Page 18 of Deathless
Santos’ voice was the most comforting sound I could have asked for. His broad hand making passes up and down my back were so gentle and grounding. Through gritty eyes, I made out the glass of water he set down next to me.
I was dying for a sip, but I couldn’t breathe past the sensations of sand in my throat and nose. Coughing into my hand, I only caught saliva. I swiped a finger into my mouth and only felt the usual suspects—my teeth, tongue, the insides of my cheek.
And yet it felt like I had mouthfuls, fucking lungfuls, of sand that I needed to get out. It was dry, gritty, and everywhere. Fuck, it hurt so much.
Finally, after my throat was completely raw and I had exhausted myself, I could take a shaky controlled breath and a sip of water.
Santos remained at my side the whole time, watching me with a worried expression.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out in a weak whisper. “That was a bad one.”
He scooted closer to me on the floor, enveloping me protectively with his arms and legs and providing the solid wall of his chest to lean against.
“I don’t think we should go on this ride.” Santos brought his chin to my shoulder. “Not while this is happening to you.”
I pulled in another shaky breath, relying on his strong, solid body to stay mostly upright. “These dreams aren’t getting any better. We need to act.”
Footsteps thundered up the stairs at that moment, and then Torr appeared in the door. “Malik is on his way,” he announced.
“I don’t need—”
“Shut it.” Torr held up an index finger, his face so grave that I knew he was dead serious. “You were screaming in terror, moving your arms and legs like you were running in your sleep. We couldn’t even keep you on the bed. You fell off and hit your fucking head, so you are seeing the fucking doctor.”
“I was just telling her that I think we should postpone the ride,” Santos said.
“Excellent idea. I agree.”
“No! We’re doing the ride.” I pushed away from Santos and climbed shakily to my feet. “We need to find what these crazy cultists are planning.”
“Have you seen yourself?” Torr asked, gesturing at me. “You look haunted. You’re in no shape to ride, much less lead.”
“Torr, we need to do this. I—”
“Like hell we do. We can scout them again later, but I’m calling it off.”
“Will you fucking listen?!”
My frustrated demand came out sounding more like a raspy whine, but Torr’s change in expression told me he heard me. As long as I was president, he would hear me out. He went to the bedroom door and closed it.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
I took a few more panting, ragged breaths, trying to form my racing thoughts into coherent sentences.
“This has something to do with gods,” I finally whispered.
Torr’s eyes flicked to Santos and then back to me. “How so?”
“I don’t know exactly but...” I went to sit on the edge of the bed, struggling to put it all together in a way that made sense. “That night we rescued Hudson, I heard a voice. It was in my head like when Astarte and Tezca talk to us.” I swallowed. “And I had...visions, kind of.”
The guys said nothing, just waited for me to keep talking.
“The Sisterhood has their own god. Goddess, I guess.” Fuck, if that wasn’t terrifying to say out loud. “They...willed her into existence.” I felt sick using that deity’s words out loud.
“How?” Torr demanded. “We don’t justmakegods, right? Astarte found you.”
“It—she— told me she was the pain of all women who have been hurt by men. Likeallwomen who have ever lived. We know how far off the deep end the Sisterhood is, they live and breathe hating men. And they’ve been doing it for decades.”
“And making sacrifices,” Santos pointed out. “Both the ritualistic ones like in the village and forcing the gladiators to kill each other.”
