She squeezed her way through the opening, shirt snagging on a sharp protrusion, then ripping as she just kind of fell into the other room. When she balanced, she quickly took stock, readying herself for anything. Another bedroom, this one a mix of light and dark. There was a thrashing man on the only bed, smoke rising from him, undulating.
Her gaze locked on the smoke, and she gasped. It was as beautiful as it was horrifying. An ocean of crumbled black diamonds, punctuated by the occasional sparkle of paired rubies—like eyes, watching, lethally intent—and damning flashes of white. Sharp, like fangs.
Come on, come on. Time’s wasting. For some reason, looking away actually hurt, shooting a pain from her temples to her belly, but she did it, refocusing on the man and closing the distance between them. The moment she reached him, bile scalded her throat, and she nearly lost her last meal. Fruit and bread that Defeat had grudgingly given her. All those injuries…
What had the demon done to him? Peeled him? Lit him on fire? He was—
Oh, God. Oh, dear God. Eyes widening, she covered her mouth with shaky hands. No. No!
Despite the savaged body, the swollen, nearly unrecognizable face, she knew who writhed before her. Micah. Her boyfriend. Same dark skin—what remained of it—and same muscled frame. Same inky hair he constantly smoothed from his brow. No wonder she’d recognized that battered voice.
Oh, God. The demon must have caught him while he’d chased after her, trying to save her.
Tears rained down her cheeks, crystallizing into ice as they fell. She almost crumpled into a sobbing heap. She’d dreamed of this man long before she’d ever met him. Had loved him long before she’d ever met him. She’d thought him a memory that hadn’t quite been wiped clean after—
Nope. Don’t go down that road, either. Those kinds of thoughts would paralyze her as nothing else could. Micah. She’d think only about Micah now. He needed her.
About seven months ago, she discovered he wasn’t simply a memory or even a figment of her imagination. He was real. She’d thought, Surely this is a sign we’re meant to be together. A point further proven when they were both assigned to the same demon-hunting mission in Rome, and then again when he’d asked her out, as attracted to her as she was to him. She’d said yes without any hesitation.
Except the real man hadn’t lived up to her imaginings.
There’d been no bone-deep connection. No earth-shattering awareness. She’d blamed herself, and rightly so, and had tried to force the bond. Because of her visions, she’d known—knew—on a level she didn’t quite understand that he would make her happy. That he was her future. That he could at last melt the unnatural ice that still swirled inside her.
So she’d stayed with him, all the while thinking the connection would soon spark. It never had. And though they were still seeing each other and were totally exclusive, she’d always held a little piece of herself back. She hadn’t even slept with him yet. But now…connection. Sizzle. And it was everything she’d expected to feel for him.
Here, now, she thought she might never again be whole without him. As if she’d finally found the last piece of a puzzle.
Guilt suddenly swarmed her. She hadn’t been the best girlfriend, holding herself back as she had, yet still he’d searched for her, still he’d challenged a Lord of the Underworld for her. And now, he might die for her.
“Oh, baby,” she managed to croak past a constricted throat. “What did he—” they? “—do to you?”
She reached out, the shadows hissing as they inched backward, away from her, away from him, as if afraid to be near her. She paid them no heed. As gently as she was able, she slid one of Micah’s pulverized hands through the steel cuff that bound him. The amount of blood and the crushed bone allowed for an easy glide and also had her swallowing bile at an astonishing rate.
Could he recover from this? Could anyone?
Thankfully, her touch seemed to calm him rather than hurt him further. The thrashing became less violent, and he eventually relaxed against the mattress. Haidee moved to the other side and freed his other wrist. By the time his ankles were unchained, the slightest hint of a smile curled his lips.
Her chest contracted at the sight of it, both an agony and a blessing. He was damaged, but he was alive. Would he be grateful for that, though? He might never be able to fight again.
Didn’t matter. She had to save him.
Biggest problem: she couldn’t carry him. He was too heavy. And he certainly couldn’t walk. She didn’t have a medical degree, but she’d bet a fortune that half the bones in his body were broken. Still. She couldn’t leave him behind, either.
She studied him more intently, praying for a solution. Instead, what she found had her gasping in outrage. Those bastards! Of all the cruel things they’d done, this was the worst. They’d branded him. Etched a jagged-winged butterfly—the mark of their demons—into his calf. Just to taunt him.
“I’ll make them pay, baby.” Her hands coiled into tight fists, ready to strike. “I swear it.”
At the sound of her voice, he shifted, angling toward her. He even tried to reach out, the muscles in his forearm bunching with the strain. The action proved to be too much for him, and the arm hung uselessly. A second later, the thrashing started up again.
Cooing, Haidee eased beside him and smoothed away the hair sticking to his brow, just as she knew he liked. The first moment of contact, she experienced a jolt of undiluted heat. The ice that was her constant companion, a part of who and what she was, cracked. Droplets melted, dripping. Instantly Micah calmed, his sweat drying as if he’d absorbed her deepest chill.
Nothing like that had ever happened before, and the sensation disconcerted her. A side effect of what had been done to him, perhaps?
Bastards, she thought again, her molars gnashing together. In this life or the next—and she was always given a “next”—she would punish them.
Spiderwebs suddenly wove in front of her eyes, gossamer threads laced with a shot of fatigue. Determined, she swept them away. She couldn’t deteriorate. Not now. Micah needed her.
Haidee?
His voice startled her, but she quickly recovered. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
A soft sigh echoed, a whisper of contentment. The breathy sound stroked her—even though his mouth had never moved and his lips had never parted. Impossible. Right?
“Micah? How are you talking to me?”
Sweet, sweet, Haidee.
Again, his mouth hadn’t moved, but again, she’d heard him. And she knew she wasn’t imagining his voice. She couldn’t be. She’d heard him before ever entering the room.
That could only mean… Her eyes widened in astonishment. He was speaking inside her mind. Had been speaking inside her mind the entire time. That was new for them, too, and far more disconcerting than the heat.
How was he doing it? How could the Lords have caused this?
Reason it out later. “I’m going to look for weapons, okay? Something, anything.” Could she even stand? Her muscles were vibrating, her veins filling with sludge. “And then I’m going to find a way—”
No! Don’t leave. There was a panicked pause. Need you. Please.
“I won’t leave the room, I swear, not without you, but I have to—”
No! No, no, no! Babbling now, his body tensing. You have to stay.
“Okay, baby, okay. I’m here. I’ll stay.” Soft, gentle, the promise left her before she could consider the consequences. Not that they would matter. She would rather hand herself over to Defeat, gift wrapped on a silver platter, than cause this man any more grief. “I won’t budge from this spot. Promise.”