“Maines,” he whispers against my lips, and I pull him back into the kiss.
He gently pushes against my body, lying me back down against the warm mattress. He carefully moves his hands to my waist, slipping them underneath the hem of my shirt, and a thrill rushes straight to my core. His rough hands draw circles against my skin that chase away the icy feeling in my bones as they travel closer to my breasts.
I wrap my hands tighter against his neck and pull him to me as his body nearly falls onto mine. I shift under the pain that moves through me, uncaring of anything other than our connection, but he flinches.
“I hurt you,” he whispers against me, pulling back slightly.
“No!” I snap. “I’m okay.”
“Liar.” He playfully kisses me, his hands still wrapped in my hair.
I narrow my eyes at him, still only inches away, and he playfully licks my lips, then my nose, giving it a playful nip.
I smile.
“I need to get going,” Oak says, looking toward the door.
“I don’t want you to leave.” I feel the lump form in my throat.
“I’ll return to do that again as soon as I can.” Oak smiles. “I’ll be safe.”
“Stay by Briar,” I respond. “She will keep you safe.”
“That’s already my plan,” he winks.
“Be safe, Oakie,” I call, as he bounds toward the room's threshold.
“Seriously?” He pauses, slowly turning his eyes to meet my gaze. “Please don’t call me that right before I’m about to go into a literal battle. I need to be tough, Maines.”
“Oh, you are so tough, Oakie.” I tease.
He bounds across the room once more and presses his lips against mine, nearly making my eyes roll to the back of my head.
“You are only allowed to call me that in the bedroom.”
I smile. “We are in the bedroom.”
He quickly pulls away, our foreheads resting together for a second.
“Be back soon,” he whispers, breaking our connection.
“You better be.”
His chuckle follows him into the hall as he pulls the door closed behind him, and even though I giggle with him, my heartslowly breaks, matching my body as the distance grows between us.
I sit alone in the dark room, hearing the continuous shuffling of feet. With every passing second, the hustle becomes more frantic, and I know my friends are out there preparing to fight with everything they have. My anxiety bubbles in my chest like the rising sea, and I can’t remain here. I can’t just sit back and let them go into battle without at least saying something to each of them.
I rip back the covers and stare at my legs—the first time I’ve allowed myself to do so. My jaw drops open. My skin is healed, yes, but deep scars line my legs, and a blue discoloration paints them like bruises that will never fade. I remind myself that the healers still work on my legs daily to dull the scarring, but my stomach falls at the sight.
I dangle one leg over the bed, and a blinding pain washes over me. The air leaves my lungs, and I grind my teeth, pulling my other leg to join the dangling one. With careful ease, I touch both of my feet to the cold floor. The sensation is odd, considering I haven’t stood in days, but I trust my body to know what to do as I shift my weight onto both of my legs.
My body trembles, and I curse, already feeling defeated by my own body for betraying me.
Damnit.
I hang onto the bed, gripping my fists into the sheets, knowing I don’t have much time to get out there before they leave, and I’m possibly too late. I release the comfort of my stability and allow myself to stand freely on my own. Pain jolts through every inch of my body, but I ignore it and shuffle one foot closer to the door.
I reach the handle and pull the door open slightly to get a better idea of what’s going on in the house. Hushed but panicked whispers fill the air, along with the rapid footsteps of the othersmoving to prepare for what’s coming. Their shadows dance off the walls, and I know they are trying to be as quiet as possible.
