Page 7 of Martyr (Sterling Falls Rogues #3)

Sleeping Beauty.

Why can’t I get that out of my head?

I finished counting the cracks in the drop-ceiling tile an hour ago, and sleep , the very idea that keeps tumbling around my brain, still evades me.

It’s better to consider a fairy-tale princess than the image of a very shirtless, shivering Tem.

No. Fuck . She’s Artemis, not Tem.

Why do I keep wanting to call her Tem ?

But onto a better question—who is Sleeping Beauty? One of the nurses mentioned needing to check on her, but it just seemed weird. So, naturally, I followed her down to the first-floor hallway and watched her disappear into one of the rooms.

Then, I retreated. I wasn’t about to get caught snooping.

And in my mission to avoid Tem— Artemis —I returned to my room and stayed there.

Which is why I’m now awake, burning with energy.

I toss the blankets off my legs and slide my socked feet into the shoes set by my nightstand. By some luck of the draw, I don’t have a roommate. The second bed sits empty, the mattress bare.

Moonlight comes in through the window, illuminating the small space. There’s a desk and chair on my side, and a duplicate for my would-be roommate. My therapist suggested journaling, but so far all I’ve managed are a few letters I’ll never send.

Because I’m apparently in the mood for pain, I open the top drawer and pull out the notebook. I shift closer to the window and flip to the last one I wrote.

Dear Elora,

You’re dead.

The doc said I should say it plainly, because euphemisms won’t help me. Saying you’re gone or passed or that you’ve moved on—she’s right, it’s bullshit.

My tattoos are different. I’ve been trying to relearn them, in a way. Relearn my own body. The worst part is, I don’t know what you’ve seen. The scar in the shape of an hourglass? Did you know that was there? Did you touch it before you died?

It marred some old ink, some tattoos I considered fondly. There were memories attached to those, just like the galaxy over my heart. I know, without any doubt, that the galaxy is you .

There’s no one here to tell me what we went through. The year gap I’m missing between you being alive and dying, then the gap between then and now.

Okay—there’s one person. But I don’t want to look at her face, because strange things keep happening to me when I do. My body seems to crackle with electricity, like lightning in a bottle. My heart picks up speed.

It’s loathing. Unadulterated hate.

You have nothing to worry about.

Yours forever,

Saint

I grit my teeth and go to the next one.

Dear Elora,

You’re right. I could practically hear you as I wrote the end of that last letter. I was lying through my teeth. But I need to lie to you about her, Elora. I can’t bear to tell you that I’m experiencing some attraction to your best friend. You didn’t agree to that, which makes it a betrayal.

I could ask Tem all about the time I’m missing, but I don’t think I can stomach her answers. Or the hurt on her face.

Fuck , you should’ve seen her expression when she came into the hospital room and I asked for you.

She was listed as my emergency contact, but no one will tell me why. No one answers any goddamn questions around here. The doc says she doesn’t know, that life beyond the island isn’t written in her file.

And because I don’t remember, I’ve been picturing the worst. I had a dream that your throat was slit, and I woke up crying. I scrubbed myself raw in the shower, washing imaginary blood from my hands.

That’s wrong, right?

That’s got to be wrong.

Because I also dream about her , about the feel of her body and her fucking pierced nipples. Are her nipples pierced? I don’t even fucking know. It’s just the way I picture her naked, fully formed.

I’m asking you these questions because you can’t answer, and I don’t want to know.

What I do know is, as jarring as this situation is, I fucking miss you. With every fiber of my being. I’d trade my life to get yours back. I’d walk straight into the underworld for you, Elora, and I’d carry you out even if I had to leave my soul behind.

A tear hits the page.

I quickly close it and swipe at my face, embarrassment radiating through me. I’m crying? I cried when I wrote it, too, my vision blurring so much my handwriting got sloppy. There are already spots of smeared ink farther down.

Why did I dream about her nipples being pierced before I even saw them?

I hadn’t realized.

Hadn’t remembered.

And yet, today, I saw her tits, and there they fucking were.

I clench my jaw harder, until my teeth might crack, and put away the notebook. I can’t stay here, pacing the room like a caged animal. There are night checks, but only once. They don’t come back—and I don’t think they patrol.

We’re not prisoners.

My door is unlocked. There’s no lock on it at all, actually. I grab my sweatshirt and slip out of the room, into the bright hallway. The light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead sear my eyes. I blink rapidly, checking that the coast is clear, then hurrying in the direction of Tem’s room.

No.

Wait.

I pause at the top of her hall and shake my head. I am not going to her.

I’m going to satisfy my original curiosity about Sleeping Beauty.

Two minutes later, I’m outside her room. At least, I think this is hers. And I don’t know why they call her Sleeping Beauty, unless maybe she has narcolepsy? This could also go really wrong if I enter this one and she wakes up screaming.

I might be committed to the other side of the island, where they do put locks on the door.

That’s almost enough to make me turn away, but I catch a voice. Hushed though it is, it travels through the door and straight into my chest.

Artemis?

Okay, fuck it. Universe, you win.

Steeling myself, I grasp the knob and twist. I burst into the room, my finger already pointed in accusation.

But then, I freeze. Because she’s not alone—and this setting is not what I was expecting in the slightest.