Page 153 of Fires of the Forsaken
“Unsurprising. Ramiel cares little for humans. Some say he finds us revolting. Seruf does not share this view.” He turned to face me; his eyes flooded with a dark, raw terror. “You were incorrect in saying Seruf wouldn’t have the time or desire to raise a child. Seruf has agreatdesire for children.”
He watched me expectantly. As though waiting for me to rebuke or agree with his statement.
When I remained silent, he pivoted and left the room.
* * *
I didn’t expecthim to release me. I was merely hoping for an end—even if it meant him driving his sword through my heart. When Byron returned a day later and began loosening my shackles, I feared I was dreaming.
His eyes were cold as he yanked on the chains with unnecessary force. “I believe you,” he said. “You truly do not know Seruf. But I do. She would not have permitted a child to leave her side. Yet, you have never been with her.”
“As I’ve said.Repeatedly.” I gasped as blood returned to the fingers of my newly freed arm. It felt as though there were spikes inside me, clawing at my skin.
Byron wrenched my other arm away from the wall. “Your separation from Seruf was likely a mistake. And it seems she has returned to Sakar to remedy it.”
I winced when he tossed the chain away from my left wrist, sending the heavy metal slamming into my side.
“Against my better judgment,” his lips curled over his teeth, “I’m setting you free, but you cannot stay here. I’d advise you to enjoy your liberation. It’s not likely to last long.”
43
What Happens at the Hair Salon Stays at the Hair Salon
My hormones were officially out of control.
I burst into tears as soon as Cheriour knelt beside me.
He recoiled and searched my body, as though looking for injuries.Because, y’know, he wasn’t used to his soldiers bawling over nothing.
I’d never,ever, be mistaken for the stoic warrior type.
“Addie,” Cheriour started.
“What are youdoinghere?” I screeched. “It’s a long walk from your room. And I’m 99% sure you shouldn’t be moving that much yet. Don’t you dare,” I hissed when he opened his mouth to say something. “You’re about to say,‘I’m fine,’right?Bull...fucking…shit.You’ve been on your deathbed for days.Days.No one isfineafter that. Are youtryingto put yourself in a grave?”
Cheriour slowly sat beside me, looking utterly flummoxed.
And utterlynot fine.
Yeah, he’d returned to the land of the living. But he had big, dark rings beneath his eyes. Like a raccoon. Those ringsclashedwith his otherwise colorless complexion. A rumpled, dirty shirt sat crookedly over his torso. He’d probably grabbed the first shirt he’d stepped on. His hair hung loose upon his shoulders, the first time I’d ever seen it out of a ponytail. And, my God, what a freaking rat’s nest.
“Turn around,” I snapped.
His nose wrinkled. “What?”
“Never mind. I’ll go around you.” I stood, walked behind him, and plopped back down.
From this angle, I saw Abby Normal over his shoulder. She still had her back turned to me, but she’d cocked her head in my direction, her ears splayed. She looked as confused as Cheriour.
But neither of them were as befuddled as me. I had way too many emotions swirling inside me. Hello, PMS mood swings. With a healthy dose of PTSD mixed in.
I touched the top of Cheriour’s scalp.
He jerked in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing your freaking hair.” It was so damn matted. I needed conditioner. Detangling spray. Hell, a decent comb would’ve been a godsend. But all I had were my fingers. And…
I glanced at Abby Normal again. “Aha!” She had a water bucket in her pen! “Hang on.” I sprang to my feet, ducked between the slats of her fence, ignoring her when she pinned her ears, and snatched the wooden bucket.
