Page 37 of Bound
Chapter 13
Amoret
The suite is quiet save for Wena and Sila’s soft tears as they finish packing our things. Every attempt I made to help was met with tear-clogged shooing. The guards are helping Horan and Caine to load the bags into the manor’s vehicles, and Gage is … Somewhere.
I walk like a wraith down the short hall to Bran’s room. I have already packed all of his belongings into the thick leather bag by the door. But a hint of his scent remains.
I trail around the space, fingers brushing the made bed, the sleek white side table.
Gage did not say a word earlier. He held me until the tears dried up. That is the second time I have lost my composure in front of him, but …
Poor Liam.
The very thought of losing the young guard is like a knife in my chest. But beneath the pain is relief, and I despise myself for it. As saddened as I am, I am more grateful that Bran is still alive.
It makes me a horrible person. A selfish one. Perhaps that is why Gage did not speak. He now knows how horrid I really am.
But I cannot lose my brother. He is all I have left.
Our parents passed years before. Sila, Jarrah, and Lady Adelaide are the ones who raised us. The ones who saw the promise of greatness in Bran. His fair spirit.
Without him …
I cross my arms, hands rubbing my skin to warm the sudden chill in my flesh as the air system in the room kicks on with a low roar. My exhale is heavy. But then, everything is heavy. Hard.
It’s like not sleeping for days, the weight inside me. The fatigue goes deep until I want to curl onto the bed and slumber until this whole nightmare ends.
I blink several times as the room sways around me. My body tilts, and I cast out to stabilize myself. The lamp on the bedside table clatters to the floor, and a sharp pain pierces my elbow as I meet the hardwood in a heap.
“Ow,” I moan. Something sweet tinges the air, filling my nose as I feel through the fog for the ache throbbing through my arm. My fingertips grow slick.
Blearily, I peer at my blood-stained fingertips. They tremble. Shaking my head, I try to climb onto all fours, but the world will not remain still.
“Wena!” My voice cracks, and my friend’s name comes out little more than a depleted whisper. I cough. “Sila!”
Something dark shifts out of the corner, and I stare at it through narrowing eyes as the shadows detach from the walls. A lone figure prowls closer.
I weave in place, trying to discern a face inside the gloom. “Gage?”
The darkness reaches for me. “No. Stay away,” I pant. I swat at the phantom arm and collapse to the floor as that one movement saps my energy.
The floor is cool, solid. The open doorway looms like a bright beacon compared to the shadows behind me. A gateway. I dig my nails into the hardwood, gouging scratches into the grain as I try to pull myself toward it.
My arms shake, and it is like trying to pull a boulder free from the compacted earth. Something cool dances over my bare calf. I go still.
Terror paralyses me as that groping touch grows solid. Tight. It squeezes my leg and wrenches me back.
I scream, “Gage!”
