Page 19 of Heal Me

“Get me out of here,” I croak as panic threatens to snuff me out—the same way Zoltan’s knife did. “Please.” I bang harder as I hear steps in the hall. “Help me.”

There’s a tiny beep, and the door flies open.

I scramble back as a tall figure towers above me. I can’t make him out. I can’t see if it’shim, and suddenly, I want the door closed again.

“What the fuck’s your problem,” the man bites. “Get back to bed and stay quiet.”

It’s not Zoltan’s voice, but the knowledge offers no relief. I’m stuck in the spiraling panic, my breaths stuck at the top of my throat. “I ca-can’t breathe.”

Another tall shape appears before me, and the two start talking.

“It’s Dorin’s bitch. She was banging on the door, panicking. Should we call Dorin?”

“In the middle of the night and wake him up? He’ll have our asses. Just leave her be.”

“And what do you think he’ll do if she chokes to death?”

“You can’t die from a panic attack,” one of them says with ridicule.

“I don’t know. I’m not risking anything. Have you seen the way Dorin acts around her?”

I don’t register the meaning of their words. They get sucked straight into the chaos of my mind, feeding the whirlwind that blinds me to the world around me. All I see is Zoltan’s blood-red hands; all I feel is that blade slicing across my ribs. The lingering fear that he’s close keeps pulsing in my heart until a dizzy sensation threatens to take me out.

15

DORIN

It’s three in the morning when I wake from my phone buzzing.

“What?” I snap as I answer the call.

“Um, it’s that girl you keep in cell one. I’m sorry to wake you, it’s just—”

“What is it with her?” Having a bad feeling, I’m already out of bed, pulling on my jeans with one hand as I try to get a sensible explanation out of the idiot on guard duty tonight. “Did someone touch her?”

“No!” he all but gasps. “We didn’t lay a hand on her, I swear.”

“Then tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“She’s panicking, says she can’t breathe. I think she’s about to pass out.”

“You’d better make sure she doesn’t,” I snap and hang up, hurrying out of the bedroom.

Rex is already at the front door, wide awake and alert with his tail wagging and tongue sticking out of his mouth, watching me eagerly as I stick my feet into my boots.

“Sorry, buddy,” I say, giving him a pat on the head. “It’s not time for our morning run yet.”

Leaving him behind, I rush down the seven flights of stairs, cursing myself for having picked the rooms in the tower—isolated and undisturbed, but as far away from my little songbird as I can get.

My heart is hammering against my rib cage once I reach her cell. Not because of exertion but because I’m goddamned scared.

I’m about to bark at the two guards and demand to know what happened. But when I see the fragile girl huddled in the corner, head pressed between her knees as she hyperventilates, I flip straight from punish-mode to another mode far less violent but equally urgent.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I demand, rushing into the cell and pulling the shaking girl into my arms. “Get me something hot to drink,” I call out after them.

One of the idiots sticks his head back in. “What?”

“Something hot to drink,” I enunciate with a sharp edge. “And some chocolate.”

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