Page 62 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Alora stroked her thumb on his ice-fevered face and stared into his tormented eyes. “I know.”

“She haunts me no matter where I am. No matter how many times I try to refuse her …” He drew in sharp, painful breaths.

She had never seen him so far gone.

“I am haunted by her promises as she fucked me.” Garrik’s head fell against the cot. “Thalon’s Earned ripped from his scalp. His family’s sword plunged through his chest. Aiden in my dungeon cell, beaten and whipped by Brennus. Jade burned by Malik. Eldacar back in Magnelis’s library.” He heaved in a strangled breath. “And I cannot save them. Too weak to open my eyes.”

Garrik’s face turned grave, trembling. “You …dyingin my arms as she rips your heart out through your back.” He paused, struggling to form words. “I would rather die than live without you.”

“No. Listen to me. Death would be far worse than all this.”

He shook his head. “There are worse things than death.”

“Youdying would be worse than death.” Parting her lips and hitching a breath, Alora pinched her brows at her words and the panicked stare in his eyes. Her eyes widened, and she pulledaway as if something had punched her in the chest, stealing the air from her lungs.

In his eyes, she noticed the fine details of swirling polished metal. Of smoke and ash floating in clouds. For the first time truly seeing the enchanting glowing silver as a speck of darkness flashed. And as quickly as it was there, it wasn’t.

Garrik went rigid when her fingers gently traced a scar up his core to his chest. Resting the palm over his heart that she felt crumbling.

“Please … don’t leave me.” Garrik’s voice cracked.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Not now. Not ever. She soothingly rubbed his shoulder and the back of his neck, continuing to pulse warmth against his skin. He was so cold—too cold—frighteningly frigid. Even his breath blew in a cloud of vapor as his breathing fell shallow. Branch-like paths of black veins sprouted across the skin, covering his aching heart.

“I need to get you warm. You can’t stay like this,” she whispered.

But his eyes were fading to the blackened abyss. Garrik’s breaths fell alarmingly shallow. “I’m so tired,” he stuttered.

“Please, stay awake.” Don’t go back to the nightmare, not back to?—

“So … tired.” That unusual heartbeat faded more to where she was uncertain if it would beat again. Skipping—dangerously slow. Garrik’s eyes narrowed and shifted, staring beyond her, into a distant world.

Fading.

Alora panicked. There was no pulse of energy—the shield remained. This was something else overcoming him, pulling him back into the horrific nightmares.

“Don’t go back there—stay with me!” she cried, shaking him.

Garrik’s head slumped to the side on his cot. His eyes fluttered.

“No. Please!”

The room fell to darkness.

“Don’t stop.” His breath felt hot—too hot—burning as it fell across Garrik’s gouged chest.

He could not see anything. No cracks of light. No windows to show him if it was night or day. Not that it mattered, anyway. And judging by the smell, he had dangled, arms chained high, above his blood and vomit for over a week.

No water. No food. Infection was setting in. His peeling wrists were shackled, deep raw wounds carved into them, and bled long streaks of blood down his arms.

Even through the painful ringing in his ears,there, a soft voice spoke. Hallucinating the tender warmth of it at times, they were the only flutters of peace he felt in that rotting cell.

It kept him from completely breaking.

The voice spoke again. Gentle, loving ticks of the tongue. A melody that carried across the murky space. Echoed off one of the eight stone walls filled with unimaginable torturous weapons in the lowest parts of the castle.

By now, he knew by the trajectory of watery footsteps which method of torture he would suffer when they visited throughout the day. And … endless hours of the night.

But he could die peacefully listening to that voice.

---