Page 72 of Chain Me
I couldn’t breathe.
“I’m here.” Cold fingers caressed my spine, banishing the terror. Their owner rested beside me, and his mere presence was enough to keep the darkness at bay.
Tension drained from my limbs as gulps of air entered my chest. Drifting from my back, his hands cradled my hips, pulling me against the firmness of his body.
But the contact wasn’t enough. I squirmed until his grip tightened and comfort became possession. Grasping fingertips. Scratching nails. I was a slave to whatever he could make me feel.
Pain. Misery. Mercy.
Anything.
I craved it all.
And much like the doctor he pretended to be, he delivered each necessary dose. In his arms, hours unfolded like seconds. I endured them in a daze, aware of him leaving only long enough to let me catch snatches of sleep or to shove food into my mouth.
Eventually, I started to refuse even that much.
But my Devil persisted, unwilling to see me in Hell just yet.
“Eat.”
I cringed as he pressed something to my lips despite how hard I pursed them shut. Then I rolled onto my side to escape him, but he merely circled the bed, remaining in my line of sight. Balanced on his hand was a steaming plate, but I felt nothing even as the smell tickled my nose.
“Eleanor, eat.”
I shook my head, eyeing the ceiling in lieu of his darkening expression. “I’m not hungry.”
“You’re starving.” He matched my apathy with aggression, his tone bordering on a growl.
But I couldn’t muster up the fear to heed him.
Numb, I buried my face against a pillow. Exhaustion preyed on my psyche, warning that sleep would come for me again. I didn’t even have the strength to fight it.
“Look at me.” He fisted his fingers through my hair, forcing me to face him.
For the first time, I noted how these hours had changed him. His eyes glowed, his fangs hanging freely.
Yet he still played pretend, trying once again to tempt me with a morsel stabbed on the end of a fork. “Eat.”
“Why?”
His throat jerked, but his lips trapped the answer.Because you’ll die.
“I’m fine.”
“Look at me.” He reached for my arm, but I didn’t mean to swat his hand away. The plate fell from his grip anyway, smashing into pieces at his feet.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, closing my eyes against the mess I’d made. Guilt slipped through my numb armor regardless, heralding dangerous, whispered thoughts. Desperate, I tried to banish them, gritting my teeth in concentration.Don’t think. Don’t.
Nonetheless, Dmitri’s words echoed in my skull anyway.Deformed. Dying. Horror.
I hunched away from them, clinging to the sheets, craving oblivion again. But already, Dublin wanted nothing to do with me.
He stood, crossing the room to snatch up the broken pieces of a porcelain plate. The sight of his back was a familiar one, all things considered. But God…not now.
My voice broke. “Don’t leave me—”
“I’m not,” he hissed even as he approached the door and wrenched it open. His gaze met mine as he crossed the threshold, honed like a knife’s edge. “But youwilleat.”
