My stomach twists. “That seems—” I swallow. The next word comes out husky. “Bad. That seems really bad.”
Another seizure wracks him, nearly knocking me forward off the bed. When it passes, he goes limp, barely breathing.
Fear spikes sharp and ugly.
“If you think you can just waltz into my life, turn everything upside down, and then die in my guest bedroom, you’ve got another thing coming. That’s not how this works,” I snap. “Tell me what to do.”
Sorren shakes his head once. “I need to heal.”
A violent tremor runs through him, like his body is punishing him for the words.
“Then do it. Heal.”
His eyes open. Glassy with pain. “I cannot.”
“Why?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. Panic is setting in. I hate feeling helpless like this. “You said you could fix yourself. Use your magic or whatever.”
“I must shift first,” he gasps, curling into a tighter ball. “Into my rabbit form. I’m smaller then. It’s easier to maintain my energy. To find the damaged parts of my soul.”
“So shift.”
“I will not.”
Something in his tone makes me pause. “What do you mean you won’t? Do it.”
“No.” A long quiver goes from his head to his feet, followed by another one.
“Why not?” I throw up my hands. Exasperated.
“I can’t,” he says stubbornly.
“Sure you can. You did it in my classroom. Right? Isn’t that what happened? When the lights flickered and all that.” I lean closer. “Or are you admitting it’s all a lie? You’re just some random guy? A con man?”
That gets him.
He turns his head just enough to glare at me through the pain. “I told you,” he grits out. “I am Prince Sorren Valdren of the White Warren.”
“Then prove it.” I straighten. “Shift. Right now. Turn into a cute little bunny.”
“I am not—” His body jerks. “—cute.”
“You’re adorable. Come on.” I’m goading him now. Trying to trick him into shifting if that’s what he needs. I don’t understand why he’s so resistant. “Come on and shift already.”
Silence.
Not confusion. Not hesitation.
Refusal.
“You’re seriously going to die out of spite?” I shake his shoulder. Not gently. “What’s wrong with you?”
A muscle jumps in his cheek.
“I would rather die,” he says hoarsely, “than deepen the mark I already placed upon you.”
The words land somewhere between my ears and my stomach.
Deepen the mark. What does that mean? I think back to this morning, in my classroom. To what he said earlier about marking me…
