“Before you try to shoot someone, I’d recommend taking the safety off.” He makes an elaborate show of pushing one of the pins on the gun to the side. “Maybe you aren’t quite so useless after all, hmm? I may find suitable work for you yet.”
Then, he shoots me in the thigh.
Thebang!is deafening. The pain is much, much worse. Searing-hot liquid lavadetonatesfrom the wound, and I crash to the ground. Nausea takes over my entire being, intermingling with the impossible pain, rising up my esophagus until I vomit the contents of my stomach all over the floor.
I am the embodiment of agony. Everything—everythinghurts.
Dagon tosses the gun aside and snatches a fistful of my hair. “But, before I make use of you, let’s see if you survive the lesson that follows an assassination attempt. I may pity you if I had the capacity for it—others getmuchswifter deaths.”
My body and mind scream at the same time, and finally, a raw noise of animalistic pain rips free from my lips, scraping my throat with its intensity. My vision swims and blurs. I feel a puddle forming beneath me on the floor—I’m not sure if it’s blood or urine.
Dagon shoves me down. My head smacks off the floor, and I curl into a ball of pure, unadulterated agony.
He cracks open the opaque window that prevented me from seeing the outside world. Opens it wide.
And then, he picks me up by the collar, and throws me out of it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Max
Iwake up to the sound of retching. Ember isn’t where she’s supposed to be, beside me, curled around me, and that’s what snaps me out of my sleepy daze and into alertness. I’m fully awake in an instant, sitting up and looking around.
Bathroom. The sound of heaving is coming through thebathroom.
I sprint in there. Is she sick? Did she get hurt? Is she hurtingherself?
Ember is hunched over the toilet, hugging the bowl, and vomiting bile into it. Her body is pale, covered in sweat. She looks exhausted. Even the sound of hervomitingis exhausted.
Did she not sleep?
Or, did sleep have some sort of adverse affect?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I went hard on her last night. I don’t regretthat—she provoked me, knowing that I’d resort to more… persuasive measures—but I certainly feel guilt over the sight in front of me.
For a moment, I’m frozen in place, not knowing what to do.
Then, I turn on my brain, kneel beside her, and gather her hair from her face, holding it behind her back.
It only takes a minute before bile turns into nothing, but Ember keeps heaving. Maybe she caught a bug from something she ate—maybe stress hasreallycaught up with her. She used to throw up before math tests; I assumed she’d grown out of that after everything she’s been through… but maybe not?
“Ember, baby,” I say softly once her heaving’s calmed down, and the coughing ensues. “What the fuck happened?”
She coughs so hard she gags again, but then, it’s finally over. She slumps against the bathroom wall, exhausted, coughing and gasping for breath. I move to gather her in my arms, but she gives me an alarmingly weak push away.
“That—” she pauses, still gasping, “—is why I don’t sleep.”
Sleep.Sleepcaused this?
The fuck?
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask.
She shakes her head, looking profoundly tired. Flame draws her knees up to her chest, and rests her cheek on them. She’s pale, her complexion waxy. She needs to be hydrated, fed, and tucked in for a day-long nap, but I don’t think she’s in the mood to be ordered around. And, after that show, I won’t push it.
Could she have some adversephysicalreaction to a normal sleep schedule? Is that evenpossible?
“I tried to shoot him once, you know,” she mumbles tiredly. I’m not even sure if she’s aware she’s speaking. “That was before I knew how to handle a gun properly. So he shot me.” She lets out a wheeze that turns into a cough. “And then threw me out of a fourth-story window.” Her eyes roll into the back of her head, and she slumps over.
