Page 26 of Whispers of Helena
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
When the sting subsides, he spits the towel from his mouth. “No fault of yours,” he tells me in a calm but hoarse voice.
His chest heaves, the rapid rise and fall showing the toll this ordeal has taken. I work quickly, bandaging the wound with efficiency. “It doesn’t look like it needs stitches,” I murmur. “But you’ll need to keep it clean and covered. And you’ll need to slow down for the next few days.”
A faint nod is all the response I get.
I rise to my feet, leaning over him to retrieve the discarded towel. As I stretch across him, his hand shoots out, his fingers circling my wrist like an iron cuff.
“You changed your perfume.”
The words are quiet, almost a growl, and I glance down at him. His eyes are open, scanning my face as though searching for answers in places I’ve hidden them.
“I ran out of my other one,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My pulse pounds against the press of his fingertips, betraying the calm facade I try to maintain.
“Did you find this one here?”
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“Brought it with you, then?” he asks, his voice demanding, but the tension in his grip loosens just enough to make my skin burn where he touches me.
“Yes.”
“You smell like…” His words trail off, his gaze intensifying.
“Go to sleep, Silas,” I say, cutting him off; the tension in the room coiled so tight I can barely breathe.
I slip my arm from his hand and step away, quickly collecting my supplies. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him try to sit up, but the sharp flash of pain stops him cold.
“Lie back down,” I snap, my tone harsh.
He doesn’t argue, sinking back onto the bed with a wince.
As I turn to leave, the pressure of his gaze follows me, lingering on my back like a touch.
A Dove
Silas
“Silas…”
The voice is soft, achingly familiar, pulling me from the shadows of restless sleep.
“Do you remember?”
I turn toward the sound, and there she is—Caroline. Not as I want to remember her, vibrant and alive, but a pale, flickering echo of the woman I once loved. Her presence feels fragile, like the slightest breeze might scatter her to the winds.
“Silas?” she asks again, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and sorrow.
I try to move toward her, but my limbs are heavy, rooted to some invisible weight. She extends her hand through the darkness, her delicate fingers trembling, reaching for me.
“When you remember,” she pleads, her voice breaking, “this will be over.”
“I’ve tried,” I whisper, my voice raw with desperation. “Please, Caroline, help me.”
Her face softens, but the sadness in her eyes cuts through me. “For me, for Kiran…you have to remember.”
“No, wait—” My words catch in my throat as her form begins to waver, the edges of her figure dissolving like mist under the morning sun. “Don’t leave me again,” I beg, my voice cracking.
