Page 66 of Silverproof Damsel

The muscle in Rhys’ jaw jumped as tension fluttered over his face. Both anger and sadness slithered through my chest. He was considering whether he could manage it, or, more likely, manage ordering one of his siblings to carry out his order.

“I don’t belong here,” I whispered raspingly, fighting against the tears choking off the air in my lungs. An invisible fist was squeezing my heart like a stress ball.

“No. You don’t. But you’re not leaving here either. You are mine, as is the child you carry, Remington,” he snapped as the air intensified with power, thick enough to suck the air out of the room. Rhys stepped around me, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of me. “I suggest you eat and drink the orange juice in the fridge. All of it.”

“Screw you,” I hissed between clenched teeth.

“I already screwed you last night, Love.” The smugness in his tone irked me. It caused the flames surrounding us to rise, burning hotter than was likely safe in the living quarters. “I’d cease using your flames inside the apartment. The protection magic won’t be able to tell the difference between your magic and that of an enemy.”

“Of course not, not when you consider me to be your enemy. And don’t worry, I won’t be screwing you again. I’ll tend to my needs on my own if they arise. It’s easier than suffering whiplash from your ever-changing moods, Van Helsing.” The only answerI received back was the sound of the door closing, then locking as all three left me to my ranting.

“Insufferable pricks!”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Endlesslypacingthroughthelong, lavishly decorated hallway all night hadn’t been on the agenda this morning. It was becoming a struggle to keep my emotions contained. I had agreed to come here because it was the smartest move and safest place for me right now. That’s at least what I thought, but it was becoming quickly apparent that I’d been wrong.

Unfortunately, my being wrong wasn’t anything new. I was wrong more than I’d been right lately. I’d gotten people hurt, even killed, because of my inability to make the right choices.

It would be better for everyone else if I were far away from here. Not that I could escape here, or even this town, for that matter.

As I inhaled the air, it grew thicker with lemons and lavender. I rubbed my temples as the headache I’d been nursing grew more intense. The pain in my shoulder wasn’t letting up, either. It caused nausea to swirl through my abdomen, forcing me to swallow past the saliva accumulating in my mouth.

Rhys didn’t trust me. That was fine, since I didn’t necessarily trust him either. A lot had happened in such a short time. Itmade it rather difficult to trust anyone. If I were to list those I trusted without question, I could do so without fingers and toes.

Shivering against the sudden cold, I moved toward the thermostat, glaring at the room’s temperature displayed. Pressing the button, I tapped it up several more degrees, then strode into the living room. Snatching the small throw blanket from the sofa, I wrapped it around myself then settled into the recliner in front of the fireplace.

I felt as if the apartment was inside the Arctic Circle instead of the balmy eighty degrees it was set on. Something trickled down my forehead, forcing my palm up to it. A bevy of colorful words escaped my lips as I discovered my hair was drenched in sweat. I felt cold and clammy, but it was more likely I now had a fever.

“Because why not, Remington? Why not run a high fever when no one here gives a damn? They’ll probably cheer if you expire before they return.” I really needed to stop talking to myself, but I’d included myself in those I could trust.

Pathetic, but true.

I needed to see Nyx or Winchester. I needed a reminder that I wasn’t merely a burden to others. Right now, I only feel as if I’m down and out of luck. Rhys had isolated me from the outside world and from those within his household, too.

In short, I was his prisoner. A willing one, but a prisoner, no less. I’d assumed I would be able to converse with Nyota and Nyx while here. That wasn’t the case, though. It felt naïve after actually considering it. I wasn’t a guest here. I was his prisoner.

Nyx had been shot. It left her needing time to heal. I’d accepted it. I’d known and accepted it because she was my best friend. The one person in the world I’d cut my left tit off for. My ride or die, even if she’d rather ride a dick than anything else.

Nyx wouldn’t allow Rhys to refuse her entrance if she weren’t currently busy with Acyn. It would be the only thing that would prevent her from coming. If she needed his dick or whatever hisdemon was doing to heal her, fine. I was fine with that. If she was leaving me here to suffer in silence alone while she merely got laid? I’d beat her with a sock and a potato.

Nyota, on the other hand, was most likely fighting for her life. Silver poisoning was a horrific way to die. It had to be horrendously worse as it progressed through an immortal circular system.

Silver poisoning burned through tissue and flesh until it reached the heart. Once there, it caught a ride with the deoxygenated blood throughout the veins in the circulatory system. When it was depleted of oxygen, it then returned to the heart.

Basically, the silver was methodical, as it ensured maximum damage through the circulatory system. It was why Silversmith silver could end the life of an immortal.

Nyota was in a fight for her life. A fight only a few immortals had ever won. In the short time I’d had with her, I’d grown attached. She was someone I thought of as a friend. One who was genuine and honestly a good person.

She may have been a Van Helsing, but she’d seen through my parentage and hadn’t allowed blind hate to lead her. Nyota had watched and listened to my actions and responses instead of doing what her brothers had done, assuming I was an enemy.

Nausea swirled through my abdomen, forcing me to shoot upright in my chair. Only, I didn’t make it into a sitting position before I watched the floor rise to meet my face. Pain shot through my shoulder as I blinked past the darkness on the edge of my vision. Each time my eyes closed, they were harder to open. My last coherent thought was that I’d let my little bullet baby down. I’d failed, meaning my child would never draw air into its lungs.

*****

The steady beeping of a monitor forced my eyelids to open as it punctured the silence. A sterile, white expanse flooded my vision. Harsh fluorescent lights forced me to lift my arm, shielding my eyes. Turning my head, I noted the light reflecting off the stainless sterile surfaces. The faint scent of disinfectants assaulted my nostrils. It offended my stomach.

I struggled to sit upright, but a hand pushed against my chest. Attempting to use my other arm to ward off the hands, I groaned as plastic protruded from my forearm.

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