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Chapter 15

The fever set in that night.

I tossed and turned, but it did little to smother the flames attacking my skin. Sweat beaded my forehead, dripping down my cheeks and seeping into my clothes. At some point, the power must’ve gone out. We used our phone lights for as long as we could before they, too, went dead.

It was dark, almost unnaturally so, like a spilt cauldron of ink. I couldn’t even see my hands in front of my face let alone the other occupants of the room.

“How are you feeling?” Tam whispered. He brushed his hand against my forehead. We previously had taken ice from the freezer in order to lower my fever, but our supply had long since dwindled.

My teeth clattered as I spoke, “Shitty.”

“Calvary is going to be here soon, Princess,” Ryder said from the other side of me.

Even I knew that was bull crap.

My body alternated between fits of intense heat and a numb coldness. I tried to escape these episodes with drastic movements, but that only brought pain to my leg and arm.

From experience, I knew not to whimper. Whenever I outwardly expressed my pain, the boys would react with cries of their own. I wanted to spare them of this as much as I could.

Though I couldn’t communicate with Declan at all, I felt his presence behind me. He currently had my head in his lap, gently stroking my hair away from my sweaty face. Calax had grown frantic, pulling at the barricade in front of the staircase ever since my fever set in. I could hear him then, mumbling under his breath, and cussing at anyone who came too close to him. He was desperate for an escape, desperate to save me, but I knew the effort was futile.

“Tell me something about you,” I said softly, squeezing Tam’s hand. I wasn’t sure if he would be willing to share, what with his shyness, but the silence was almost oppressive. Even Elena had stopped her bitching when my condition worsened. They all thought I was going to die.

But I had dealt with worse, and I would be damned before something as insignificant as an infection and broken leg took me in.

“Well,” Tam began hesitantly. I heard his teeth clench together, and I gave his hand another squeeze.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable.”

“It’s fine.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. This was just between him and me; everybody else faded into the background. “I didn’t have the best childhood either. My birth parents abused drugs, and I was adopted by my grandma when I was five.” He paused for a second, and, when he spoke next, I could hear the smile in his voice. “She was the best damn mother I could’ve ever had. She made sure I wanted for nothing. I was...a shy kid, to put it mildly, but she never made me feel bad for being exactly who I was. She supported me and my decision to join MMA.” I squeezed our connected hands when he paused again. From his shuddering breath, I knew that the next part of the story wouldn’t have a happily ever after. “She died when I was twelve.”

I wanted to tell him that I was sorry, but I knew he didn’t want my pity. There was a distinct difference between sympathy and empathy; you never really understand something until you’d been through it yourself. The only death I had experienced had been Ducky’s, and apparently, that hadn’t even been a real death.

“I moved into a foster home shortly after. They were nice and all, but I couldn’t live there. They always stared at me with pity, with ‘poor-parentless-kid’ looks. So I ran away.

“I was alone on the streets until I was thirteen when I came across two boys playing baseball at the local park. I asked them if I could play, but the dickhead said no.”

“In my defense,” Ryder said with a hint of a smile in his voice, “you looked fucking creepy.”

“I was homeless, you ass,” Tam laughed, but then instantly sobered. “Yeah, the dick was Ryder and the other kid was Sarge. I got to talking with them, and they told me about their school. Sarge helped me apply, and the rest is history.”

“So you got your happy ending,” I said airily. He leaned forward to kiss the top of my head.

“Maybe.”

We were silent, each lost in our own thoughts. Declan’s fingers against my cheeks were the only constant.

Somewhere in the darkness, Calax let out a string of curses, and Asher muttered something in response. Probably trying to calm him. Someone on the opposite side of the room was rearranging furniture. Why someone would do that when it was pitch black was beyond my comprehension.

I was suddenly very tired, overwhelmingly so. My eyelids fluttered as I struggled to keep them opened.

“You can’t go to sleep yet, Kitten,” Ryder said. “You have to stay awake.”

“I’m tired,” I mumbled, my words an inarticulate mesh.

“I know, but you have to stay awake.”

The boys began talking about random things. Funny stories from school, Ryder’s crazy ex-girlfriend (though Ryder insisted that they had never really dated), and plans for when we escaped. Every once in a while, I felt Declan’s fingers feather against my pulse as if to make sure I was still alive. After the tenth time, I felt slightly offended that he doubted my ability to survive.