Page 55 of The Devil's Trials

I shoot upright and nearly fall out of bed with dizzying nausea, then stumble to the bathroom across the hall with my hand clamped over my mouth. Getting the lid of the toilet up just in time, I fall to my knees and empty my stomach into the bowl. I heave until there’s only bile left, my throat raw and my temples throbbing. My skin feels hot and cold at the same time. I’m sweating and shivering, and I feel as if I’ve been hit by a truck.

Groaning, I rock back until I’m sitting on the floor against the wall adjacent to the toilet. I tip my head back and press a hand to my clammy forehead as I take slow, measured breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.

I don’t know how long I stay there before I manage to crawl back to bed, and when Noah comes banging on my door sometime later, I barely find the strength to pick up my phone and text him. I’m not going to let a little sickness get in the way of training—he’d never let me live it down.

Be right out. Just need a quick shower.

It’s probably just me, but I can’t help worrying that I reek of vomit.

He calls me immediately, and when I answer and try to speak, my voice is all but gone.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” I croak. “Give me ten minutes.” I pull the phone away from my ear as I’m gripped with a coughing fit. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pressure in my temples. My eyes burn, and I will the bile rising in my throat to recede.

“Are you sick?”

“I am the vision of health,” I lie, entirely unconvincing. Still, I add, “I’ll be right out.”

“The hell you will. I’m not letting you train in this condition. Stay exactly where you are. I’ll see you later.”

“Noah—”

“I mean it, Camille. I’m not arguing with you.” He hangs up before I can, in fact, attempt to argue. If only I had the strength to get out of bed, I might try to fight him on it. Instead I leave my phone on the nightstand and roll over, curling into myself as my head continues to throb.

I lose track of the day, and the next time I blink my eyes open, I find Noah sitting in a chair at the end of my bed. He must’ve dragged it in here from the living room.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice still ragged.

He glances up from the book in his lap, and the corner of his mouth kicks up. “Sleeping Beauty wakes,” he teases, nodding toward the nightstand. “I brought you some stuff.”

I look over and find a water bottle, cold and flu meds, cough drops, and my favorite chocolate. My chest swells, and I press my lips together before I can let out a sound of surprise. “Thank you,” I finally say, glancing at him again. “What time is it?”

He checks his watch. “Just after two in the afternoon.”

My brows lift. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple hours. I stopped at the drugstore on my way back from Ballard this morning.”

“And you let yourself into my apartment.”

He nods. “Your dad gave me a spare key when you moved in.”

I exhale a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “Of course he did.”

“You should try to eat something.”

I close my eyes again. “Not hungry.”

“I understand, but you need to keep your strength up, so what can I get you?”

I keep my eyes closed, pulling the blankets up around me. “You don’t have to take care of me, Noah,” I mumble into my pillow as I hug it to the side of my face, enjoying the cool fabric against my flushed skin.

“Would you prefer Scott be here? I can call him, if you want.”

I groan. “No, I don’t want him to worry about me. Besides, I’m fine.”

“You’re sticking with that party line?”

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