King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(52)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Oh.” I knew he was trying to ease the pain of the moment with a little levity, but he couldn’t. I looked ahead at the road and felt Mack’s hand cover mine.

“She’ll be okay, Mia. Don’t worry.”

Despite my hopes, I had a feeling deep in my gut that told me she wouldn’t be. And if Justin ran away, faking his death, there would be no hope for my father. It would be too much to bear, and I would lose him, too.

“Thanks.” I looked at the tattoo on my wrist and slid my palm over it. I wanted to believe that it was like some magical radio that connected me to King, that he might hear my pleas of desperation. Please, King. Don’t do this. Don’t.

~ ~ ~

For the next few days, Becca, Becca’s mother, Teri, and I took turns staying at the hospital with my father, who refused to leave my mother’s side. They ran test after test, but they couldn’t guarantee that she’d wake up, and if she did, what mental state she’d be in. But I had Internet, and I knew what the statistics said: the longer she stayed in a coma, the lower the chances of her coming out of it. Her chances were now slim to none.

I looked across the hospital bed at my father’s sagging face. Knowing my own pain, I couldn’t imagine how he felt. “Dad, go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you if there’s any news.”

“I need to stay here—in case she wakes up.”

Hearing that was like getting a knife through my heart.

I held back my tears. “Dad, you haven’t slept in two days. You’re going to make yourself sick.” Luckily, he was in fairly good health, but he wasn’t indestructible. “Please, Dad? Just for a few hours?” I looked at my watch; it was five in the morning, and he’d stayed up the entire night. “You can come back at noon, and I’ll be right here the whole time.”

He sighed. “Okay.” He slowly rose from the armchair and deposited a kiss on my mother’s forehead. “Call me if anything happens.”

“I will. I promise.”

I stared at my mother’s immobile face, tubes running from her mouth. I could only pray now. Not just for her, but for all of us.

“How is she?” King’s signature black suit and imposing figure occupied the doorway.

A whoosh of air left my lungs, and I stood. “Where the hell have you been, King?” I said flatly, holding in my rage. He hadn’t returned any of my messages, and trust me, I’d left plenty. Mack, who had been camped out in the waiting room, had to cut me off from his phone.

King stepped inside the room and walked over to my mother. He bent his head down as if staring into her eyes; however, her lids were shut tight.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He kept his nose an inch from hers and ignored me.

I felt the rage bubbling out. “Get away from her,” I seethed.

King blinked and lifted his head. “She is fighting.”

“What?”

He looked at me, dead serious. “She is fighting to come back, but she’s getting tired.”

“How do you know that?”

His mouth made a straight line. “I just do.”

“You’re the devil?” I whispered.

He flashed a peculiar grin that I interpreted to mean my persistence in making this statement amused him.

“Miss Turner, you have the ability to see energy. Do you not?”

I nodded.

“And do I accuse you of being some sort of demon or cursed witch because you were born with a unique gift?”

“No.”

“There, you see. Now we can put the issue to rest. And you can see I speak the truth for yourself.” He glanced down at my mother. “Look at her.”

“I am.”

“No. Really look at her.” I hadn’t thought of using my strange “gift.” I guess I hadn’t seen any practical use for it other than when hunting for the Artifact.

“What will I see?” I asked.

“Look for yourself, Miss Turner.”

I tried to focus my thoughts and relax, but it was impossible. All I saw was my mother’s immobile body.

“I can’t.” I whisked away a tear.

King walked around the bed and turned me toward him. “Your abilities are much greater than you know. Why do you think I chose you?” He stroked the side of my curls, and I felt a flicker of serenity wash over me.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Control my emotions,” I explained.

“I do not possess that talent, though I wish I did.”

That couldn’t be right because King always had a definite influence on me, and those feelings certainly weren’t my doing. No. Not possible.

“Perhaps I could persuade you to be more civil if I did.” He flashed that charming smile, and I knew he was hiding what he really wanted to say, which could’ve been anything ranging from “please, be less bitchy” to “be more obedient.” I didn’t know. “Now, Miss Turner, take another look.”

I turned my head and settled my mind on my mother. The colors instantly popped. Greens and blues swirled all over her body.

“What do the colors mean?” I asked, leaning closer to her, completely in awe.

“Red is generally pain, which is why you see it when someone is murdered. Black is death—generally, a painless one. Green is life.”

“And blue?” I asked.

“Blue is sorrow.”

I looked away and began to cry. I didn’t care if King thought me weak for it.

He pulled me into his warm body, but I didn’t want comfort from him. Not when I knew he’d be the nail in my father’s coffin. Despite that, when he stroked the back of my hair, I began to feel like nothing could ever hurt me. Not when I was wrapped in King’s arms.

“The blue is a good sign,” he said. “It means she is aware of what is happening to her. It means that she continues to hold on to this world.”

I slid my arms underneath his suit jacket. The warmth of his body felt more like a soothing current of tranquility. I nuzzled my face into his broad chest and let my lungs fill freely with air for the first time in two days. I blew it out, clinging to him, wondering how a man so dark and cold could bring me so much peace. Maybe hidden deep down inside, underneath all those scars and greed, was good. Genuine good. But that would be impossible.

I opened my eyes and looked at my mother again. If only Justin were here, I think I could handle whatever came next.

Justin. I had completely forgotten.