Page 43 of Puck & Her Blades

He arches his brow. “I’ve been shut away from the world with nothing to do but read. For years, before I was bonded, I had no other friends but fictional characters.”

I struggle to sit up straighter in the bed, wincing when I jolt my ankle. “But why?”

Cygnus ducks his head, pacing faster. “There was an accident at the lake, that’s all. I was young. I could have died. I was still ill for a long time, and my immune system never fully recovered.” He touches the scarf at his neck. “I catch illnesses easily. Dad is overprotective. Sydney is controlling. They treat me like a glass bird that will shatter the moment they let me out of my cage. But just once, I wish that they could allow me to risk flying. Just fucking once.”

His cussing startles me because I haven’t heard him cuss before.

He sounds more distressed than angry.

What startles me next, however, is the way that he doubles over coughing. He drops the book to the floor with a bang.

“Beauty, are you…?” Alarmed, I edge closer to him.

My heart speeds up, when I notice how bone white he has become, yet there’s twin blushes of pink high on his cheeks.

He has a fever.

I know because late in Emiliano’s illness, he often looked like that.

Frightened, I hold my arms out. “Come here.”

Cygnus turns toward me. His eyes look glassy, as if he’s not truly seeing me. Then they roll back, and he slumps forward.

“Shit.” I dive forward, as Cygnus faints, ignoring the agony throbbing in my ankle.

Oh, fuck.

With difficulty, I catch him.

I’m breathing hard as I hold Cygnus in my arms.

Please let him be breathing.

Please, please, please…

I force myself to stop panicking and notice that I can feel his breath tickling my neck.

I let out a sob of relief, as I carefully maneuver him onto the bed next to me.

I squirm to pull his legs up onto the bed to make him more comfortable, pillowing jerseys under his head.

Why didn’t Jackson think to give me a phone as well? At least then I could call for help.

I guess he didn’t think that I’d have anyone to call.

Cygnus looks as still and pale as a wax doll. There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin.

I stroke my hand across his forehead.

He’s burning up.

“Fuck.” I brush his hair back from his face. “Wake up, beauty.”

Is this normal for him? Part of his illness?

He shouldn’t have worked so hard to get this cottage cleaned for me. I bet that he’s pushed himself too hard.

“Cygnus,” I breathe his name like a prayer, kissing his cheek. Then I card my fingers through his curls, closing my eyes. “I wish that you could tell me what I should do.”

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