54
SUTTON
I’m falling.
Tumbling straight toward an abyss, unable to stop as my body picks up speed, hurtling into an endless sea of nothingness.
That’s what it feels like when I extract Elle from Tartarus, instructing a few fledgling members to get the injured members whatever medical assistance is necessary based on their condition.
Beckett had the decency to offer to stay somewhere else tonight—just as well, considering I have half a mind still to kill him. He’d been withholding the fact that he’d seen Elle heading for those fucking caves again with one of her friends, and I could’ve throttled him then and there for not telling me immediately.
Then again, I suppose he couldn’t have known I’d be interested in her whereabouts—not forcertain, at least. I’d told him everything, begging him to reveal whatever he knew, and that’s why I wound up walking in when I did.
Any later, and who fucking knows what the Director would’ve done.
If I would’ve had a body to extract at all.
Now, as I get her settled on my couch to assess her injuries, I ignore the erratic pulse in my throat. Reaching out, I push some of the hair from her face and instantly recoil. The entire right side is swollen and quickly turning purple.
Crimson stains mark a huge portion of her body, soaking the fabric of the cloak I wrapped her in. Cuts and bruises decorate the skin I’ve spent so much of my time cherishing.
Heart in my throat, I force my hand out again, this time just gently palming the back of her head.
She sucks in a strained gasp, shoving me and twisting out of the way. When she bursts into tears, curling against the railing, I just blink, my hand suspended in midair.
“Elle?” My voice is soft, barely above a whisper. My fingers tremble; I let my hand fall to my lap, not wanting to make things worse. “Elle, baby, it’s okay. It’s just me now. You’re safe.”
It takes a second for those beautiful hazel eyes to focus. She vigorously wipes her tears, staring at me as if she’s looking at a ghost, and then launches herself into my arms.
I catch her easily, wrapping myself around her. She clings to my neck, stiff and unyielding.
“Elle, baby. Let me clean you up.”
She doesn’t respond. I gently pry her arms from around me and go to the kitchen to prep a warm rag.
When I return, she’s just blankly staring at the coffee table in front of her. I crouch between her legs, dabbing lightly at the corner of her mouth where her bottom lip is split in two.
She doesn’t react at all, though I’m certain it can’t feel good having me poke at her wounds.
She pinches her eyes shut, leaning away as I begin dabbing at the stains on her skin. Patches of dirt, streaks of blood, crusted saliva—I wipe it all away until only the cuts and bruises are left to mar such a beautiful picture.
“Elle,” I say softly, pushing her hair off her shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”
A tiny sob escapes her, and she shakes her head. “It was so stupid. I found a note asking to meet at Lethe’s, and I thought it was you. Since we haven’t exchanged numbers or anything, I just assumed…”
Agony pierces my chest. Why didn’t I text or call or bother giving her my number?
To keep up the farce that there was nothing going on with us, just in case our phones were compromised.
“So I went, because I was really happy that you wanted to see me. And I sat at the bar, the same seat I sat in the night we met, and waited. Then waited some more.” She pauses, wiping the corner of her mouth with her knuckles. “I had to pee, so I went to the bathroom when you still didn’t show, and someone—they grabbed me from behind, put some bag over my head, and druggedme.”
I freeze, my hand on her arm, mid-swipe over a cut there.
“So fucking stupid.” Her laugh is hollow. Devoid of humor entirely. “If you’d wanted to see me, you would’ve just come to my dorm. Right? But I wasn’t thinking, and then…”
When she trails off, I pull away, dropping the rag onto the floor and folding my hands in my lap.
“I don’t know how long I was out for, but when I came to, I was in Tartarus. On that stage, surrounded by a sea of cloaked, masked figures.”
