Page 38 of Dark Flame

His chest rumbles with his laughter, vibrating against my side. “Oh, Hellion, if only you were lucid. You’d hate yourself for admitting that.”

“I am lucid,” I argue, despite the fuzz covering my mind suggesting otherwise.

“Sure, sure.” He sounds amused, but that’s also wrong, because asshole bloodsuckers shouldn’t be amused by their captives. Defeats the purpose, right?

A moment later, the dungeon door is open and even fresher air circulates through my lungs. While the stairway is dark, it’s not as black as the dungeons, and my vision begins to shift.

“Shut your eyes.” His gentle command weaves between the strands of my hair, his breath strangely warm against my ear.

I do, obeying him so effortlessly once again. Blame it on my fucked-up senses.

The air rushes around us, and I think he’s using his immortal speed to get us through his castle. The angle changes; we’re heading upstairs. Then there’s another door opening and shutting, more warmth, and then softness beneath me as his arms disappear.

I open my eyes, breathing in air that doesn’t smell dank and rancid, in the bedroom I visited earlier—last night?—to get ready in.

Alec’s there, pushing me back into the pillows, his body taking up so much space. I wait for that familiar and uncomfortable feeling of claustrophobia to return with his nearness, but it doesn’t. Quite the opposite actually.

His gaze is depthless, matched by his equally dark hair, strands falling into his face. He’s dressed more casual than I’ve seen him yet, his plain black tee showing off muscles defined by endless years.

Did I just check out my captor?

“Thank you,” I whisper, relaxing into the soft pillows. The bed isn’t the best part, even if he probably assumes it’s what I’m grateful for. It’s the wide-open space. The walls that are easily twelve feet from me, allowing me to breathe properly.

“Harlow—”

It’s only my name—one of the few instances he’s spoken it—lined with frustration and annoyance, so similar to how he’d say it in my head.

“Why have I been hearing you for months?”

“What?” His hand sweeps strands off my forehead, but they cling to my skin from the sweat. His touch is a balm to the heat. A comfort that soothes. If only I could ask him to continue touching me, healing me. He gets rid of the shadows, and now he’s making everything else better too. “Hellion, you’re not well. You’re not making sense. Stop talking.”

My mouth clamps shut, obeying him for some reason. If only so he can continue petting me.

Annoyingly, he pulls back after another few seconds, settling beside my legs and crossing his arms. His jaw is tense when he asks, “What was all that about?”

“Nothing.” I glance towards the window, wishing he’d open the curtain and allow the sky inside.Anysign of the outdoors, I’ll take at this point. Keeping a witch away from nature is torture in itself.

“Do not lie to me,” he snaps, his hand forcing my face towards him again. “Was it a ploy to get out of the cell?”

“Damn good acting on my part if it was.”

His mouth tugs up on one side. “There she is. Guess you’re fine now if that snark that’s making my life hell has returned.”

“Guess so.” I lean back against the pillows, wanting to soak up every minute of comfort before he sends me back to hell. For now, whatever the reason behind this peaceful truce, I’ll take the cushion beneath my ass. A mattress versus stone, a blanket versus the hollow chill of what could eventually lead to my death.

“You called for me,” he murmurs after a long moment, his tone filled with a sense of wonder and a question I’m compelled to answer.

“Hecate is ignoring me. You’re all I have left.” Which is sad to consider.

He makes a grunting noise before heading for the door. “We need to talk, so stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If you attempt to leave this room, I’ll track you before you make it down the hallway.” His dark eyes sweep my frame stretched on the bed. “Given your current situation, I doubt you have much fight in you anyway.”

In truth, I have little plans to leave this bed. I do go to the bathroom, finding my pyjamas still on the floor where I left them from when switching into the dress. I change back, preferring my own clothes over whomever’s dress this is. They’re dirty, but no worse off than the dress and much warmer.

By the time I’m climbing back into bed, the door opens again, and Alec returns. “Good to know you’re capable of listening once in a while.”

“Only when it suits me.”

He crosses the room and picks up one of the large wingback chairs beside the fireplace. With one hand, he carries it to the bedside before sitting. On the nightstand, he lays out a water bottle and handful of granola bars that will by no means be enough to sustain me, but they’re a start. My stomach growls so loud even I hear it, which means he certainly does.