She considered not hitting Send. It was rather flirtatious. She really didn’t want to start anything, especially after being the one who drew all the lines in the sand—even if she was also the one who kept moving them or just stepping over them entirely.
But the day had been long, and the night loomed even longer. And damn it, she missed Deryn.
There was a delay of about two heartbeats between Paloma pressing that little arrow to fling her message on its way and a quiet little ping sounding in the bedroom.
The bedroom whose doors were closed.
Paloma was on her feet in an instant, and no, not for a moment did she believe Deryn was waiting for her in sexy boxers or trying on a new strap.
No, no, no…
Paloma threw the doors open, wood hitting the stone of the walls, the sound piercing her like a bullet. She slapped the light switch on, and that bullet tore right through her chest.
There was too much blood.
It had seeped into the carpet, saturating it and forming a congealed pool on top of it. Paloma was on her knees and shouting into her phone for security, maintenance, housekeeping, anyone, everyone, and God himself the second she opened the doors to the bedroom.
“Mason! Someone! Help! Help me… Deryn, Deryn! Wake up! Deryn, no, no, no… Please, god, no…”
Ages passed, eons, centuries slammed into each other as her thoughts ran amok.
Someone, someone, please, please…
Her vision frayed at the edges, and she knew she was no longer in the present. She was no longer Paloma. She was Isamar, and Deryn was Lynnie, battered and bruised and dying in her arms.A man laid hands on her. A man did this! Someone, someone, please, please help!The bloodied lips trembled with her name as Lynnie whispered it like a prayer, like Isamar had been her prayer, her love… Her lover. And Paloma knew this was the end…
She shook her head almost violently, chasing away the final puzzle piece of the history between Isamar Moreno and Lynnie Crowhart.
This won’t end the same! No, no, please…
A thought intruded, panic choked her, and she clasped a hand over Deryn’s and held tight, feeling it still warm, a thought that made her lower her head and speak the words she had been taught since toddlerhood, since she was old enough to enunciate, her abuelita patiently and painstakingly repeating the prayer till little Paloma could say it back.
“Dios te salve, María, llena eres de Gracia…”
She felt teardrops fall on her hand and realized she was the one crying. In the hallway, there were finally footsteps running toward them.
“Santa María, Madre de Dios…”
Mason was the first one to bust through the closed doors of the suite. A few other people whose voices she did not recognize followed. And then, of all people, Ceridwen Crowhart was kneeling next to her.
“Call the doctor, Mason. Or better yet, my car is out front. Would you please drive down and get him?”
Mason glanced at Paloma, and as she nodded, unseeing, he left the room.
In a matter of minutes, Ceridwen had examined Deryn’s neck and, seemingly deeming it fine enough to move, had men lift Deryn up and gently lay her on the bed. Then, before Paloma could blink, the room was all but empty again.
“Is there anything you need now, Ms. Allende?”
Paloma blinked at the eldest Crowhart. She and Deryn did not look alike, yet there were similarities in the sharp features, the razor of the jawline, the prominent cheekbones, and above all, the eyes. Deryn’s were a touch darker, a smidge livelier, whereas Ceridwen’s were lighter and seemed to contain the forest itself. A calm, deep, dangerous forest.
Why had she never seen it before in Ceridwen? The danger? Was it because the councilwoman was always so calm, so serene, even in turmoil? Because right now she might’ve been calm, but the serenity was gone, the rage of millennia rooted in her eyes.
“I need her to be okay.”
Ceridwen nodded and placed a hand on Deryn’s head, careful not to touch the gash on the temple. She didn’t do anything else or say anything, for that matter, and Paloma felt like she was bursting out of her skin, waiting, desperately waiting, for her to do something.
In the end, it was Paloma who lost the battle with the silence.
“I need you to make her okay, Ceridwen. Do you understand me? Isn’t that why you’re here? Tell me why you’re here!”
