Page 20 of Red Dreams

His name escapes my lips in a hoarse whisper, my voice foreign to my own ears. Frankly, I’m shocked I’ve retained the ability to use it after days upon days of screaming.

“Kaden,” I rasp again, collapsing to my knees beside him and ignoring the jolt it sends through my weary body.

But it’s all I can do. With my hands still tied behind my back, I can’t touch him. I’m stopped from feeling for injuries and checking for a pulse. And because of that, a quiet, keening wheeze soaks my lips, along with tears that should’ve dried up weeks ago.

Lowering my head, I rest the side of my face against his chest and hear a steady heartbeat. My shoulders sag, and I sob, staying there, soaking up his warmth and proof of life.

Time stretches, marked only by the thud of Kaden's heart against my ear and the tattered symphony of our breathing. But then, in a burst of movement too quick for my damaged reflexes, Kaden surges to life.

His eyes snap open, wild and feverish, pupils blown wide. I have enough time to lift my head and softly call out his name again before he surges forward, seizing me by the shoulders and slamming me onto my back, my tied hands crushed under the press of my body weight. Air whooshes from my mouth as he pins me with his body, one dirtied, bloodied hand clamping around my throat.

Kaden snarls above me, his eyes empty, all traces of the man I trust consumed by the instinctual killer within. His fingers tighten, seconds from crushing my trachea, and a vicious thrill slithers through me.

Because even like this—feral, brutal, reduced to his basest nature—he’s magnificent. Strands of his raven hair fall across his brow, and beads of sweat glisten above the taut lines of his face. His full lips are pulled back in a vicious snarl, revealing the glint of white teeth. The scar slicing through his brow to his cheek has turned a mesmerizing purple-white.

A traitorous part of me wants to lean into his violence, to let it consume me until I forget the nightmare we're trapped in.

He’s a fallen angel, a dark, avenging spirit, and at last, I have my escape. I’m ready to succumb.

I can’t. I shouldn’t. Because if I go, I’m leaving Kaden alone, and he’s been so stripped of life for so long.

“Kaden,” I command in a tight, strangled voice. “It’s me. It’s Layla.”

His fingers flex around my throat, digging into the mottled canvas of healing bruises and fresh contusions on my skin. The pressure builds until gray fuzz rings my vision.

Then awareness crashes over his expression between one labored breath and the next. His hand retreats from my neck as if scalded, leaving me coughing on flakes of dried blood and built-up saliva.

“Wraithling?” He chokes out my pet name. “Jesus, I could have?—”

“I'm okay,” I reassure him quickly, even as I cough, my abused windpipe protesting the words. “I've gone through worse.”

Kaden rises to his knees, one on either side of my hips. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of me splayed underneath him. I can only imagine what he sees.

A patchwork of particolored bruises in sickening shades of purple and yellow, angry red lacerations crisscrossing my skin, dried blood peeling off in rust-colored patches.

Cracks of anguish break through his stone expression as he reaches out, his hands hovering over the injuries to my chest as if he’s afraid to touch me and cause more damage.

“Layla.” His voice shatters on my name. “What has she done to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t survive.” I taste the tang of blood on my tongue as I respond. “I’m still here, Kaden. I-I didn’t break.”

The golden lamplight casts harsh rays across the planes of his face, accentuating the hollows of his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. Those coldwater eyes shine before he blinks the emotion away.

It hurts to look at him, too, so I shift my weight and wince, my hands tingling with lack of blood flow.

Kaden notices. His brows come down, a line forming between them like a mark between heartache and fury. “Can you roll to your side?”

Nodding stiffly, I roll with the help of my legs and a hiss between my clenched teeth.

He seeks out the plastic restraints on my wrists, and I can’t help but shiver at his touch, his rare tenderness.

With a low grunt, Kaden manages to slip his fingers beneath the zip tie, his short nails scraping against my raw skin. He works at the plastic with single-minded determination, his brows keeping low.

After several agonizing moments, the pressure around my wrists suddenly releases with a soft snap. I fall onto my back and bring my arms forward with a grateful sob, my biceps protesting the unfamiliar motion. Pins and needles shoot under my skin, circulation returning in a painful rush.

“Th-Thank you.”

It takes so much effort to say it through the swell of relief.

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