Page 56 of The Devil's Trials
“Don’t call my dad, Noah.”
“Fine, I won’t. But tell me what you want to eat.”
I pry my eyes open, squinting at him. “Are you going to hand feed it to me, too?”
He laughs, then pats my leg and stands, leaving his book on the chair. “I’m going to make you some toast. Try to stay awake for the next five minutes, yeah?”
I stifle a yawn. “No promises.”
I spend the next few days in bed, sleeping on and off for hours at a time. My dad stopped by to bring food yesterday. I couldn’t avoid him finding out I was sick when he texted and asked me to come over for dinner. I guess I could’ve lied, but I felt like I’d done enough of that lately and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere good.
After managing to stomach a piece of toast with peanut butter, I take a heavy dose of cough syrup and a painkiller for my headache, then doze back off.
I haven’t been able to kick this wicked fever, and the sweats and chills happening at the same time have to be the worst part.
I’m not sure how long I manage to stay asleep this time, and when I open my eyes, my vision is blurry. Noah is sitting on the end of my bed, and—wait, no…I blink until the dark figure comes into focus. I must still be asleep, because it isn’t Noah sitting there.
It’s Xander.
Too many thoughts attempt to process at once, making my already fuzzy head inundated with static. I squeeze my eyes shut and—
“I’m here,mo shíorghrá.” His voice is soft, and the bed shifts as he moves closer. “Open your eyes.”
I blink until his face is clear, swallowing against the fire in my throat. “What…are you doing here?” My voice is low and hoarse, my temples still pounding with pressure. Even if I wanted to throw him out, there’s zero chance I have the strength. I barely have the energy to force myself into a sitting position.
His gaze stays locked on my face. “Harper told me you were sick.”
I frown, reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand and downing half of it. “I didn’t realize the two of you were on speaking terms.”
He inhales through his teeth. “More or less.”
Setting the glass down, I look his way again and say, “You didn’t need to come.”
Xander lowers his gaze, his shoulders rising and falling with a sigh, as if his being here is as hard for him as it is for me. “I did. I had to know…that you were okay.”
I ignore the way his words kick up my pulse as I cling to my mask of indifference. “Never better.”
“Camille—”
“Why didn’t you use that dreamscape trick again? I’ve been sleeping more than I’ve been awake.”
“I just needed to see you. For real.”
My eyes narrow. “How did you even get in here?”
“I stopped at the office in the lobby and got a key from the building manager. Nice guy.”
I have a feeling he didn’t just hand it over willingly, but I don’t have the energy to push that line of questioning. “You don’t get to just show up here. Or show up in my dreams. It’s not fair.” I turn my face away, coughing into my shoulder until my temples are throbbing again.
“I know,” he says once the room is silent. “You deserve so much more than what I’ve given you. More than I could ever give you. But when Harper said that you were sick and Noah would look after you, something in me snapped.” Xander shifts closer, and my breath catches when his hand lands on my knee over the blankets.
The butterflies I thought were long dead flutter to life in my stomach as I watch Xander’s thumb brush back and forth. Even with layers of fabric between our skin, I feel him like I’ve felt no one else. He’s ingrained in me somehow—I think he always will be.
“That sounds awfully like jealousy,” I point out, feeling far too glib about it. I’m going to blame the fever.
His lips twitch. “Feels like it too, and I don’t much care for it.”
“I thought losing the human part of you would change things.”
