Something crawled beneath my sternum.
Soft at first—silky, almost seductive.
Then it shifted, drawing inward on itself, coiling into a single point of heat that pressed upward beneath my throat.
It held there.
Poised.
Waiting.
For what?
The man released my hand.
Her gaze fell to the floor, lashes lowering to hide the brilliance, breaking whatever had caught hold of me.
A whisper slid through my skull—more memory than sound.
The flame.
My entire body shuddered.
I jerked back, eyes darting around the room for the source of the voice.
The flame.
“What the devil?” I croaked.
“Are ye all right? Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost,” the giant murmured, brows drawing together.
“A ghost…” I muttered, staring between them—the brute and the girl.
But only one of them made my insides curdle and scream.
One word.
A word I didn’t understand.
Mate.
Mate.
Mate.
A violent chill raced down my spine.
I turned away from them abruptly, pretending to lift the fallen chair—an excuse to compose myself,
to gather what remained of my sanity,
to pretend I had not just heard the impossible
whispering inside my skull.
I bit back the urge to vomit.
Dear God… if anyone knew I was hearing voices, they would have me admitted to Bedlam and leave me there to rot.
