Page 88 of Wicked Magik

They thought I was their food.

When I eventually awoke, still unable to open my eyes or utter a sound, Oryx would press his sturdy nose against my neck. His tail was securely coiled around my ankle, and the rumbling in his chest was the only thing that kept me calm and prevented panic.

"Do you want me to read to you to help you fall asleep?" Veylor's voice interrupted the silence.

I felt Oryx’s head lift from my body and his purr started up again. “Yes, I’d like that.”

If I could tighten my fist against the sheet in anger, I would. Since when did they have a better relationship? I could tell by how much they have improved since Oryx was unwrapping his tail and it wagged against the sheets that he was pleased with this.

But isn’t this what I wanted for the both of them? Oryx wanted a better relationship with his creator and here I am stopping it?

Veylor tried to kill me.

Constantly being trapped in your own thoughts is unhealthy. The mindset that forms when you don't allow yourself to break free is simply not right.

Veylor’s voice was smooth as he began reading, it was in the middle of a novel and I had no idea what he was talking about, but his voice was soothing when he spoke, and I hated him all the more for it.

He was hot.

Like a regular audiobook narrator.

I attempted to tune him out, distract myself with other thoughts, and even pleaded with myself to return to the endless sleep, hoping to wake when they were both asleep or perhaps out of the room. Yet, he continued to drone on and even mimicked the little character sounds for Oryx.

Oryx chuckled and my heart squeezed.

Those two have bonded over my pain, the pain that Lord Veylor caused, and I don’t know how I’m going to live with it. I felt like my heart was going to break because I couldn’t stay in a mansion where a person was going to constantly try to get rid of me.

Oryx sniffed the air and he lifted his heavy body off of me. I felt his hard nose nudge my cheek. “Her eyes leak!” His tongue wiped away my salty tears, and I heard Lord Veylor close the book with a snap and felt his body approach.

“Perhaps she feels pain, or a nightmare. I can add some solution to her IV. It will help her fall into a deeper sleep.”

Oryx whined and more tears fell down my face.

How could this possibly work? It felt impossible, yet a part of me clung to the hope that it might. I’d be breaking both mine and Oryx’s heart, but he belonged here. I was caught between wanting to stay and knowing I didn’t belong anywhere. I couldn'teven find the portal to my own world, and yet the thought of leaving tugged at me relentlessly.

I could ask Veylor to take me back so he didn’t kill me, or would it be better to die?

I scoffed internally.

I could do much better things with my life, even with a broken heart.

But why did it hurt so much?

Before long, my consciousness began to drift away. I could hear Oryx's whimpers, feel a cold hand gripping mine, and listen to a sweet, smooth voice that I couldn't accept was meant for me.

"You'll be fine, and I'll reveal my real intentions to you."

I drew in a deep, steady breath, and this time, I managed to pry my eyes open. The room was shrouded in darkness, yet the soft, muted glow of morning light filtered gently through the window, casting faint shadows across the walls. I realized I wasn't in Oryx's den; instead, I found myself in a different bedroom.

I was on a grand four-poster bed, its canopy draped elegantly, large enough to comfortably accommodate four people. The bed's elaborate carvings and sumptuous linens lent an air of opulence to the otherwise dim room.

Oryx laid next to me, his arm resting over my waist, his nose nestled against my neck, and his horns positioned on thick pillows to avoid hitting me while he slept. A smile tugged at my lips as I observed his innocent appearance, and I lifted my hand to gently brush aside the stray strands of hair near his eye sockets.

His heavy breaths were deep, his tongue poked out the side of his mouth. It was the first time I smiled in ages and had forgotten about Veylor until I saw him over Oryx’s shoulder when I sat up.

Veylor was slumped in the grand, ornate chair, a book resting on his lap. The top buttons of his elegant Victorian-like collar were undone. He appeared completely unkempt, his clothes wrinkled, and I had never seen him in such disarray. As I leaned in closer, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

For almost attempted murder you would think he would be a little more joyous.