Page 119 of Burdened Bonds

I curse and reach through the bond for Azlan and Stone. Immediately, I’m hit by Tristan’s emotions instead, and they almost have me tumbling backwards. They’re confused and muddled, slow and slurred and I don’t understand them at all. I try to push them aside, reaching for Stone and Azlan in the hope we can work something out, but Tristan’s emotions are too loud, and in the end, I shut them down entirely and rest my head back against the mattress, thinking, desperate to find a way out of this mess.

I’m still awake several hours later when I hear a noise outside the door. The sound of two thuds. My eyes flick that way.

Bodies hitting the floor?

I frown, scurrying up to my knees as the lock clicks and the door creaks open. Just a little.

I scramble to my feet, waiting for whoever is there to enter the room.

Nothing. No one.

The door clicks shut.

I blink. Still no one there and yet my bond tugs me towards the doorway anyway.

“Tristan?” I say, not sure why the hell he is here and what the hell he can want. He emerges from the gloom, slowly coming into view, translucent at first and then more and more solid, until it’s him, all of him.

Except it’s not the Tristan I’m so used to seeing, towering above me, glowering down at me.

His body is pressed against the wall, his palms flat against the plaster. His face is damp, his golden hair stuck to his brow. And his breathing is labored, his body tense and vibrating.

“Tristan!” I cry this time, stepping towards him.

He screws up his eyes and his entire body trembles.

“Tristan, what’s wrong?”

He struggles to open his mouth, his tongue moving behind his teeth but no noise coming out.

“What is it?” I say, coming right up close to him, peering up at his face. There’s a sickly sheen to his skin, like he’s ill, and his eyes are flickering widely behind his closed lids.

Our closeness has my bond humming and his body shaking more violently.

“Tristan!” I say in alarm, struggling again to release my damn hands.

“Dr … dr …” he says, struggling to form the words in his mouth. He grunts, his teeth grinding, his jaw hardening as if he’s fighting with his own mouth to speak. “Drug,” he spits out at last.

Drug?

“Dr-dr-dr-drug,” he spits out again.

My gaze flits around his troubled face.

“Tristan,” I say, still unsure if I believe anything this man says, still unsure if I trust him, but wanting to, really really wanting to. “Did they drug you?”

His shoulders sag slightly as if in relief and he grunts out a mumbled yes. He opens his eyes and this close I see how dazed they look, how the green of his irises is so much fainter than it usually is, how the dark irises are glazed.

Drugged. By his dad? Why?

I take another step closer, and he growls, his body shaking so violently, his head knocks against the wall.

“Not … too … close,” he pants, slamming his eyes shut again, “don’t … want … to … hurt … you.” His fingers flex as if they’d like to wrap around my throat.

Alarm flashes through me. I don’t know what to do. It’s clear he’s attempting to fight the effects of the drug but what the hell does this drug do? Why would he hurt me?

“I can help you, Tristan, but you have to release my hands. I can’t use my magic otherwise.”

He grunts as if struggling against some great physical force and his knees buckle. He sways, but then he’s rigid again, nodding his head.