Page 104 of Creatures that Breathe

This pain, this pain is …

Atlas responds with the cold detachment of a royal healer delivering bad news. “It’s been two weeks. And he’s done nothing but fantasize about your return. Ten days ago, the curse started, the pain set in. He refuses to listen to us. He only thinks of you. He’s breaking apart, starving himself. Luke tried to administer fluids, but he attacks when we get close.”

Ten days. Ten days of agony, and not even the most selfish part of me wants to preen at this.

Cautious, heart pounding, I approach him. His lips are dry and cracked as he screams out. His bloodshot eyes glare at the vacant white ceiling. He’s immobile with agony, utterly tormented.

Tears sting my eyes. “You chained him down,” I grate, consumed with fury.

“He was hurting himself,” Atlas defends. “Tearing off his skin to get free.”

“Make it stop!” Cross shrieks, voice raw, choked.

I’m across the room then, pulse racing. He’s violent, thrashing in agony, both vulnerable and terrifying. For a moment, I’m paralyzed with fear, overwhelmed by the power flooding through him, but then instinct takes over and I place my hands on his shoulders.

“Cross?” I hover above him, dirty periwinkle hair falling into his face. “Hey, Cross.” My voice is fake, sweet and trembling, and a sham of calm. “You have to stop this now, okay?” I swallow. “Cross?”

Cold as ice, Atlas cuts in, “You need to say something about the king. Talk to him, tell him about the black flames now. Get him to focus.”

I want to. I’m ready to spill everything, every secret, but I feel the caress of Cross’s gaze on mine at the pub, hear his lies.

I remember how Yaya would lament losing her queen, and I’d receive a snarky checkmate two moves later. Innocent, little bird, don’t be so trusting.

My fingers tremble around Cross’s as I unleash eye daggers on Atlas. “Is this by design? Did you torture him to extract information from me?”

The Chire wears nothing of his usual nonchalance. “Would that have worked? Do you love him so much?”

Love? Who said anything about love? “I …”

I don’t say anything. I just turn back to Cross.

“It’s a Phoenix,” I tell him, voice shaky, thin. “A Phoenix was involved in the king’s death, remember? You have to remember. You need to search for a Phoenix. They can burn black.”

Cross convulses, a needle snaps in his arm. His eyes slam shut.

I repeat myself, keep repeating myself, telling him everything I’ve already revealed. Anything that might help him survive this torture.

My lips brush against his ear as my voice cracks, and I have to bend over him to whisper. I smell sweat and blood and salt. “Focus for me. Please.”

I don’t know how long I talk, but eventually, either the pain throttles him or the exhaustion. I memorize his heartbeat under my palm, neither slow nor steady but less rampant, less terrorizing.

I push my forehead into his neck and squeeze his hand.

And then Cross’s face is turning into me, his expression contorted in pain.

I sob.

A growl rises from his chest.

Metal clangs. He’s pushing himself up, fighting the shackles.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I croak, panicked, throwing my hands over his.

“Get these chains off me,” he snarls, voice strained and rasping.

“We can’t. I’m so sorry.” I wipe tears off my face with my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” I bend over him again, press into him in an awkward embrace, trying futilely to offer comfort.

Pain. Unspeakable pain. So much pain he was killing himself.

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