Shaking my head, I refocus on the task at hand, slipping my palms beneath her knees and around her neck before lifting her from the tank and pressing her against my chest.
Contentment settles over me, just like it did when I returned to Paris, and I hate what that means, despite my refusal to accept it. But none of that matters right now; all that matters is the girl in my arms and bringing her to safety.
With her fast asleep in my arms, I do the unthinkable, leaning in close like I did once before and pressing my lips against her soft skin before whispering in her ear.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you now, Echo.”
10
ELODIE
There’s a sensation I’ve experienced once, maybe twice, and it’s my sole desire to feel it every day for the rest of my life. Trauma refuses to let that happen, though. Well, except those fleeting moments. I’ve only experienced it at the institute. It’s that flicker of a moment where you’re asleep for the most part, but the warmth bleeds into reality as you balance on the brink of waking up.
The calmness, the contentment, the solace; I crave it.
It warms my soul, as if it were made to give me the energy to exist, and I can feel it now.
No nightmares haunt me, there’s no sense of disarray or loss, and definitely no impending doom looming over me. It’s just peaceful, like I imagine it would feel like to lie in a meadow filled with wild flowers as the sun beams down on you.
As I reluctantly pry my eyes open, it’s not pretty petals and sunlight that greet me, but layers and layers of blankets in every shape and size draped over me. I’m in a bedroom, one I’m not familiar with, but more than that, it’s not where I recall falling asleep. I don’t think it counts as falling asleep if I passed out from exhaustion.
Jude.
Jude fucking Forrester.
My heart rate quickens with panic, but I quickly acknowledge it’s not the healing tank I had awakened in either. Confused, I shuffle under the sheets until my back reaches the headboard. I’m still in the same soft pajamas Walker gave me the first time I entered the healing tank, only now they’re stained with blood, just like my own clothes. My hand lifts to my eye instinctively; the tingling sensation is like a phantom pain, but I quickly blink it away.
Looking around the room, I watch as the thin curtains dance in the wind where it flutters through the window to my right. The door is on the far wall, while the rest of the room is draped in soft pinks, cute, cuddly toys, and girly stickers.
It’s the kind of bedroom I would have dreamed of as a child.
Tightening the blankets around my middle, I purse my lips as I settle my attention on the door. I don’t know where I am or who I’m with, but one thing is for sure: I’ll never find out if I just sit here guessing. I need to find the strength to get up and see for myself, make sure I’m not trapped in another form of prison.
As I take a deep breath, my eyelids flutter closed, only for a flash of Jude’s face to come to mind, a reminder of the magic he burned through me again and again, insisting I perform on demand. Dread settles in my stomach, forcing me to my feet, and I scurry as quietly as I can across the room.
Twisting the door handle, I step out into the narrow hallway with high ceilings, following the sound of a coffee grinder echoing in the distance. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I peer around the door frame in an effort to see where the hell I am, only to gape in surprise when I find a dark-haired, tall shadow fae moving around the small space as the rich scent of coffee fills the air.
Thorne.
Freaking Thorne.
The shadow fae I vowed I wouldn’t rely on.
No. Way.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs without even glancing toward the door, making me clear my throat as I nervously shuffle from one foot to another.
“You’re here,” I blurt, unable to figure out what else to say.
His eyes finally find mine, dark and mysterious as always. “I promised you I would find you,” he states, like it really is as simple as that.
Disbelief leaves my jaw slack as I fold my arms over my chest. “Where are we, exactly?”
“Paris.”
“What?” My throat is raspy as I blurt louder than intended, and his eyebrows furrow.
“France,” he reiterates, and I scoff.
