Page 38 of Hysteria Rises (Dark Falls Hollow #1)

A disturbed laugh escapes me as I think back on the literature.

It detailed how corrections—aka punishments—would be doled out swiftly.

Stupid fucking terminology, if you ask me.

I swallow, remembering with perfect clarity how Arrow had actually thanked them for correcting him.

I hadn’t given it much thought until now; I’d been too caught up in my own internal turmoil.

And I don’t know why I feel the need, but I open my mouth. “I—” is all that comes out, though, and at the hoarse, croaking sound of my voice, Arrow shifts ever so slightly to peer back toward me. An anguish like I’ve never seen before graces his features.

“I thought I was alone”—he says haltingly before taking a shallow breath—“I just wanted a shower. But—” The grimace that crosses his face as he plants his hands on the floor and attempts to push himself upward twists his face into a mask of misery. “Just go,” he murmurs.

And right then, nothing that came before matters. I’m not unfeeling. I can’t leave him here like this. “I— I can’t.” I clamp my lips together again.

His eyes flick to mine, his brow furrowing. “I don’t want—” He exhales hard, his body shaking.

Through clenched teeth, I grit out, “I’m supposed to be cleaning this bathroom.” From the way he’s unable to maintain eye contact, he’s obviously self-conscious about being naked in front of me, which is odd considering he’s been inside my body.

I exhale unsteadily, sneaking another look at him. He’s muscular as hell. I could probably bounce a quarter off his ass cheek.

His eyes crash shut. “Go.”

Exasperated, I drop to my knees beside him. “Look. I know the rule that I’m not supposed to speak to you. But this is fucking ridiculous. You’re clearly in pain. I’m not going to leave you lying here on the floor.”

His tongue pokes out to dampen his lips as he stares at me, perplexed, with those pale-blue eyes of his.

At any moment he might call out for help or let someone know I’m here.

And it’s weird, but I’ve become accustomed to his gaze.

It’s been on me so many times in the dark.

Despite all the times he’s done and said weird stuff, he’s also offered me comfort, even if he did fuck it all up.

I still don’t know how I slept through what he was doing to me.

If I hadn’t, maybe we wouldn’t be in this position right now, and I definitely wouldn’t feel like I had to do a damn thing for him.

But I do. Rubbing a hand over my face, I shrug. “I can try to help you up. Or”—my gaze flicks to a wooden chair at the side of the room that has a pile of clothing on it—“I could bring that chair over, and you could brace your hands on it while you try to stand.”

A ragged breath escapes him. “Yeah. Okay.”

I’m on my feet in a flash and drag the heavy chair in front of him, then offer him a hand while he slowly and painstakingly gets to his knees.

It takes a while, but once he’s up, he glances at me before casting his gaze toward the floor.

There’s a pink hue infiltrating his face and when I trail my attention downward, I notice he’s fully flushed from the chest up.

My brows slowly furrow. He’s embarrassed.

I chance another peek downward. He has no reason to be.

His muscles are carved to perfection, and his dick swings heavily between his legs.

The memory of waking up to that thick appendage buried deep inside my body before being yanked out again knocks me off center.

I scramble for something, anything to say or do to pull me out of the tailspin.

“Y-you can put your arm over my shoulder if it helps steady you.”

He grunts his appreciation.

A nervous exhale skitters from my throat as we exit. “Where are we going?”

“Just there.” He doesn’t bother pointing, simply looks in the direction of a door partway down the hall that stands ajar.

I nudge it open and help him inside, my attention immediately wandering over the eight beds, trunks, and nightstands. “You all share a room?”

He gives the barest of nods, removes his arm from me, then steers himself toward one of the bunks. I watch with cautious eyes as he lies face down.

“Do you want a blanket?”

A strangled huff escapes him. “Yes.”

I bite my lip, then hurriedly maneuver a quilt upward to cover his ass. “Okay. I’m gonna get back to cleaning.”

I’ve just turned to leave when he makes a grunting noise. “Wait. I—”

At his pleading tone, I halt in my tracks, simply watching the play of emotion on his face from under the cover of my lashes.

“I should have known.”

A line forms down the center of my forehead, and I can’t help myself. I close the distance, dropping down between two of the beds when I realize it’s causing him pain to twist to look up at me. In a voice so low I question whether he can actually hear me, I whisper, “What should you have known?”

“Gannon and Dragan. Should have known they’d say something to Kiefer. I thought at first it was Mal, but …” He seems to stop to consider. “No. I think it was them.”

At this point, my lip is caught so tightly between my teeth, it hurts.

“I know you probably won’t believe me. And”—he grits his teeth—“I probably shouldn’t say so, but I’m sorry, siren.

I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.” Then, more quietly, he murmurs, “Forgive me.” And with that, his eyes crash shut, though I don’t know whether it’s because his trip to the shower wore him the fuck out or because he wants to put an end to the conversation. Either could be the truth.

As I back toward the end of the bed, something on the floor catches my eye.

A bottle. More specifically, an empty liquor bottle. My brows raise, and I flick my focus back to Arrow.

From downstairs, multiple voices become audible, and Arrow’s reaction is unsettling as his eyes dart to and pin on what I assume is contraband. There was plenty of stuff we weren’t allowed to have at the home. Punishment for being found with it was severe. I can only assume it’d be the same here.

I don’t know what possesses me to try to help him, but I quickly tap the bottle with my foot and let it roll under the bed.

As soon as it’s out of sight, our eyes connect. Concern slashes his features. And that, combined with one urgently spoken word throws me off balance. “Go.”

In my haste, I stumble backward, ramming into the end of the bed behind me with a thud. I clamp my lips shut so I don’t make a sound, then spin around, taking a step backward. As I do, something catches my attention—movement under the sheets.

My eyes widen as a snake wriggles free and falls to the floor.

I’m unable to stop the strangled scream that tears raggedly from my throat.

The sound echoes off the ceiling of the large room.

From there, all I can hear is the wild pounding of my heart and the blood rushing in my ears as that thing slithers toward me, menacing.

Its beady eyes are focused on me, its tongue flicking the air.

I struggle for every breath as I stare wide-eyed and out of my mind as fear dumps adrenaline into my veins.

A shout reaches us from somewhere outside the bedroom, and feet thunder up the stairs.

Oh, fuck. Anxiety pulses under my skin. I shouldn’t be in this room, and the exit is blocked, my feet rooted to the floor.

A second later, there’s a rough grunting gasp of pain from behind me, and I’m pulled firmly against the hard wall of Arrow’s chest. All I can do is stare, unmoving. The angry serpent is prepared to strike.