Page 43 of Starborn Husbands
Falling forward into his chest, I inhale him. He smells divine, like the purity of white sage. Then I get a hint of the foul dungeon air. That combined with my queasy stomach is a bad mix. “I’m gonna puke.”
A roiling in my stomach comes first and whatever’s in there spills forth, all over Zhang. That’ll be hilarious later.
“Guard!” He. Is. Pissed. For once, not at me. “Keep your eyes closed, Treyu.”
I spit puke. “Did you know stars could puke?” It’s probably the damn bracelet.
“We can puke. Doesn’t happen often.”
Someone finally shows. There’s a buzzing sound, and my wrists are freed. I cry out because my fucking shoulders, dammit. They didn’t like being in that position for however long I’ve been here. Zhang lifts me, and I’m a rag doll. I can’t hold my head up, so I let it flop onto his shoulder. Pretty sure I’m drooling on him.
“No making fun of me for this later. It’s your fault. I want licorice.”
He’s not finished yelling at people. “Find who’s responsible for this. They can report to my quarters in an hour.”
“Owwww. Too loud.”
“I’ll get you to a quiet place,” he whispers.
“And the licorice, Zhang,” I mumble.
“And the licorice.”
Fucking liar. There’s no licorice in the Nebuli, but I’m glad he’s willing to placate me with anything I want.
My eyes hurt too much to open, so I try to fall asleep on him, but that’s not happening. Everything hurts. I might puke again. Then there’s softness under me. A bed, maybe? His warmth recedes and I whine. “Zhang.”
I’m high on pain. That’s what I’ll say later if he teases me for needing him.
“I’m running the bath.”
“For the record, I hate this,” I mutter.
“Not to worry. I’ll have you back to your caustic self in no time.”
“Ass.”
“Come on. You can do better than that.”
I think he’s removing my clothes. I’m not sure. Next time I’m fully aware, he’s lowering me into the bath. “Ow, ow, ow!”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Every-fucking-where.”
He continues to lower me. “This will help after?—”
“Ow!”
“Some pain.”
“What the fuck, Zhang? Did you fill the tub with acid?”
Everything stings. My back welts from that fucking beating the other day, my limbs, and somehow my face even though none of the water’s touching it. “I want drugs. Advil. Tylenol. Fuck, get me morphine.”
“We’re in the Nebuli. You’ll have to settle for plant-based medicine. Don’t drown. I’ll be right back.”
I’ve kept my eyes shut tight. I sense there’s light, and I don’t want to see what that feels like yet. There’s more yelling. Normally, I’d be all for it—some shouting is just functional—but not in my state.
