Page 41

Chapter

Forty-One

H ours pass this way.

My entire world shrinks down to the movements of the collar as it traps me in an endless cycle. It only knows two actions: contract and release. But the delay between the two is constantly expanding as Baylor pushes me to my limit.

My head spins from the lack of oxygen. My fingers went numb earlier, and their feeling hasn’t returned. My vision isn’t faring any better. The edges of the world have grown dark, covered in a permanent vignette. Strange figures dance in the corners of my eyes, creeping closer each time the collar is activated. My mind whispers that they are lost souls, sensing my imminent demise. That’s not possible , I remind myself. As long as the veils are in place, a soul could never be lost. More likely, they are simply hallucinations.

Though I’m not sure that’s any better.

Thorne holds me through all of it. I track each rise and fall of his chest, imagining the air he breathes is somehow able to be shared between us, passing from his lungs to mine.

Silent tears trail down my cheeks, but I no longer bother fighting against the collar. My body simply doesn’t have the strength anymore. Besides, nothing I do has any effect. Instead, I lie here and count the time between breaths.

Black spots dot my vision as the seconds stretch on. My throat is raw and aching. Surely it will snap, and my windpipe will collapse.

One hundred sixty-seven.

One hundred sixty-eight.

The sound of my rattling gasps fills the room as the collar releases its hold. I suck in as much air as I can, knowing my reprieve will be brief. Thorne rubs my back, whispering encouraging words in my ear. Baylor only allows me ten seconds of air before the cool metal tightens again.

Please.

My mouth forms the word, but no sound comes out.

Stop . Just let it be over.

“Count with me, Angel,” Thorne whispers in my ear.

One. Two. Three. I mouth the words along with him. I want to tell him I will be okay, but I promised myself I wouldn’t lie anymore.

“It will end,” he says, unbound by any such promises. “You will breathe again. I swear, Ivy.”

And he’s right. I do breathe again. Scattered gasps every few minutes are all Baylor allows me to have. Still, I keep counting the seconds between each breath as they expand into an eternity. In the darkness, I begin to understand what Maebyn meant about time having little meaning.

Please , I send another silent plea into the ether. Let it end.

It doesn’t.

It stops shortly after midnight.

I’m counting during a reprieve when, for the first time all night, a full minute passes without the collar starting up again. My heart pounds as I wait for it to happen, but it seems that Baylor is finally taking a break from his attacks.

A cruel smile curls my cracked lips. No matter how terrible I feel, I know Baylor isn’t faring much better. Using the collar, even in small increments, is draining. And with the injury I gave him earlier, he’s probably suffering greatly.

Good. May his pain have no end.

Air passes unrestricted into my lungs, but each breath burns. Still, I drink them down gladly. The dampness on my face is a mixture of both sweat and tears. Every muscle in my body aches, leaving me feeling as though I’ve been trampled by several horses. Still, I force myself to roll over and face Thorne.

His head rests on the pillow next to mine, but the lines of his face are pulled tight with strain. His entire body is rigid, as if he’s currently exercising every ounce of his restraint to stop himself from flying back to the Palace and ripping Baylor apart.

“It’s over.” The strangled whisper is barely audible.

“Shhh,” Thorne brushes my hair out of my face. “Don’t try to speak. Just nod, okay?”

I do as he orders, hating the way the movement pulls at my tender skin.

“Scratch that.” He grimaces at the sight of my pain. “No nodding.” He reaches for the hand that rests between us. “Just squeeze my fingers for yes.”

I do as he asks.

“That’s right, Angel.” He leans forward to kiss my brow. I close my eyes, hating how my heart clenches at the tender action. “Will he start again?”

The fear in his voice makes me want to lie, but I don’t. Instead, I softly squeeze his fingers, making his jaw clench tighter.

“How long? Days?”

My hand doesn’t move, and his face pales.

“Hours?”

I squeeze again.

“Drains him,” I whisper. The words scratch my throat on their way out and I immediately regret trying to speak again.

“Shhh.” He gently brushes his soft lips over mine. “No talking, remember? Just try to get some rest.”

I have every intention of staying awake, but somehow, my eyes drift shut as I slip away.

I wake up gasping for air, my gaze flying around the room, searching for danger.

Strong hands grab my arms, and a deep voice whispers in my ear, “It’s ok, Angel. You’re alright.”

I find him in the darkness, sitting on the stool next to the bed.

“You’ve only been asleep for half an hour,” he whispers. “You should try to rest more.”

While you can.

He doesn’t need to say the last part. We both know it’s true.

The door creaks open, and Della appears at the top of the stairs, another steaming cup of tea in her hand.

“I thought you could use this,” she says as she makes her way down to us. “Darrow said to tell you he’s much better at removing pain than preventing it.”

I pray he’s telling the truth because I’m not sure how much more I can take.

She hands me the mug, and I take a sip, savoring the flavor on my tongue. The warm liquid coats my throat, and I can feel it working immediately.

“He mentioned it would start healing the internal damage right away.”

It does. The worst of the pain begins to ease. It still hurts, but it’s much more manageable now.

“I believe some friends of yours have arrived,” Della says to Thorne. “A man and a woman. They’re waiting for you upstairs.”

“Griffen and Fia,” he explains. “I summoned them earlier.”

My brows pinch together.

“Through the tattoo,” he explains, lifting his wrist to display the burning rose etched onto his skin. “It’s why everyone on my council has one made from the same enchanted ink.”

Distantly, I realize that’s how Griffen was able to summon him the night we were trapped in the alley. A frown pulls at my lips. I probably should have put that together earlier, but to be fair, I’ve had a lot on my mind.

“I can stay with her if you want to go say hello,” Della offers, glancing back and forth between us. “I believe they’ve already begun interrogating poor Nolan.”

Thorne shakes his head. “I’m not leaving her.”

It’s fine , I mouth. Go .

His gaze turns skeptical, and I roll my eyes. Eventually he relents, rising from his seat at my bedside and offering it to Della.

“Do not get out of this bed,” he orders as he pulls his gloves from his pocket and slips them on. “You need to rest.” His stern gaze lands on Della next. “Come get me if anything changes.”

She nods.

He disappears up the stairs, and Della and I are alone together for the first time since I said those awful things to her. Shame burns in my gut, and I wash it down with another gulp of tea.

“I added honey,” Della says, her tone shockingly gentle. “I remember you always refusing to drink your tea unless it was sickly sweet.”

I’ve thankfully outgrown that habit, but I can’t deny that it tastes delicious.

Thank you , I mouth.

We sit in silence for a few moments, neither of us sure what to say. Her back is straight as she perches on the stool, her fingers digging into the material of her trousers. The sight of her in anything but a dress is strange and unfamiliar. I didn’t even think she owned pants.

Her brown eyes settle on the bruises at my neck, and her full lips twist into a grimace. “He’s done that to you before?”

My shoulders stiffen, but I nod.

“I’m sorry.” The force behind her words tells me she’s referring to more than just my injuries. She shifts uncomfortably on the stool before standing up and pacing back and forth through the tiny room.

“I should have done more to help you,” Della whispers, her gaze cast down. “It’s what she would have wanted.”

I flinch as her voice cracks.

“But I was so furious,” she continues, coming to stand before me as her eyes meet mine. “And I blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault.”

I stare at her, completely dumbfounded. Those are words I never expected to hear from Della. I feared she would regard me with civil hatred for the rest of our lives. My fingers dig into the sheet covering my lap as I force myself to be brave enough to accept her apology, instead of insisting I don’t deserve it. Still, I can’t stop myself from offering my own confession.

“I’m sorry too,” I croak, my voice horrible and raw. “I was a fool.”

“Shh,” she whispers, her soft fingers brushing through my hair. “So was I.”

My eyes drift shut as she continues her gentle ministrations, and I slip into my dreams once more.