Page 44 of The Warlock's Kiss

He hurried to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Stay and eat, really. I’m just feeling tired.”

Merrick placed his hands on the edge of the table and rose, sliding his chair back as he did so. “At least allow me to help you upstairs, Adalynn.”

“I’m fine. Please. Stay and enjoy dinner.” She smiled; the expression felt strained. “I just need some rest.”

Worry gleamed in their eyes, and she could almost sense words of protest forming on their lips, but Danny and Merrick kept quiet.

After several seconds of silence, Merrick nodded. “Please be careful. We are close, should you require anything.”

Adalynn nodded, tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, and stood up. “Thank you.”

She exited the kitchen, made her way down the hall, and went upstairs to her room, where she gathered her things to take into the bathroom. She took a quick bath, scrubbing away the sweat, dirt, and grime of the day. She still couldn’t believe there was hot water here. But, as much as she would’ve loved to soak in the tub and let her muscles be soothed by the heat, her body felt heavier with each passing moment, as though her strength were being drained by some unseen force. Her lightheadedness only intensified; all she wanted to do was get to bed.

Once she was dressed and back in her room, she dropped her belongings next to the bed, crawled on top of it, and slipped beneath the covers. The moment her head hit the pillow, she passed out.

She felt like she’d only just closed her eyes when a burst of agony in her skull forced them open. She cried out, lifting her hands to clamp them around her head, and gritted her teeth against the overwhelming pain. It was far worse than anything she’d ever experienced.

I’m dying. Oh God, I’m dying.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she turned onto her back. The movement, usually so insignificant, triggered a debilitating wave of vertigo that was accompanied by a fresh spike of pain; it was like a screwdriver was being hammered into her head.

She struggled to sit up, but the room—which was much dimmer than when she’d lain down—spun wildly around her, and she toppled over the side of the bed. She landed heavily on the floor and barely had enough time to push herself up on her elbows before she vomited. The pressure in her head increased; her skull felt like it was about to split in two.

Chapter Eight

After cleaning up the kitchen with Danny’s help, Merrick returned to his bedchamber for a shower and a change of clothes. He stopped to check in on Adalynn along the way; when she didn’t answer his soft knock, he opened the door a crack to find her in bed, asleep.

It had been a week since Adalynn and Danny had arrived, a week since a seizure had rendered her unconscious and Merrick had used his magic to force back her sickness. He’d not seen her exhibit any signs of illness in that time, but today…today she’d seemed unwell. Though she’d insisted she was fine, he didn’t believe her—her features and actions had contradicted her words.

She simply pushed herself too hard, too soon, he thought as he backed out of her bedroom and quietly closed the door.

But a strange feeling lodged itself in his chest as he continued to his room—it was an anxious, restless energy only a few steps removed from outright dread. Though that feeling remained indistinct, refusing to reveal its true origin, he knew it was related to Adalynn. To her sickness.

Without conscious thought, his mind drifted to the texts he’d studied over the last week—all of which had stated, with varying degrees of firmness, that warlock magic was not suited for healing.

He entered the shower and stood beneath the steaming spray of water for a long while, letting it cascade over him as though it could wash away his worry, as though it could silence the whispers in the back of his mind.

You made it worse.

You haven’t helped her at all.

You’ve sped her doom.

Growling, he slammed a fist into the wall. The tiles shattered, opening a few shallow cuts on his knuckles. Ceramic shards clattered into the tub. For several seconds, all he could do was stand there, his blood flowing in watery rivulets that eventually swirled into the drain at his feet. He released a heavy exhalation and finally withdrew his hand. Magic crackled from his core and raced along his arm; he focused the power on the broken tiles. The shards floated up from below and returned to the damaged portion of the wall.

The blue glow around the ceramic faded once the pieces were in place, revealing whole, unmarred tiles.

Why could he not do for Adalynn what he could do to broken glass, to broken tiles? Why couldn’t he keep her preserved in perfect health just like he’d preserved this house?

There had to be a way. There had to be a means by which he could overcome the inadequacies of his magic, a means by which he could cure her.

He left his bedroom after he’d dried and dressed himself. He paused outside her door as he passed it, stilling to listen, letting even the sound of his own heartbeat fade from his perception.

Adalynn’s soft breathing was barely audible through the door, and hearing it only provided a sliver of the comfort he’d hoped to garner. Merrick continued down the hallway in quick strides. Her presence tingled at his back, growing fainter but more insistent with each step he took away from her. And that feeling in his chest, that anxiety, that dread, deepened.

Though he’d intended to enter his study, he found himself walking downstairs and along the southern hallway, not stopping until he was in the ballroom. The curtains were closed, allowing only hints of the diffused late evening light to flow in around the edges of the windows, but his eyes were little affected by the gloom. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d used this room—the last time he’d even entered it—before Adalynn had come. She’d breathed life into it.

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