Page 7 of Loving Nightmares
It feltlike hours later that the healers were done applying a soothing balm to her skin and hooking her up to an IV to rehydrate her. The rest of the team had joined us at some point, Cy looking worse for wear but not saying anything. While the healers had assured us that Arabella’s burns were simple surface wounds, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread—one that wouldn’t go away until I saw her beautiful mismatched eyes open.
Sitting at the side of the bed, my chair creaking as I shifted, I considered taking her up to the corner of the ceiling to shelter her in my magic so that she could heal there. I knew it would be unfair to the others, but right now it was hard to care about that when she looked so delicate.
I was extremely aware of how fragile Arabella was; it was a constant worry in my head. And while she was less fragile than before, she looked especially breakable hooked up to an IV. As I continued to stare at her, though, I couldn’t deny that there was something different about her. Her skin was iridescent, and while her body was covered in ashes from the explosion, it didn’t stop the glow from shining through. Her rose colored hair wasmessy, but even that appeared to pulsate with power, as if her entire body was wrapped in a fine layer of magic.
Because that was exactly what was going on.
My fingers brushed over her cheek, and almost like she was covered in fabric, the magic pulled and rippled through the air.
“Is that her magic?” Damian asked.
“Yeah.” I had recently realized and experienced just how much magic Arabella had, but seeing the proof of it surrounding her like a protective aura gave me a momentary sense of relief.
As if knowing what I truly needed, though, it was only moments later that her eyes began to shift behind her closed lids. I watched with bated breath as she returned to consciousness, her wounds healed except for faint pink spots that I guessed would be gone within the hour.
“Razar?”
At the sound of Arabella’s soft, beautiful voice, I instantly clasped her delicate hand and stared into her sleepy face. I had seen that expression a million times before in my life, but right now I appreciated it more than ever before—because it meant she was okay. Maybe not perfect, but okay.
“We’re all here,” I assured her as she slowly looked around the room, her cheeks flushing at all the direct attention she was receiving. I knew it was partly because of the desire we inspired, but there was also this softer version of Arabella that I loved equally as much as the brilliant, capable woman she was on a daily basis. This side was one that I wanted her to express whenever she felt like it, because it meant she felt safe to be vulnerable with me. With us.
“What happened?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in confusion.
“We were retreating when the aerial forces began dropping bombs right outside of the wards—”
Before Zain could even finish, Arabella was swearing and struggling to sit up, nearly pulling out her IV in the process. “We have to get downstairs, I have a plan of what could—”
I placed one hand gently on her chest to keep her down, my heart beating double-time at the idea of the needle ripping out of her skin.
She scowled at me. “Seriously, Razar, I’m not going to let them hurt our home—”
“No one is saying you will, cherry blossom,” Damian assured her.
“You have a needle in your arm and suffered bad burns from the explosion,” Blackwell bit out. She jumped at his tone, offering an arched brow. I think that was when she really started to get a good idea of how everyone was feeling. Arabella had always been fantastic at reading our group as a whole, and right now was no different.
I knew she could see Blackwell’s guilt and self-hatred at letting her get hurt, the tension running through Damian, and the way I was hyper-focused on her trying to get up. I knew she could sense Ashur’s confusion—although she probably didn’t know the reason he was conflicted, as he was torn between wanting her to be on the battlefield because that was what she wanted, versus whether or not it was safe for her to do so—and that she tracked Saint pacing by the window, uncharacteristically quiet. Cy was silent, and Amun seemed a million miles away, trapped in thought, unlike Zain who was at her other side, hanging onto her every word.
“Okay…I see what’s going on here.” Arabella inhaled and sat up more gently, looking down at the IV and taking stock of her body. When she tugged out the IV in a quick, efficient movement, a feral noise left my throat at the drop of blood left on her skin. Rather than saying anything, she squeezed my hand in support.
“Do you?” Blackwell questioned, looking like he was the edge of officially losing his shit
“Oh, I do.” Arabella narrowed her eyes, straightening herself out. “Let’s get a few things straight here, guys. First, none of you are to blame for me getting hurt.”
Sounds of protest met her statement, and she put a hand up to interrupt them. “I’m serious. The only person to blame is War. If you want someone to blame, then blame him.”
When none of us protested further, she continued. “Secondly, this changes nothing. I can see how all of you are right now, and I will not be put on some glass shelf until this is over. I love all of you—Ireallylove you—but I love our future and our home, and I will be part of defending it in whatever way I can. Understand?”
I couldn’t begin to understand why the dominance in her voice turned me on, considering it would put her in danger.
“Arabella.” Cy’s voice was steeped in pain. She held his gaze for a long moment, something passing between the two of them. He shook his head but didn’t continue, apparently deciding to save that conversation for later. That didn’t surprise me. I was far more forward with my issues than Cy was; he tended to want to handle them one-on-one with her. While I got that, I also understood that some discussions needed to be had with the whole group, especially when it came to her safety.
“With that being said,” she continued, “I understand, logically, that I’m not battle trained. I understand my limits and my strengths, so I will stick to those. But I need you to trust me. I need you to believe that when I say I’m capable of something, I am.”
“It’s not about your abilities, flower, it’s about danger,” Saint said sharply.
Her gaze filled with surprise at his hardened tone before narrowing. “And what about the danger all of you are in? Am Isupposed to think the same way? Because if I do, this battle is never going anywhere and our home is fucked, Saint.”
The god terror let out a dark chuckle and ran a hand over his face, clearly not having an argument. Honestly, I didn’t have one either—she wasn’t wrong. Arabella had to help with this, not only because she wanted to but because at the end of the day, she was one of the top logisticians at the institute. The woman was more than capable of developing a war strategy—probably better than War himself.
