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“Look at me.”

I can’t. I can’t do it.

“Look. At. Me.” Bellamy’s voice strains with emotion.

I bend to his command, lifting my head.

Looking at him hurts. Because all I can see are the shadows of my hands, my fingerprints marking his throat in multicolor clusters. Bile charges up my throat, my mouth slamming shut to swallow it back. I’ve traumatized him enough.

He steps toward me, laying one hand on my chest, cupping my jaw with the other firmly.

“I need you to understand what that thing is doing to you. And I need you to understand that it’s not your fault—it’s never been your fault, Sunday. You have to know that,” he tells me fiercely, pressing his body to mine despite how dirty I am.

My breath shudders out of me as I try to accept his words.

“Here’s what we are going to do. We’ll get Séverin cleaned up, he will go and get you some clean clothes, and then we are going home. And I will get that thing out of you if it’s the last thing I do.”

I hope with every atom of my being that it isn’t.

Chapter Forty-Two

Bellamy

Calming Séverin down is taking a lot longer than I anticipated. Every time I tell him it’s okay, he starts crying harder.

“I could have killed you,” he sniffles as I wipe the bloodstained tears from his face. A difficult thing, considering they keep rolling down his cheeks. Sunday stands still and quiet to the side, alternating between glaring at Séverin and looking mournfully at me. Not helping, really.

“But you didn’t. I’m completely fine, Sev.” It’s a small white lie, because I feel woozy and lightheaded, but the wound on my arm has closed up, thanks to his magical saliva.

“My teeth hurt,” he whimpers, shoving his fingers in his mouth to try to push his fangs back into his gums.

I grab his wrist and pull his hand away from his face. “Stop it. They’ll only hurt more if you force them. You just need to calm down.” I didn’t expect dealing with an emotionally triggered baby vampire to be like literally dealing with an actual baby.

Another fifteen minutes and an entire box of tissues later, Séverin bolts off to find Sunday some spare clothes. He returns with a bundle of musty costume pieces, then heads off to compel Lara into forgetting about the chaos of the afternoon. There’s a frisson of excitement in his voice—his compulsions never stick because of poor feeding habits, apparently, so this time it might actually work.

Another task for the list. Make sure our team leader doesn’t end up with vampire-induced brain scramblies.

Sunday turns away from me as he peels his sodden jeans off, embarrassment heating his cheeks as he stuffs them in a plastic bag. I know better than to console him about it. The look on his face tells me he is going to bury his head in the proverbial sand and pretend it never happened.

I offer him my hand.

“Let’s get you home.”

I play with a citrine worry stone, trying to regain some of my zapped energy and ward off the aching knot in my belly.

My connection with Delphine is still there, but it’s frayed and weak. I wish more than anything that I could just talk to her and ask her what’s going on, and why she looked so different. Ghosts don’t change like that. Not in our realm, anyway.

Sunday is next to me on the couch, his hands tucked into his armpits and head thrown back as he dozes. I try not to fidget too much. I’m exhausted too, but my brain won’t let me sleep.

I need to get this thing out of him. I’ve tried waiting to see if it left on its own. I’ve tried coaxing it out nicely. I’ve tried pushing it out with all the energy I can muster, and I’m sick of trying. I’m sick of seeing the man I care for in pain and discomfort, withering away in front of my eyes.

I watch him now, his eyes moving rapidly under his closed lids, the cadence of his breath too quick for a dreamless sleep. Before I can rouse him, he jerks awake, eyes popping open. He flings his arms wide, like he’s trying to stop himself from falling, pressing his feet firmly into the ground.

“Hey,” I call softly, shifting onto my knees to face him. I press my hand to his shoulder as he turns to look at me.

Haunted.

That’s the only way I can describe it. His eyes are a haunted house with the dying light of a fire trapped within.