Page 30 of Whispers of the Dead

Metal clanks when my fingers curl around the bars so hard that I almost expect them to crack. I stare at Avery’s face, a contrast to the warmth that was there a moment ago. That’s interesting.

Avery isn’t just another dreg. That much is clear, but I don’t know what that means yet.

“Here, let me take care of her.” The second man, who I recognize as Jace, the one who bandaged her, steps forward. Zoey is passed from one set of arms to another, and for half asecond, I swear Avery hesitates. Then Jace turns and carries Zoey through the open door of her cell.

My relief is brief because then stumbled and tosses her inside like she’s nothing more than a sack of trash. Her body hits the cold concrete with a sickening thud, and something in my chest cracks open, sharp and hollow. “Shit, sorry.”

“You son of a—” Before I can finish, Avery moves lightning fast. He shoves Jace hard against the bars of Zoey’s cell. Metal rattles loud in the dead silence from the impact. Jace sucks in a sharp breath.

Avery leans in close, but his voice is too low for me to catch the words. Whatever he says, it’s enough to drain the color from Jace’s face. His jaw clenches and his shoulders tense. The moment Avery steps back, Jace doesn’t say a word. He locks Zoey’s cell and leaves.

Avery, however, he lingers. His gaze flicks back to her. For one second, his jaw tightens and his eyes fill with longing. Then he turns and disappears down the corridor and his footsteps fade into the silence.

Once they’re gone, I don’t waste any time. “Zoey,” I rasp. My voice cracks.

Benji stirs. His voice is equally desperate. “Golden girl.”

I reach through the bars, straining to get closer to her. Panic claws at my throat when she doesn’t move, but then I see it. The faint rise and fall of her chest. She’s breathing.

“Zoey, wake up,” I plead. My fingers stretch out as far as they can go, but I still can’t reach her. “Come on, blondie. Open your beautiful blue eyes.”

A small sound escapes her lips. Her head turns and her lashes flutter. Relief crashes through me so hard and fast that I could collapse. Then her eyes open.

The blue is unfocused at first, hazy. Then they find me through the darkness around me, and something inside me settles, though my hands still tremble.

She blinks and her lips part. “Damon…”

My exhale is so sharp that it hurts my throat, but I don’t care. “You scared the shit out of me,” I mutter, my voice rough with emotion. She’s turned her head enough for me to reach, so I run a hand through her tangled hair. It’s a mess. “Don’t ever do that again.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips. “I’ll try.”

“Get over here,” I command.

She drags herself forward, moving closer without question until she’s within reach.

I need her closer, to make sure she’s alright. To hold her, in whatever way these damn bars will allow. I press my forehead against the bars. My breathing is still uneven. “I never thought captivity could feel so cold and dark…until I woke up and you were gone.”

“Damon…” Her head tilts forward to touch mine. She’s warm. Alive. The bars between us feel like a cruel joke.

The distance between us is unbearable, but I hold on, with my hands tangling in her hair at the back of her head. She radiates heat. Her lips are so close and her breath so soft against mine. Before I can think, I close the gap.

The kiss is soft, desperate, and full of every unspoken thing between us. The cold metal bars presses against my face, but I hardly feel it. I only feel her. To my surprise, she kisses me back. Her warmth bleeds into me and grounds me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. Her fingers clutch onto me like she doesn’t want to let go.

I’m breathing hard when we pull away, but I don’t want to let go, so I press my forehead to hers again and don’t let go. My voice shakes. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“You were worried?”

A short laugh escapes me. “I was out of my fucking mind, blondie.” She turns into my touch when I brush a knuckle along her jaw. “I can’t lose you.”

She pulls back. Not fully, but enough to look at me straight on. “I wish I could see you.”

An idea hits me. I grab her hand and lift it to my face. First, I run her fingers over my hair. “Hair is stringy and dark, a lot like my soul.”

She huffs. “Someone who gives up their blanket for a sleeping stranger is hardly someone with a dark soul.”

I swallow hard, then close my eyes and guide her fingers over them. “Brown eyes,” I say.

“Let me guess. Also dark like your soul?”

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