Page 101 of Seduced

It was as if she had never existed either.

Alexei

After she left, Alexei thought he would die.

And then he did.

Well, nearly.

But far too nearly. At some point during the night, he developed a fever that pulled him under so fiercely, it was as if that bloody underground lake had come back to finish its job and drown him. His brain was on fire, his limbs were heavy as lead and there was liquid in his lungs. Every breath was labored for a while, a battle to get enough air in his chest, and then finally, the air stopped altogether.

Alexei thought he heard someone screaming for help, the sound coming as if from a tunnel, but he was frozen in a soundless scream and couldn’t tell whoever it was to stop overreacting. His mouth was open, gaping like a fish’s, gasping for a breath that would never come. Then he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.

The fever raged for days on end—Alexei slipped in and out of the darkness constantly, unaware of what was going on around him.

At night he was lost in nightmares, and those were real enough. He would wake up, drenched in sweat, only to be swallowed up by darkness again. When he finally woke up properly after nearly a week of torture, he found his three friends seated beside his bed, their eyes red, their mouths grim.

“I would have thought death would be more fun than this,” he croaked through parched lips.

Peter stood up abruptly with an oath and went to the corner, covering his mouth with his fist.

Valentine made a sound that resembled a sob.

And Dante…Dante just sat there, his cheeks bathed in tears.

“You unfeeling bastard,” he said calmly, “is this a time to jest? You nearly died, and all of us nearly died with you.”

“Sorry,” Alexei said, closing his eyes.

He slept for five more hours, but his fever had broken. When he woke, Peter and Valentine were still there. Dante, too.

“I’m going away,” Dante said, as a servant brought over some luncheon. Alexei was informed that he had been unable to eat or drink anything for the better part of the past four days.

Peter was seated beside his bed like a wetnurse, spoon in hand, a look of utter concentration in his eyes.

“You cannot be serious,” Alexei told him. “You do not mean to feed me.”

“I have never meant anything more in my life,” Peter said.

And proceeded to bring the spoon to Alexei’s mouth.

Alexei began to protest, but seeing as the effort of lifting his head from the pillow proved almost too much for him, he stopped talking and concentrated on staying alive.

“Go on,” Peter told Dante, rather royally.

The act of attempting to spoon-feed his best friend in the world a bowl of broth did not seem to diminish his arrogance one whit.

“I’m going to school,” Dante continued. “Back to school.”

“You are not ready,” Alexei said, suddenly worried. “Peter, Valentine, talk sense into the boy.”

Dante had been forced to leave Oxford in the middle of the term last spring, on account of his almost dying. Toomuch opium and too little studying could prove deadly. Nearly had, in his case.

“I daresay I am not ready,” Dante agreed, “but then again, I don’t know when I shall ever be. These days we spent in this room, watching you di—”

Valentine coughed and Dante swallowed the rest of his word.

Exactly how many days have they been here for?Alexei wondered.Watching me die?

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