Page 62 of City of the Lost
I peeled my lids back and the room came into focus. Pink and white and fluffy with three huge guys gathered around my bed. It was the beginning of a bad joke, and if I hadn’t felt like I’d been put through a grinder, I’d have probably come up with an apt punchline, but my stunning wit was on a mini hiatus because my body felt as if someone had gone at it with a steak tenderizer.
My gaze traveled from Noir’s lean, concerned face to Valance’s flushed, windblown one to Azren’s battle-scarred, jaw-ticking one.
“Is the wicked witch of the east dead?” My voice was an unflattering croak.
“Water,” Azren demanded. He cupped the back of my neck and lifted me gently.
A glass was pressed to my lips and cool water trickled down my throat. I winced. It hurt to swallow.
“There’s still a lot of healing to be done,” Noir said. “Internal injuries. I can help a little if you’ll permit me.”
Why was he looking at Azren?
Azren nodded, then looked down at me. “Will that be all right?”
“Sure.”
Azren eased me back down onto the pillow, then slipped his hand into mine before slipping off the mattress and kneeling by the side of my bed.
Noir took the spot Azren had vacated, perching on the edge of the mattress. “This may feel strange, Wila. If it hurts, tell me and I’ll stop.”
“It can’t be ... worse than ... already.” Oh, fuck. It hurt to talk. That fucker, Balen. My gaze traveled to Valance. “He dead?”
Valance’s nostrils flared. “Very. I destroyed the contract too. She can’t come for you.”
I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment to revel in that knowledge, ignoring the burn at the back of my nose. When I opened them, the guys were watching me tensely.
“Do it.”
Noir held his hands a couple of inches above my body and closed his eyes. A thousand fire ants began to feast on my flesh. I bit back a scream, arching up toward his fingers.
“Stop,” Azren ordered. “You’re hurting her.”
“No.” I squeezed Azren’s hand. “Finish it!”
Azren growled and the fire intensified until the scream erupted from me in a screech. The fire winked out, and my body dropped back onto the mattress. My clothes clung to me with perspiration, because heck, ladies don’t sweat.
Well, hello there, wit. You ready to come home?
“Wila? Wila, can you hear me?” Noir asked.
“Yeah. I feel ... better.”
Azren’s grip on my hand loosened a fraction and pleasant warmth seeped into my bones.
“She needs to rest,” Noir said.
“We need to understand how this—”
“Not now,” Azren snapped, cutting off Valance.
He was snapping at the prince? Dammit. Why had I closed my eyes?
Valance wasn’t having any of it, though. “You don’t own her, she’s my—”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“And you can’t discount it. I know what I felt.”
