Page 74 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

brEYLA

T hunder cracks overhead, making me jump and scream.

Elijah pulls me into his arms, his voice a soft murmur. “Shhh, I’ve got you, B. You’re okay.”

Rain plasters my face, tears joining them as I cry softly.

His palm settles on my hip, the other clasping my hand, our fingers weaving together.

“Dance with me,” he whispers.

“There’s no music,” I protest.

“We don’t need music.” He pulls me into familiar steps.

Muscle memory takes over, my body moving with his despite the paralyzing fear. The more we dance and sway, the more the tension in my limbs eases.

Thunder roars again, and I jump, looking around in panic.

“Eyes on me, B. Ignore everything else.” Elijah squeezes my hand in gentle reassurance. “Just feel the dance, the safety of my arms, the cool touch of rain on your skin.”

My eyes find his and stay there. We continue dancing, my gaze never leaving his as we sway.

I throw my head back, feeling the cool rain pelt my face, a tentative smile forming.

The unmistakable whistle of an arrow slices through the night.

My head snaps forward.

Wide-eyed shock plays across Elijah’s face as he looks down at the arrow protruding from his chest.

I scream, Eli’s body dropping to the ground.

I fall to my knees beside him, hands cradling his cheeks.

Blood pulses steadily from the wound, the smell coppery and sour. I know enough of battle wounds to know he’ll bleed out before anyone reaches us. Rivulets of crimson pool and drip out of his mouth, his chest rising shallowly as he fights to pull in air.

“No, no, no,” I murmur, my head shaking in denial.

“I love you, B,” he chokes on his words, blood splattering across my face.

“I love you, E,” I cry, but he’s gone before the words pass my lips.

I scream again, my cheeks already wet with the tears shed in my sleep. Chest heaving, I sit up in bed, fighting to pull in oxygen between sobs.

Strong arms pull me against a solid chest, cradling my trembling form. Ayden’s fingers comb through my hair, rubbing soothing circles as he rocks me gently. He pulls my legs over his lap, resting his free hand loosely on my hip.

These aren’t the arms I want. His scent is similar, but somehow all wrong.

The nausea that usually accompanies being touched by anyone other than Aurelius is blessedly absent. I continue crying, the tremors becoming less severe as his fingers maintain their soothing motion along my skin.

Even though it’s not the embrace I want, I savor its comfort regardless.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch the nightmare,” Ayden says softly.

“Don’t be,” I mumble. “I need to feel the pain.”

It’s the only thing I’ve felt since he died.

“I disagree. You’ve endured enough pain for a lifetime.”

I don’t reply.

“Sleep,” he urges, laying me back down. “You won’t dream anymore tonight.”

It’s not the reassurance he believes it to be. I want to hurt. Removing the pain feels like removing Elijah. The pain reminds me that he lived and that I love him.

Eventually, I drift back into a dreamless sleep.

Snow flurries coat the windowpane with a fresh layer of white misery. The arm that never healed properly aches, and I rub it absentmindedly. That twinge of pain is all I feel, all I’ve felt in over a week. At least, I think it’s been a week.

Breakfast sits untouched beside my chair, the oatmeal a cold, congealed paste that holds no appeal. I recognize that I need to eat, but I can’t bring myself to care.

My toes curl in the cushion where they’re tucked underneath me, my arms wrapped around both knees as I stare out the window.

Inside my mind, a symphony plays. It’s a mixture of thunder crashing in violent crescendos and the gentle melodies of the violin and piano. The tempest harmonizes, complementing the deep beats of the thunder.

Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the musical masterpiece of my mind.

Elijah dancing with me in the rain.

Crash.

Ophelia twirling in his arms at the palace ball.

Crash.

Elijah’s laugh.

A soft violin trill.

Five-year-old Elijah clutching my hand in front of his parents’ funeral pyre.

Piano chords in a gentle melody.

Elijah’s eyes glazing over as Aurelius stops his heart.

The closing notes bring together the orchestra of thunder, rain, piano, and violin.

The symphony in my mind quiets, leaving me with a numbing silence.

Somewhere beyond the silence, I recognize the sound of male voices. They’re heated. An argument.

“I heard her scream last night,” a deep voice says. Aurelius, I think.

“The whole bloody castle heard her scream, brother,” Ayden drawls.

“I thought you had the nightmares under control.”

“I’ve spent three weeks handling her, and Opheliah’s, nightmares. Forgive me if I slipped.”

Aurelius sighs. “I’m concerned. For them both.”

“It’s been three weeks, Aurelius. What did you expect?”

Three weeks. Had it really been three weeks since we burned Elijah?

“I expect you to take care of her,” Aurelius snarls.

“Watch your tone, brother.”

“Then do your fucking job since you won’t allow me to care for her,” Aurelius grits out.

“She is not your concern,” Ayden growls.

A humorless laugh. “She will always be my concern.”

Silence stretches between them.

“Tell me of the errand I sent you on,” Ayden says, abruptly changing the subject.

“Another body was found. The throat was slit, but there were no witnesses.”

Did he say another body?

I should feel something. Concern, sadness, intrigue. But I can’t even manage to summon mild surprise.

Nothing.

I lose interest, turning my attention back to the window and watching the snow fall.

My eyes slip closed, and the symphony starts again in my mind. The memories of Elijah flash behind my eyelids, my brain conjuring every moment of joy I had with him.

I lose myself in the vision of a Winter Solstice snowball fight, one of the few where Jade and Julian had joined us.

I’m shaken from it by Aurelius. He’s crouched in front of me, crimson-flecked eyes scanning my face with cool precision. Assessing.

Whatever he sees, he doesn’t like.

“You’re freezing.” Concern is etched on his face, wariness and exhaustion clear in the purple that paints his under eyes.

“Am I?”

Without warning, he scoops me up from the window seat and carries me to a chair near the fire. A heavy blanket is draped across my shoulders and wrapped tightly, cocooning me in the softest furs.

“When did you last eat?”

I shrug. I don’t even remember the last time I drank.

“She’s refused every meal,” Ayden says. I don’t see him, so he must be standing behind us. He doesn’t sound pleased.

“Breyla,” Aurelius urges, his voice taking on a tender quality. “You must eat.”

I don’t respond, opting to watch the flames instead.

He reaches out, gently gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and turns me to face him. His strong jaw is dusted in dark stubble. Prominent cheekbones. That sun-warmed skin he shares with Rowina and Ayden, no doubt from their father.

He’s not just beautiful. He’s breathtaking.

Even in this worn-down state.

His full lips twitch into a smirk, a huff of laughter escaping. “Stop ogling me, Princess, and eat.”

I don’t bother to deny his accusation. I just stare blankly at him.

Aurelius holds a scone to my lips. “Eat.”

Where did he get a scone?

I have no desire to eat, but I do have the sudden desire to appease him. He slides the pastry past my lips when I open my mouth, and I bite down.

The buttery sweetness is cut with a tartness.

Is that cranberry?

I chew slowly, my tongue delighting at the mix of sweet and tart.

Once I finish, Aurelius smiles. “That’s a good girl.”

The words should spark arousal, satisfaction at pleasing him, but still, I feel nothing.

Aurelius’ eyes shift to Ayden behind me. “Next time, call for me when you need her to eat instead of letting her starve.”

“How was I to know she would eat for you?” Ayden scoffs.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Aurelius replies flatly.

“Fine, I will call for you next time,” Ayden begrudgingly agrees.

Aurelius returns the next day with roast chicken.

I reluctantly eat it, my stomach clenching in pain when I’m finished. I throw it up right after he leaves.

When he brings me the next meal, I tell him to get fucked.

The following day, he tries again, opting for a sliced apple instead. I try to refuse again, but he threatens to use his Hemonia Gift to force my jaw to chew.

With my middle finger raised, I eat the damn apple.

The next time I see Aurelius, Ophelia is with him, and he has warm broth and crusty bread. The look in her eyes is haunting, her cheeks gaunt as she reluctantly sips on her own broth at Ayden’s request. She reaches for me, but I turn away.

Aurelius returns daily, food in hand, for the next two weeks.

Still, blistering cold numbness is all I know.