Page 8 of Deadmen's Queen

I swung into the driveway, pulling right up next to the front door, and as I hit the brakes, Paige grabbed suddenly at the door handle. She wasn’t quite fast enough though, and she cried out as she threw up all over herself and the seat and footwell of the car.

“Fuck,” I said, quickly jumping out and running around to her side, yanking open the door.

She was still retching, her body convulsing as she tried to unfasten her seatbelt.

“Shit, Paige,” I muttered, pulling a stray lock of hair back from her face and watching helplessly as she continued to throw up. When she finally stopped, she was shaking badly. She looked absolutely mortified and I could see her hands shaking.

“Here,” I said, reaching over to click open her seat belt. She practically fell out of the car, landing on her knees on the gravel driveway. I knelt down next to her, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she heaved.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped out between retches. “I didn't mean to...”

She looked up at me, and my breath caught at the sheer terror in her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Paige whispered, trying to wipe away the tears and vomit from her face with shaking hands. “I'm so sorry, Bast.”

“Hey,” I said softly, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket reaching up to wipe her face. She flinched backwards as I brought my hand up, and I felt cold and sick again, but for a different reason this time. Oh fuck, Paige.

Pretending not to have noticed anything, I moved my hand slower, bringing the cloth up to wipe her mouth.

“It's not your fault. You hear me? This is not your fault.”

“But...but your car...”

“Screw the car,” I dismissed. “You're what's important right now.”

She looked at me then, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable as they met mine. It was a look that tore at my heart and made me feel utterly protective over this woman who we’d dragged into our world without warning.

“Come on,” I said gently, helping her up. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

Chapter Four

PAIGE

Bast led me into the huge house we’d pulled up to. I was too worked up to take much notice, but I got an impression of dark fittings and floors, with soft cream walls and rugs as he led me down a wide hall to a bathroom.

“Here,” he said. “Strip off and I’ll get you something else to wear for now. You can have a bath if you want to, but let’s get those clothes in the wash.”

I nodded, and he left, closing the door, but not completely.

I kicked off my shoes, and undid the catches on my dungarees, pushing them down my body, and stepping out of them. The room swayed, and I gasped, leaning on the sink to steady myself. I looked in the mirror and saw myself looking back, white as a sheet, my skin and strands of hair damp from vomiting. A memory stirred in my mind, and I slid to the ground, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

“What the fuck have you done now?”

My mother stood in the doorway of my bedroom, silhouetted by the hall light, and I froze, willing my stomach to calm as it roiled and churned inside me.

She turned on the overhead light, and I blinked at the harsh light. My stomach churned again, and I retched again, vomit hitting the bedding and the floor.

I tried to get out of bed to get to the toilet, but my feet tangled in the duvet, and I fell onto the floor. I got to my hands and knees but threw up again. I closed my eyes, waiting for the retching to stop, as my body convulsed painfully over and over again. Thankfully, my stomach seemed to have emptied itself, and I sat down, leaning back against the bed, shaking with cold.

My mother walked into the room and stared down at me. “What a pathetic little bitch you are,” she sneered. “Look at the mess you made.”

I opened my mouth, but she slapped me hard around the face, and I cried out.

“Disgusting!” She looked down at her hand, now with a smear of vomit across it. “Filthy little animal. Lick that off.”

I stared up at her, not sure I’d heard right.

“Lick it off, Paige. I don’t want your mess on my skin.”

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