Page 92 of Bound
“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “It wasn’t. Not for me.”
His emerald eyes are nearly pitch again. Almost desolate. And after seeing them brought to life above me, the change rips my heart in two. “It should be,” he tells me, and I press a hand to my stomach like I can keep the pain in check. “I found Jarrah last night.”
Those words slam into me. “I don’t understand.”
“He was bleeding to death in the alley outside the hotel. And I couldn’t save him. I tried. I tried to keep him alive. To get the location of the others, and I failed.”
The world swims and I drop onto the mattress as my legs give out.
That was why he came to my room last night. Not to see me. But to tell me of Jarrah’s passing.
He sought a warm body in the night. A way to absolve some of his grief. His anger.
Nausea rolls through me.
And I had let myself believe it was something else. Something more.
Had hoped it was.
“So he’s dead?” I hear myself say.
He nods, his face blank.
“I would like to see for myself.”
“Amoret—”
My eyes fly to his and my teeth bare. “No. You don’t get to decide that, Gage. I don’t care that last night was a mistake to you. Rank or not, Jarrah was likemyfamily. I will see him. And you will take me to him.”
For several long beats, my words hang in the air between us. Then he drops his eyes and jerks his jeans on. “Then get dressed.”
I stop in the doorway of the bright room. Someone covered the body on the bed with a white sheet, and the shape beneath is barely discernible.
Soft voices murmur in the hall behind me, along with Wena’s sniffles, and Vish’s gentle reassurances.
I force my feet to move, to propel me over the tiled floor to the bedside. But I can’t lift my fingers to the sheet. They shake at my sides, my terror warring with the pain already like a maelstrom inside of me.
“Would you like me to do it?” Nisha’s voice is like a balm at my side. A familiar tone. I give a blurry-eyed nod. Her tawny hands grasp the edge of white fabric, and she rolls it down to just under Jarrah’s chin.
I suck in a breath at the bruising. The swollen cheekbones and disjointed jaw. Even his once proud nose is crooked from a break.
There is not a single patch of unbloodied or damaged skin to be seen, but he is still the captain I remember.
The man I knew.
“Oh, Jarrah,” I murmur. My hands move, brushing his grimy hair back from his cheek.
I stare down at him, my fingers idly smoothing his hair. He can’t feel it. I know that. But even in death he deserves peace. Kindness.
Nisha is quiet at my side. There as support, but not obtrusive. Her presence means worlds. As my hand curls back, I give a small nod and she raises the sheet back.
As soon as she turns to me, her arms wrap around my shoulders. With a harsh sob, I collapse into her arms as the tears run free.
