Page 140 of Shattered Stars

Gone? She can’t be.

“We have to find her,” we say together.

54

Renzo

I clingto her and her little piggie with all my might and pull them with me, through time, through space, landing us with a thud on the kitchen floor. The same kitchen I sat in waiting for her only weeks ago. Except it’s dark now, the first rays of dawn creeping in at the little window.

I peer down at my little rabbit’s face as the pig stumbles away from me and vomits in the corner.

“Yeah, it’s not everyone’s preferred mode of travel, little fellow,” I tell him, sweeping back damp hair from my little rabbit’s face. Her eyes are screwed tightly shut, her brow all wrinkled.

“Shush,” I whisper, holding her close, and rocking her, back and forth, back and forth, “hush now, you’re okay. Safe.”

She shakes her head, pain radiating in the creases and furrows scarring her pretty face.

I trace my finger over them, fascinated by them, fascinated by her. She’s so soft. So warm.

She cries out, her body tightening, and I remember the finger. I take her hand carefully in mine. Anger flares through me like a bolt of deadly lightning when I see what he did to my rabbit. Took something so perfect and broke it. I think of him squirming on the floor, not even able to take one last breath and I wish I’d broken his fucking skull, his fucking spine, his fucking legs.

“Focus,” I remind myself as my little rabbit shudders, murmuring nonsense. I lean down and shush her again, whisper against that creased forehead. “Gonna fix it for you.”

I close my eyes and focus on the bones. Turns out it’s a hell of a lot harder mending bones than it is breaking them, but somehow I manage, concentrating so hard to ensure it’s as perfect as it was, sweat beads along my brow.

I slump back when it’s done, peer down at my little rabbit.

The finger is fixed, but she isn’t. Her body jerks, her head rocks from side to side.

Something’s wrong.

“What is it, little rabbit?” I say, not sure she can even hear me. “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it for you.”

She shivers and I squeeze her tightly against my body, radiating my warmth into her.

The shakes subside a little, the tight coil in her body loosens, she murmurs again and opens her eyes, her blurry gaze meeting mine.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. I’d do anything for her, I think. Anything at all.

“Tristan,” she whispers with pain and grief and longing and all those things I don’t understand, “Tristan.”