Page 112 of Of Rime and Ruin
Shit.
I stagger and clutch my ribs, dropping the toast. My skin itches and crawls beneath dry, puckered scabs. I rub at the gauze, unsatisfied. The itch intensifies. I rip through the gauze, tearingit from my body. With a fingernail, I slip beneath the edge of my scab. My eyelids flutter closed.So itchy.
I dig harder. Deeper. My nails collect dry scales beneath them. I drop to my knees, relishing the sweet sting of relief.So fucking itchy.
An iron scent fills the air. I tear my hands away and stare at them. There’s blood under my nails. My stomach twists. What is wrong with me? Am I so fucking bored that making myselfbleedsounded like fun?
I scrunch my eyes tight and swallow my pride.
“Perrin!” I groan.
The door flies open. “Nahla?”
Light pierces in from the hallway, and I raise my hand to block it from my straining eyes. Perrin crutches toward me as quickly as he can manage. Crouching on the floor, he inspects my hands with gentle fingers and frowns as he rotates my wrist and presses two fingers into my pulse.
“Shit, Nahla, what did you do to yourself?” His gaze lands on the discarded toast, butter-down on the rug. The torn gauze.
“You can’t be saying that shit,” I say. “You’re a Frost Guard.”
He shoots me a look. “You’re bleeding, and you’re worried about my vocabulary? You’re just as bad as Aunt Deirdre, I swear to the goddess.”
“I got… itchy.” Blush creeps up my neck, hot. I’m a mess. No wonder Aethan doesn’t want me.
Tears flood my lower eyelids, beading beneath my vision. Perrin pulls me into a hug, tucking me against his chest. He smells of leather and salt and sweat.
“Aw, Nahla. Don’t cry on me,” he murmurs. “This is my good uniform.”
Too fucking late, Perrin. The pressure in my chest builds and bursts. My tears bubble over, and I hiccup as a sob trembles through me. How embarrassing.
He pats my back awkwardly.
I sob harder. My fingers twist into his uniform, smearing blood. He lets me cry for a while, sitting there like he’s made of stone while my tears and blood stain his shirt.
I don’t know why I’m crying. Maybe it’s the boredom of the past few days in captivity. Maybe it’s the residual sting of Aethan’s rejection. Or maybe I’m sick of this whole damn show. I want to gohome.
I shouldn’t even be here.
The old way-maker, Keen, told me to make a life for myself, and this is where I ended up. Bawling on the floor over a little cracked scab. I’d be better off married to that damn Coral Prince.
“Should I fetch Lucas?” Perrin whispers. “For the bleeding?”
I release his shirt and nod, sniffing the snot back into my nose. “Okay.”
Perrin gives me one more awkward pat, then slinks out of the room, leaving me once again alone.
Alone.
The tears build again, hot and angry.Fuck you, Aethan. Fuck your castle. Fuck your hot fucking chocolate. Your snowbears, your staff, and your overstuffed pillows. And fuck me the worst, for wanting it all to be mine.
Chapter forty-six
Aethan
Iamaworthlesscloud of whaleshit.
I remember everything. My mental fog is gone. The Beast’s memories play on repeat like a guppy’s carousel for the past three days—Nahla’s face, Nahla’s body, books falling, the bliss, then the urge. The fucking animalisticurge. It’s all I can think about.
The bodies are piling up. Two more dead in the past three days. I’m losing control, and my subjects are dying. Because of me.
