Flashes came back to her.
Hands and lips all over her. The smell of rain and sandalwood. Her body aching with need and longing.
A red that rivaled the burning heat of the sun.
Her stomach twisted again. She shot from bed, launching herself toward the bathroom.
“Fuck—Matheo! Get in here!”
“I’m fine!” Mariah tried to call, but her voice was too weak and quiet. More footsteps entered her room, and Matheo similarly swore.
She leaned her head against the cool porcelain. These men were some of Onita’s greatest warriors, but at times were worse than brooding hens.
“Stay with her,” she heard Trefor say. “Get her some water or something. I’m going to go find the housekeepers.”
Probably useful. Though guilt twinged through her at the thought.
Trefor raced away. There was a beat of silence before a tap turned on, filling a glass. Mariah lifted her head as Matheo hesitantly offered her the water.
She chugged the blessedly cold liquid, Matheo watching her with that same look of panicked concern Trefor had worn. Thewater thankfully cooled some of the fire clawing through her veins.
“Stop looking at me like that, Matheo.”
He blinked. “Like what?”
Mariah gave him a weak glare. “Like I’m dying. I promise, I’m all right. Just a little…”
Fucked up, is what she wanted to say. Ruined. Broken.
What was new was therage.
It had always been there. Lurking beneath her forced numbness—beneath the blissful feeling of nothing. But that dream—that violative, poisonous dream—had awakened it. For the first time in days, she felt the beast beneath her skin crack open an eye, not fully emerging but watching just beyond her reach.
She would know those red-gold eyes anywhere. She didn’t know how he’d done it, how he’d set them in Andrian’s face, how he’d tricked her with his scent. It reminded her of the consequences of her pathetic inaction this past week and why there could be no more of it. She dug down into herself, pushing past all the broken pieces of her heart. Past the slumbering ancient beast that still watched her curiously. Tunneled as far as she could go, reaching the place where those twin orbs of silver and gold threads once resided.
Empty. Still so painfully, horrendously silent.
Mariah gritted her teeth, a groan slipping past her lips. She steadied herself on the bathroom countertop and pushed to her feet. Matheo rushed to offer her his hand, but she waved him off.
“How many times do I have to say, ‘I’m fine’ before you believe me and stop hovering?”
Matheo’s hazel gaze searched her face then dropped and scanned her body. As if he could see beneath her skin, could see something wrong with her that she was unaware of—or lying about.
Mariah couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.
Matheo swallowed nervously. “Are you…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Is there…could you be…”
“Spit it out, Matheo.”
“Are you pregnant?” His question was a near yell, an abrupt outburst.
Mariah stilled.
Despite the lurking memories of her nightmare still in the front of her mind, despite all the aching desperation and heartbreak and suffering that was consuming her alive from the inside out, she burst out laughing.
It was not a pretty laugh; her throat was raw and the sound she made was rough and hacking. It was broken up with fits of coughing, a few tears breaking free.
Matheo watched her awkwardly, which only made her laugh harder, laughing until she was nearly doubled over with her fits.
