Page 16

A violent shiver wrenches me awake. “Fuck.”

How long have I been out? I slowly lift my pounding head and a guttural groan rips from my throat when the movement sends shock waves of pain through my skull.

Gotta get up. Gotta get back to Rex.

My battered body screams in protest as I stand then sway, squeezing my eyes shut for a second and scrunching my face against the ruthless throbbing.

I squint through the agony and spot the Carrionites’ packs. Might be something useful in them. But I don’t have enough strength to carry both.

Staggering over, I stop at the second body and grab my knife before kneeling by the packs, then start rifling through one, shoving what I can into the other.

When I grab the strap, fire erupts across my palm, and I suck in air sharply through clenched teeth. “Fuck!”

That’s right.

I sliced open my palm.

Rex is gonna kill me for losing control.

I shudder at the thought of him being disappointed in me. But then it’s replaced by the overwhelming need to have him hold me, to be wrapped tightly in his strong arms that make me feel safe.

Willing my body to cooperate, I shoulder the pack, then grab my own and start making my way back to the house.

It’s taking forever.

Outside of being fucked up, I also gotta make sure there ain’t no other surprises waiting. Besides fighting, Rex and my father also hammered all that counter-surveillance stuff into me.

The doors are still locked when I return, and the undisturbed mess around the windows says no one’s been peeking in.

I chuck the extra backpack up on the porch roof before climbing up the railing, nearly losing my grip a few times. Just as I make it onto the plane, everything goes blurry again, and I’m on my knees, dry heaving.

When the nausea passes, I crawl to the window on the second floor, shove it up, then toss the packs inside before I flop in after them.

I lock it up tight, then lean against the wall.

My sweatshirt’s drenched in blood. Shit’s jellylike now. I need to change.

Lifting my arms, I pull the sweatshirt and T-shirt underneath off. Inside my pack is my old sweatshirt, but before I grab that, I take out the bandages from the outside pocket and wrap my palm.

Hurts like a bitch.

Which I’m reminded of again a second later when I stupidly use it to try to brush my hair—also jellylike—out of my eyes.

Fuck.

I need a shower.

But, that’s not gonna happen, so I throw on the dry sweatshirt, then slip into the master bedroom. Rex has kicked off half the blankets and is coughing between muttering about someone named Mac.

A muscle near my eye twitches.

Never heard him mention someone in his sleep before. And hearing it now is like a donkey kick to the gut.

I shut the door, then push the dresser in front of it. Every movement sends jolts of pain through my head and body.

The room becomes a twisted merry-go-round as I stumble over to the bed and crash onto the mattress, sliding under the covers. Rex doesn’t even flinch.

I swallow hard and check his forehead. He’s still burning up. My hands are icy, though, so it’s difficult to tell how bad it really is.

Turning carefully onto my back, I touch my left eye, and fuck, it hurts. It’s swollen shut. “Dammit.”

My fingers trail to the back of my sticky head. Even the lightest touch sends excruciating pain through my body. I can’t tell if my head’s bleeding or if it’s from that fucker after I killed him.

I don’t bother checking my neck—don’t want to feel the teeth marks. My jaw clenches as a few tears stream down my cheek and I wipe them. That fuck branded me with his bite.

Turning on my side, I close my eyes and hope by morning everything will be better. Only, Rex drapes an arm over me and starts kissing my neck.

Near the wound.

I squirm and try to wiggle away, the movement making my head hurt worse. “Rex, no.”

His lips keep brushing my neck, hands creeping up under my sweatshirt. “Come on, Mac.”

What. The. Fuck.

“I said stop.”

I push back against him. “Rex, no!”

“Need to feel you around my cock, Mac. Please, baby.”

Like hell.

I wrench away, tumbling off the bed, landing in a mess on the carpet.

A new pain joins in with the existing one, this time deep in my chest.

I don’t care how much pain I’m in or how cold it is. No fucking way am I staying in bed because for once, I need him. Need to feel safe. And instead, the bastard’s dreaming about fucking someone else.

Someone who isn’t me.

I want to get up and punch him in the fucking face. I don’t care that he’s sick, or that the medicine might be causing his dreams.

Because I’m his.

He should be dreaming about me.

Pulling the hood of the sweatshirt over my head, I curl into a ball trying to keep as warm as possible. But sleep isn’t coming, not when my heart hurts. Throat’s all constricted too.

As I’m lying on the ground stewing, a repeated thump catches my attention. I carefully turn my head up. Rex’s arm is going wild, smacking the nightstand like it’s got a mind of its own.

“Rex!”

Panic claws at my throat as I scramble to my knees, but the room spins and I drop, reaching out to grab the comforter, eyes slamming shut as I vomit onto the floor.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The added pressure in my head is making everything go dark. No. I can’t pass out. Something is wrong with Rex.

After a few seconds, the feeling passes and I look at him. His body is thrashing, all jerky and wild, his eyes rolling back, jaw locked like a vise.

Just as I climb onto the bed, he goes still but breathes like he’s been running for miles.

“Rex, wake up.”

I shove him, trying to get him to open his eyes. “Wake the hell up!”

His breathing gets shallower, and I slap his chest, some of the blood from my hand wiping off on his shirt. “Wake up, please!”

I’ll beg him for the rest of my life if he’d just open those mossy green eyes.

Tears flow freely down my cheeks as I continue to try and wake him.

I’m going to lose him.

He’s going to die. And it won’t be like that stupid motto. It won’t be as one. I’ll be left behind.

Left alone.

“Please! Wake up!”

But nothing changes.

“Fuck!”

I curl up into him, hand resting on his chest. His heart’s still beating, and it gives me a small sense of relief. But it might still stop, and even if it doesn’t now, one day it will.

One day, he’ll be gone.

My voice breaks as I say what I’ve never told another soul. “I love you, Rex. Love you so much. Please, don’t leave me.”