”
But I still hesitate. “I don’t want to disturb him.”
He studies me for a long, silent moment. “I think he would be more disturbed that you needed him and didn’t ask. His door is unlocked for a reason.”
When he looks down again, I step back, pulling the door wider. “Please. Bring her in. I won’t be sleeping any more tonight.”
Dawn cannot be so far off. And I would rather be tired than face the nightmares again.
His smile is crooked. “If you go and talk to Callan about whatever has that look in your eyes, I’ll take her inside.”
My nod is jerky. I slip out into the hall, watching as Rio flows to his feet. He makes the movement look easy, even as he lifts Esme with him. Her face buries into his chest with a small complaint as he waits.
