Wicked (A Wicked Saga #1)(83)
Author: J. Lynn

"You should’ve left when you had the chance, little bird." Disgust cloaked his tone, and then he leaned down, his face in mine. "I gave you the . . ." He trailed off, inhaling deeply, audibly.

I sensed that the prince had frozen above me, and then I felt his hand on my cheek. He raised it to his mouth, his fingers tipped in red. The encroaching darkness was spreading, but I thought . . . I thought he had tasted my blood, and that just put the fuckity in the fuck.

He jerked back, and I had the distinct impression that his skin had paled and then he was in my face again. "No," he said.

Then he made a sound that reminded me of a curse before whispering a word I didn’t understand—a word that was English, but couldn’t have been what I thought he’d said.

Reaching between us, he gripped the collar of my shirt with both hands and tore it open like it was made of tissue paper. My heart, weak and spent, stuttered as a different kind of panic set it. He placed his hand on the center of my chest, and his hand didn’t roam, but his . . . his palm warmed and the heat scalded my skin, burning deep into the tissue and muscles. The strangest fire rushed through me.

A door somewhere burst open, wood splintering against the wall. There were shouts—some recognizable but sounding so very far away. The prince rose with a rush of chilled air. He seemed to collapse into himself, and where a man once stood, there was only a raven.

The creature spread its majestic wings, like two feathered arms. The raven rose to the ceiling, disappearing out of my sight, and that . . . that one word cycled over and over in my scattered thoughts as someone hit the ground next to me. The voices increased, and I thought that maybe it was Ren beside me, that maybe he was the one touching me so carefully, but all I could hear was that one word the prince had whispered.

Halfling.

Chapter Twenty Three

Time . . . time moved strangely for me. I had no real concept of it. All I became aware of at some point was that I’d been moved from the rough carpet and placed on something much softer. A bed maybe? Then I’d eventually heard a low beeping that was persistent, ticking away in the background—a heart monitor. Once I managed to open my eyes—my one eye actually—through my blurred vision I was able to make out the off-white drop ceiling and low lights. There was a distinct antiseptic scent permeating the air. Dumbly, I realized I must’ve been in a hospital, and if I was here instead of headquarters, then things were serious, but I was too tired to chase that thought.

I had no idea how much time passed like that, when I would become aware of my surroundings for a few moments here and there. Once I thought I felt Ren near me. Another time I thought I heard Val’s laughter, but that thought didn’t make sense to my addled mind. There were reasons why I hadn’t heard Val’s laughter. And then there were other moments when I woke up and the only thing I could think about was what the prince had said to me.

Halfling.

This time, though, as I crawled through the darkness, I was about to pry one of my eyes open, and when I blinked, bringing the ceiling back into focus, I didn’t fade away immediately.

I drew in a deep breath and winced as dull pain radiated up and down my sides. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt raw like I swallowed a mouthful of nails. The more moments that danced on by, the more pain I became aware of. My face hurt. Hurt like I’d run face first into a brick wall then motor-boated it. My jaw ached, so did my left eyeball—like my entire eyeball. A steady throbbing emanated from my right wrist. A fire burned bright in my ribs.

Waking up sucked. God.

I wiggled my fingers, relieved to find that they worked. Next, I would attempt my toes, but before I could do the system check, there was movement in the room.

The bed dipped slightly, and then I saw the most beautiful green eyes, two emerald jewels plucked out of a mine and placed behind thick lashes, shining out from a striking set of features that I’d come to . . . love. My heart started racing, and the beeping matched the pace. I loved him. I did. Somehow it had happened in the mix of all of this.

"Hey," he said softly, staring at me like a man who never thought he’d be holding this conversation. "There you are sleepy-butt. You gonna stay with me this time?"

I focused on him with my one eye as emotion built in my throat. What put me here, in this bed, lingered in the back of my mind, not forgotten, but just . . . there. "Hey," I managed to croak.

A relieved smile appeared on his face, softening the dark shadows under his eyes. His hair looked like he’d run his hand through it many times. He stared at me a moment then reached for the stand next to the bed. "You thirsty?"

I started to nod but realized that wasn’t a smart idea. "Yeah."

Ren poured water from a pitcher into a plastic cup. "Okay. Just a little." He slipped one hand carefully under my head and lifted, bringing the cup to my lips. The cool water stung my mouth and throat, but it was like swallowing heaven. He pulled back before I could chug it like a college drinking game. I glared at him with one eye.

"Slowly." He laughed, his eyes lightening. "I don’t want you to get sick on top . . ." His jaw flexed as he thrust those fingers through his hair again. "On top of everything else."

Everything else—my aching face, battered ribs, but I was alive and that shocked me, because I’d felt something serious break inside me. Something really bad. My brows pinched.

"God, Ivy . . ." Clearing his throat, he leaned down and kissed me gently on the tip of my nose. "I haven’t spent one moment not freaking the fuck out. I thought . . . when I saw you in that room . . ."

The raw pain in his voice hurt to hear. "I’m okay, I think."

"You think?" He laughed outright at that, his laugh deep and throaty. When he lifted his head, I thought there was a sheen to his eyes. "You’re in the hospital near your house—Kindred Hospital. We couldn’t keep you at headquarters."

After another slow drink of water, I managed to get my tongue working. "How . . . what’s happened?"

"Ivy." He carefully brushed back a wayward curl as a look of deep pain sliced through his features. "Do you not remember?"

"I . . . remember." I settled back against the pillows, strangely exhausted despite the fact I had a feeling I’d been playing Sleeping Beauty for a while. "What day is it?"

He didn’t look like he wanted to answer at first. "Saturday night."

"What?" I started to sit up, panic exploding like buckshot, but he gently pressed down on my shoulders.

"It’s okay. You need to stay in this bed. Just for a little longer. You were hurt pretty badly, Ivy." His hands lingered.