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Eden

A FAMILIAR WHITE-HOT pain seared through my back. The pain throbbed, burning from the inside out, and every breath was a struggle against the tightness that twisted through my body. Voices murmured nearby, but were distant and muffled by the relentless ringing in my head. My heart thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else. I pried my eyes open and blinked while the dim candlelight above swam into view.

The voices sharpened into jagged edges against my skull, cutting through the thick haze in my mind. I tried to focus, to separate meaning from the noise, but the words were unintelligible. My body felt sluggish. Every muscle screamed in protest. Fire licked through my limbs, and pain seared through my back as I pushed up onto my elbows. A deep, pained groan clawed its way out of my chest.

Black spots wavered on the borders of my vision, creeping in like ink seeping through paper. I blinked hard, willing them away. The room came into focus in fractured pieces—the dark stone walls, the slanted ceiling, the heavy curtains suffocating the windows. The air was stale.

Dread split through me. My breath hitched, then quickened. Each inhale felt shallower, tighter, as though the walls were shrinking inward, as if the room was swallowing me whole. My arms snapped around me. My fingers dug into my shoulders hard enough to bruise, desperate to hold myself together. The air was too thin, too sharp. My ribs squeezed tighter.

I couldn’t be there.

I couldn’t—

Oberon was a stark presence against the backdrop of my unraveling senses. His lips moved and his brow furrowed with what might have been concern, but his voice reduced to a muffled echo beneath the rush of blood in my ears.

My eyes darted to the other man. His clothes were clean, crisp, and clinical. Physician. The breath in my chest turned to ice. Something metallic glinted in his hand when he stepped forward, and a searing wave of quick, brutal panic carved through me. My throat locked, and the walls of my mind folded in on themselves.

Every sound snapped into focus when he said, “She needs to remove her dress so I can—”

“No!” The word tore from me, scraping through my throat, broken as glass. A violent tremor ripped through my body, and my stomach lurched.

Oberon stiffened in my peripheral vision, his head snapping toward me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. My gaze remained locked on the physician. My hands clenched into fists around the sheets, gripping them until my knuckles ached. My skin felt too tight. My breath was too loud, too fast.

I couldn’t let him touch me.

I couldn’t let anyone touch me.

If they saw—

If they knew—

“I’ll do it myself!” My voice wavered, but I forced steel into the words. “I don’t need help! I don’t need you!”

Oberon’s jaw locked. His eyes darkened, and tension rippled through his frame. He took a single step forward, and I flinched back. My grip on the sheets tightened. His eyes darted to my hands.

He saw. Damn him—he saw.

“Herbalist,” he urged. “You have to be treated.”

“I’ll handle it myself.”

“You can’t.” His tone hardened. “Don’t be fucking stubborn. You’re bleeding out.”

“I said I can handle it.” My throat clenched around the words, strangling them.

His nostrils flared. Frustration bled into his stance, into the strain in his shoulders. “For fuck’s sake, Herbalist,” he pleaded, voice dipping lower. “Let him treat you.”

“Fine!” The word flew out harsher than I intended. My whole body trembled from the effort to keep myself together. Oberon sighed and passed a hand over his face. His posture eased… Until I glared at the physician.

“Cut the back of my dress. I won’t take it off.”

The physician hesitated. “It would be better if—”

“I. Won’t.” I ground the words through clenched teeth, daring him to argue.

Oberon’s brows furrowed deeper. His jaw set, and his arms folded over his chest. His eyes flicked between the physician and me, but I refused to meet his gaze. My breathing was still shallow. My pulse was still spiked.

“And don’t say anything,” I warned, voice trembling with quiet venom. “Either of you.”

Silence draped over the room. Oberon’s eyes narrowed. He looked at me too hard, as if he attempted to read something in my expression that I refused to give him.

My fingers tightened around the sheets again when the physician left, gripping so tight that my knuckles ached. I couldn’t stop shaking.

Gods, Eden, get it together.

“Saints,” Oberon sighed. The sound of buckles echoed through the room, followed by the clatter of his sword in its sheath and a soft thunk nearby. The bed shifted, and my head snapped up.

Oberon sat before me, legs bent and spread apart, with his back against the wall. He watched me for a long beat before lifting his arms in invitation. “Come here, Dilthen Doe.”

The door opened, and I went rigid. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between my ribs, refusing to move.

The smell of wet stone and expensive cologne enveloped my senses. The flicker of candlelight cast long, stretching shadows. The soft scrape of boots over the floor echoed through my skull. A voice, low, smooth, and dangerous in its patience, slithered through my mind. “You keep fighting, Darling.”

Marcus’s fingers brushed over my shoulder, featherlight and deceptively gentle. A mockery of comfort. A reminder that he could take his time. I shuddered, but I couldn’t move. I was caught.

Tight, leather-bound hands settled on my wrists.

“Be still.” A command. A law.

My pulse throbbed low in my throat, but my body refused to obey me. My limbs remained locked, frozen beneath his hold. This was how he liked it. Not the screaming. Not the struggling. But when the fight drained out of me, leaving only resignation.

I wanted to claw my way out. To rip free, to run, but there was nowhere to go. There had never been. His fingers pressed just enough to make sure I knew he was in control. I pressed my eyes tight, my body burning with shame, with rage, with helplessness.

Move.

MOVE.

DO SOMETHING.

But I could only tremble.

Marcus hummed, pleased. “Much better.” The pressure of his hands, the slow cadence of his breath, and the crushing reality that I was nothing more than a possession. “You belong to me, Eden.”

No.

No, no, no—

My shaking hands fisted in the sheets. My throat burned with the ghost of words I had never screamed.

I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t—

“Quinn.”

A shudder ripped through me, my breathing shallow and uneven. The voice wasn’t Marcus’s. It wasn’t one of theirs. It cut through the noise in my skull and brought me back to the present.

I blinked as my surroundings shifted back into place. Oberon was still facing me, still waiting. His forearms rested on his knees, his fingers curled into loose fists, tension coiled in every line of his body, and his gaze burned with intensity.

No.

He was angry.

He was angry at me.

I was a burden again. A problem to be fixed.

I wanted to shrink under its weight, under the frustration and scrutiny.

The physician’s voice pulled me back again. “It may be best if you hold her in place.” My body locked up, and my fingers twitched.

No.

No, no, no.

My hands weren’t mine anymore. They were distant. Bruised wrists. Shackles. The cool bite of metal cut into my skin, chained me, and kept me still. The walls blurred. My pulse roared.

“Quinn, look at me.” My eyes snapped to Oberon’s. Keeping me here. That’s what he was doing. He extended his arms again and waited. “Come here.” It wasn’t an order, but it left no room for argument.

My body refused at first. My instincts screamed to recoil, to curl inward, and to brace for impact, but I forced myself to move.

The first movement felt impossible, and the second was even more challenging. But I pressed forward until my forehead found his shoulder. His warmth seeped through the layers between us, a tether within the drowning void. I clutched at his tunic, desperate for something tangible, something real. His smell—leather, steel, and storm-soaked air—wrapped around me, a reminder that I wasn’t there.

I was here. With him. His hands found my arms, keeping me in place without trapping me. I drew in a breath and held it as I braced myself for the inevitable.

“The fabric needs to be cut now,” the physician announced. His voice was measured as if I were volatile. Like I was the danger in the room.

Oberon shifted beneath me, followed by a featherlight graze against the side of my neck. A whisper of sensation so delicate that it startled me. He gathered my hair, brushed it over my shoulder, and pulled it away from my back. I exhaled slowly and allowed my shoulders to loosen.

For a moment, just a moment, I wasn’t drowning.

Cool metal touched the nape of my neck, and I flinched. Oberon’s hands tightened on my arms enough to remind me he was still there. My grip on his shirt tightened in response, clinging to my sole connection in the present. Air rushed in, licking over raw, exposed skin as the fabric peeled away from my back. My knuckles turned white, and I winced as a sharp sting flared along the wound. A brief but heavy pause hung in the air, followed by a subtle shift of his frame as he leaned forward and pressed against me.

Then, every muscle in his body went rigid.

A deep, raw, and primal vibration rumbled through his chest. A low, quiet growl smothered by restraint. Anger in its most lethal form. The sound cut off when he inhaled, then exhaled in measured and forced breaths, as if he were shoving the rage back, caging it inside before it could tear free. But his body remained taut, locked in an unnatural stillness that felt more dangerous than any outburst.

He saw them.

My stomach twisted as a fresh wave of raw shame surged up, crashed against my ribs, and hollowed out my chest. My fists clenched against his shirt, desperate to anchor myself, to stop the spiral before it consumed me.

He must have been disgusted.

How could he not?

He must have realized that a court herbalist was too broken to tend to others, too damaged to stand at his side, to accompany him and cause him this. I was a burden. I had always been a burden. He must have felt it, too, just as they did. They all did. He must have regretted bringing me.

The clinking of metal cut off my thoughts. Followed by the soft pop of a bottle opening. “I’m going to clean and numb the area now,” the physician announced.

Something cool touched my back, and I flinched. The contact jolted through me in a shockwave. Then came a sharp, searing bite that ripped me from the present. The past slammed into me. It bled through the walls, through my skin, sinking its claws into my mind and dragging me backward. I was drowning in it.

The stone floor was chilled beneath my knees. The air was filled with the stench of medicinal herbs, but they did nothing to mask the underlying smell of my blood.

Marcus stood before me, arms crossed, with amusement playing at the corners of his sharp mouth. “You should stop pretending, Eden,” he mused, his voice smooth and indulgent. “You’re no healer.” I clenched my jaw. My breath was fast and uneven. I didn’t look at him. I refused to grant him that satisfaction.

A gloved hand gripped my shoulder—the physician. “Hold still,” he murmured, detached as if I were a mere experiment. An ointment was pressed into my lashings. It was cool at first, but it was a false relief. As the substance seeped into my wounds, the pain erupted into a firestorm spreading through my back.

Burning. Biting. Searing.

A ragged gasp escaped me, and my fingers clenched into fists against the stone, nails digging into my palms. Marcus’s breath caressed my cheek as he crouched. Too close. “What is it, Darling?” His tone was sickly sweet. “I thought you liked remedies?”

STOP.

PLEASE JUST STOP.

Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. The walls of the past pressed in, crushing me.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t—

I shut my eyes tight.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

But my chest ached, and my throat burned. The pain, the memories and shame that penetrated my bones, was unbearable.

The physician sighed. “I’m going to start the stitches.” There was a pause, followed by the faint rustling of fabric. He was readying the needle. “Try not to let her arch her back.”

A sharp, grating sound filled the room, resonating from Oberon’s teeth.

My jaw locked tight while I fought the instinct to brace for pain. Find something else. Focus on anything else. The steady, deep rise, and fall of Oberon’s chest beneath me. The slow, deliberate rhythm of his breathing. I tried to match it, to anchor myself to it.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

It did little to keep the memories from ripping through the surface and dragging me under again.

A hand rested firmly on the small of my back. “You belong here, Darling.” My breath hitched.

No. No, no, no.

The weight of Marcus’s palm settled over my spine, fingers spreading, pressing—not painfully, not yet. Just enough. Enough to let me know he was there, that he owned this moment, that he owned—

I stiffened. My stomach twisted.

Not real. Not now.

The phantom sensation was too much, too close.

My lungs burned with the need to escape, but my body betrayed me. I couldn’t stop the slight hitch in my breath. I couldn’t stop the way my shoulders drew inward, bracing for what would come next.

Marcus always felt those shifts. And he always loved them. A slow, pleased hum. “There it is.” My pulse slammed in my throat, a frantic rhythm that did nothing to protect me. Don’t move. Don’t give him more.

His fingers traced the ridge of my spine, imitating tenderness. “You always try to run, Darling,” he murmured. “Even when you’re not moving.” His grip tightened.

MAKE IT STOP!

Something touched my arm. It was a deliberate, firm stroke, but different. Oberon’s calloused palm pressed over my elbow. “It’s okay, Dilthen Doe.” His tone was gruff, like he had to force himself to whisper. To make the words come out gently.

My chest ached.

“You’re okay,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”

Tears spilled and soaked into his tunic. I hadn’t known I was holding my breath until my lungs burned from it. A tremor racked through me, then another. I shook so hard that my muscles throbbed from the strain.

I gritted my teeth, pushing back against the tremors that threatened me. I couldn’t let this happen. Not now. Not in front of him. Oberon’s scent enveloped me again.

Real. Present. Here.

I pushed myself to focus on it. Focus on him.

I hadn’t noticed when the physician finished the stitches. I didn’t even remember him saying he had. My body was locked in place. My mind was caught between the past and the present, drowning in the spaces between them.

“I will apply a salve to the wound to prevent infection. You should wrap it later when you can remove your dress.”

I forced a slight nod against Oberon’s shoulder before the cool sensation of the salve dragged me under again.

Footsteps clicked against the floor. Slow. Measured. Certain.

Marcus came to a halt behind me. I couldn’t see him, but I could sense him. The insufferable presence that coiled around me like a snake waiting to strike. A gloved hand gripped my chin, tilting my head just enough to make my neck ache, reminding me I couldn’t move unless he allowed it.

His breath brushed my ear, filled with amusement. “Were you out playing healer again?” My lungs hitched. The chains at my wrists felt heavier, the metal biting into raw, torn skin. Marcus sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You can’t even save yourself.”

The words cut deeper than any blade he had used on me.

I tried to pull away. I tried to twist my face from his grasp, but the pressure on my jaw only increased in a silent warning.

His fingers trailed lower.

The calloused hand slid up my arm and rested on the back of my head. “Come back to us.” Oberon’s body was still rigid, tense with anger, but I no longer understood who it was meant for. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the present. The walls felt too close, and unseen chains pulled at my limbs.

‘It’s my job to keep you safe.’ I started shaking again. That’s what it was. Duty. Another burden he had to bear. He was an assassin, a man who had killed countless people without hesitation. Yet there he was, forced to sit and keep someone like me calm.

The tears flowed uncontrollably again.

Why him? Why did he have to see this? Why did he have to hear it?

Oberon let out a deep, agonizing sigh when the door clicked shut, and an audible, raw sob wrenched free from my throat. I hated he was there to hear it.