Page 275 of Alchemised
“I’m here. What’s wrong?” She numbed his hand, setting his fingers quickly.
His eyes had gone out of focus, and he started shuddering. “Out—” he moaned, shaking his head. “Inside—”
She pressed her hand against his forehead, ignoring the way his skin scalded her hand, letting her resonance flow into him, trying to find the source of what was wrong. What was she missing?
“Hel—” Luc was saying again.
Pain exploded through her chest.
The world went careening, spinning. Vicious red burst across her vision, slamming into the back of her head. An endless ringing filled her ears.
She struggled to focus her eyes. She couldn’t breathe.
She clutched at her chest. Noises were elongated. Faces loomed over her.
Something grabbed her. She gave a panicked scream, going for her knives, but they weren’t there. She clawed wildly to free herself.
“Calm down, Marino,” Matron Pace was saying. “You’re all right, just a bad scare. Knocked your breath out.”
The raw terror ebbed. The room came slowly back into view.
She was on the floor, breathing raggedly, pain consuming her chest as she tried to make sense of what had happened.
Luc was on the other side of the room. His expression had turned scorchingly lucid.
“You—” His eyes were suddenly clear and burning. “You used necromancy on Soren.”
The accusation hung in the air like the lull between lightning and thunder.
Everyone froze.
Helena pushed herself upright.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, struggling to speak. Her lungs were seizing for air, sending jolts of pain through her ribs. She knelt and almost doubled over on the floor of the hospital. “I tried to heal him. I’m sorry.”
“He was alive. Why didn’t you just heal him?” Luc’s voice was racked with grief.
She couldn’t breathe enough to explain herself, to describe how quickly Soren was gone, that he’d known he’d die, and that he’d asked her to do it.
“I’m sorry, Luc.”
“Get out …” He wasn’t looking at her anymore. His gaze lost focus, and he swayed.
“Luc, you’re sick—”
“Get out!” He closed his eyes, starting to shudder again, his breathing coming faster and faster as if being in the same room with her was about to drive him mad. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
He started clawing at his chest, screaming, tearing grooves into his skin as if trying to tear his own heart out.
“Luc?” another voice broke in.
Lila stood in the doorway, a crutch under one arm. Rhea was beside her, helping her walk.
The scars on Lila’s face and chest showed vividly where she was stitched together.
Luc’s eyes shot open at the sound of her voice.
“Lila …” he said, his voice both grief-stricken and filled with relief, as if he hadn’t believed she was still alive until that moment.
