Page 73 of Relentless Knight

Of course he did. He chased away the only one who can keep my monsters at bay. A sob rips from my chest as I think of Lance. God, I miss him so much it makes me physically ache.

“Quinn, what’s wrong?” Killian asks, genuinely worried now as he kneels beside me.

“I miss Lance. I need Lance,” I cry, blubbering pathetically. I don’t know why I can’t seem to control myself, but it feels like all I do lately is throw up or cry. And on the rare occasion when sleep sweeps me away from my reality, it carries me off into my own personal hell.

Killian stiffens beside me, tension rippling off him in waves, and he stands abruptly. “Stop being dramatic,” he says, his tone suddenly frigid. “He hasn’t even come back to check on you, so I think we can both assume his feelings weren’t nearly as real as you had hoped.”

“You chased him away at gunpoint, you asshole!” I scream. “Of course he hasn’t come back. You threatened to kill him if he ever tried.”

“And I will. Look at what he’s done to you, Quinny.”

Suddenly furious, my nausea forgotten, I jump to my feet. “Whathe’sdone to me? This is entirely your fault, Killian. You won’t even let me talk to him! And you never gave him a chance to explain!”

“I don’t need an explanation,” my brother says flatly.

“Get out,” I command. “I said get out! I hate you!” I practically chase my brother out the door, and then I break down crying once again.

After a long moment, I hear Killian’s miserable voice from the other side of the door. “I’m sorry, Quinny. I just want to protect you.”

I don’t answer, and eventually, I hear his heavy footsteps fade away.

Just draggingmyself to the toilet has become an exhaustive effort. I can’t remember the last time I managed to keep food down. And at this point, just the smell of it makes me sick. So I brought my plastic waste bin to put beside my bed, and I curled into a ball.

I don’t know how long I’ve stayed in this position. But I know Cheryl has come and gone multiple times. Killian too. But I refuse to talk to him anymore. Not until he snaps out of it and comes to his senses about Lance.

“She’s doing this to spite me,” he growls lowly, my brother’s familiar voice worming its way into my feverish dreams.

“I don’t know.” That sounds like Natasha, and her tone is edged with concern. “She looks like she might actually be sick.”

Cool fingers press against my forehead, and I shiver violently.

“I think we should call Dr. Miller. You said she was throwing up?”

“Days ago. Maybe. But when I asked her what was wrong, she just said she missed Lance. I thought she was being dramatic, trying to make a point.”

“She hasn’t been drinking either,” Cheryl says with apparent concern.

Natasha sighs. “Killian. You’re being unreasonable.”

Thank you, Natasha.

“Look at poor Quinn. She’s not well. She’s hurting, and it doesn’t matter if you feel like he betrayed you. Think about it from her perspective. You threatened to kill the man she’s in love with. You said it yourself how crazy she is about him.”

“It’s a child’s crush that he took advantage of when he knew I wasn’t paying close enough attention,” Killian growls.

“Regardless of how you feel about it, you need to have a doctor look at Quinn.”

“I’ll call Dr. Miller right now.”

“Quinn?Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

I don’t recognize the soft male voice, but it’s calm and reassuring, and it pulls me from my haunting nightmares full of cruel brown eyes and riding crops and torture devices.

“Hmm?” I murmur, checking to see if I can, in fact, lift my eyelids.

They feel heavy, but I manage it, only to find they grate like sandpaper across my eyes.

Kind blue eyes look at me through wire-rimmed glasses, and the gray-haired man gives me an encouraging smile. “Good. Can you follow my light with your eyes?”

---