Page 44 of His Curse

The voice is sweet and melodic. Kind of small and full of hope, full of concern and genuine care.

Definitely not like any of the voices I'm used to hearing, not even the nurses. They sound inconvenienced no matter what's going on.

"Last night was better. Not as much tossing and turning." Another whispered female voice. Huskier, a touch deeper. One that feels familiar on an instinctual level despite not recognizing it. "She went about two hours without moving around much at all."

That voice is full of concern too.

Confirmation I must be fucking dead because there isn't anyone at the lab but my friends who give a shit about how I sleep, and neither of these females are Bella or Chumani. I know that for sure even if I seem to be losing my goddamn mind at the moment.

"That's great. So good actually. Sleep is going to be so important while she continues to heal.” The first voice moves away from me then moves around me as she continues to speak. "I brought a big pot of stew, loaded with remedies and nutrients, vitamins and lots of protein. I figured something like that would be easiest since she clearly hasn't had a decent meal in a long time but needs the fuel. Between that and my light, she should be able to heal even quicker."

The second voice gets a little closer as she whispers her response. "If she feels up to it. She's barely been awake the last few days, and if she doesn't get up soon, we're going to have to call Henrich and have him walk us through setting her up with an IV."

Who the fuck is Henrich?

"I'm going to put the stew on the stove.” The first voice again. "Come get me if she wakes up or if something happens, but we can just let her rest for now. And I'd rather not involve our dragons if we don't have to. Kai will call off his entire campaign just to come home and wait with us, and since there's no point in that, let’s keep them out of it unless we can’t.”

Kai?

Dragons?

What the fuck...oh my gods!

My eyes fight to open, fluttering and twitching much harder than I'd like and when they finally do—only to squint against a warm flood of sunlight—thick, beautiful curtains framing a big bay window with a spectacular view of a forest slowly start to come into focus.

Trees.

So many goddamn trees with a mountain range peaking through the lush green, several birds and squirrels perched amongst the branches. Tears instantly form along my lash line as I take in the most beautiful thing I've seen in years, the vibrant scenery full of thriving life and endless promises.

My stare moves back to the curtains, following the dark material to a wall made of wood, raw wood that must be at least a hundred years old and resembles the trees outside. The floor is all wood too, and as my gaze slowly travels over a rug on the floor, I see what appears to be a goat laying on top of it—a sleeping goat with a duck sitting on its back.

Gods, I haven't seen animals inyears.

Hell, I haven’t seen rugs or real curtains, either.

Definitely haven't seen children's toys like the ones sticking out of a trunk in the corner, and I haven't seen so many fucking colors condensed in one place in just as long. I’m seconds away from a complete culture shock I think, but it doesn’t stop me from slowly checking out my surroundings, my gaze landing on a small table close to my face—a little lamp, an antique bedside clock, blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, and thermometer. I'm beyond familiar with that shit but it doesn't look like the stuff Kentworth uses. These look more modern and newer than the tried and true torture devices the mad doctor has, and again, his tools are too familiar for me not to recognize. And when I notice a tall glass of water with a straw, I suddenly don’t care if I’m back at the facility or in any kind of danger because I can feel exactly how dry and sticky my mouth is, how raw my throat feels, and I just want that glass. But before I try to reach for it so I can quench my thirst, my eyes land on something else, something that makes my heart skip a beat.

A bird.

A small bird, maybe the size of my fist, is sitting on the table.

It’s a meadowlark carved from wood, nothing but a clear coat of something applied to the top so it’s shiny without taking away from the natural beauty of the oak it was created from. It's beautiful, so beautiful, and I can tell whoever made it took their time and used every bit of their skill and focus, their talent, to create such a gorgeous little figurine.

Slowly, because I'm not sure if it's going to hurt, I stretch my arm out, touching the lark with a shaky finger at first, and just when the pads glide over the back and my hand closes around it, the second voice from before speaks.

"I thought you were awake.” There's a smile to her tone as I cringe and freeze, a smile I'm not expecting at all.

My eyes dart to the opposite corner of the room, the one by the foot of what I now see to be a very cozy bed, and I’m met with a bright hazel gaze along with the same smile I heard in her tone plastered on the beautiful face of a stunning redhead.

"I'm Frankie."

She’s not just beautiful, she’shot. Which is an odd thought to have, especially out of all the other thoughts I should be having right now, but it’s there and I won’t take it back.

So I nod and try to work up a little spit so my mouth doesn't stick when I use my manners. "Lark."

"I know.” She gets up—way up because she's tall as fuck for a female—her long legs bringing her to my bedside effortlessly. "Sip slowly, ok? You've been out for a couple days, and I don't want you to get sick."

I nod again and watch her grab the glass of water, her many tattoos dancing over her fair skin with each movement she makes. Frankie crouches down, bringing the straw to my lips as she does, and lets me sip the sweetest, coolest water ever to hit my mouth. I basically groan as it coats my tongue and slides down my throat, and when my eyes pretty much roll back into my head, I clutch that little wooden bird to my chest like it's the bringer of delicious water itself.

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