Page 64 of Bullied Pretend Mate
Maeve crouches, lifting my head into her lap, leaning down, placing the lightest kiss to my lips, like she’s afraid every touch might cause me pain.
“Felix,” she cries, running her hand over my hair. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Please, just—just hold on, okay?”
I open my mouth and try to speak, and the first attempt comes out as a dry rasp. On the second try, I finally manage, “Will you still love me if I’m no longer beautiful?”
But this time, she doesn’t laugh. She just cries harder as the black descends, and I’m lost to the abyss.
Chapter 31 - Maeve
Maybe it’s stupid, but the moment I thought Felix was going to die, I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
Even if that meant staying in Silverville.
Now, I sit next to his bed, like I have for the past two weeks, eyes darting over to him every time I think I imagine movement. Valerie, Phina, and I did our best with healing magic, working through the night to the point of exhaustion.
While in Los Angeles, I’d only used enough of my magic to keep it from itching my skin. I was never as strong as Phina or Aurela, and a little flick of the wrist here or there kept me sane.
But that meant when it came time to try to save Felix, and I was pushing everything I had into him, there just wasn’t much there.
I pushed every ounce of healing magic I had into his body. Then, when that was gone, I reached for more, scraping at the bottom of the barrel, drawing up something from nothing until it felt like I was pulling from my own soul.
And I would. I’d give it to him.
But Phina wrapped her arms around me, pulling me back, trying to be soothing until I fought against her a little too hard, and she used her magic to push me back into a chair, forcing me to be still.
Breathing hard, pushing her hair out of her face, she said, “You think Felix did all that just so you could kill yourself to try and save him?”
After that, I was more careful, focusing on one burn at a time, trying to heal each as deeply as I could. Even aftereverything looked fine again on the outside, Felix was still unconscious, lying still in his bed, like he was only sleeping.
Phina and Valerie have alternated coming over, taking turns pushing more healing into him. One day, while Valerie is over, she tells me about the time Lachlan was burned by the daemon fire.
“I’d just learned how to heal,” she says, her voice soft. “I was terrified I was going to hurt him. But Phina told me the daemon energy would just dig deeper and deeper. That it wouldn’t stop eating at him until we got it out.”
I stare at Felix, swallowing, setting a hand on him to see if I can feel any of the daemon energy still inside him.
“It smelled horrible,” Valerie says, working steadily, her hands glowing a soft pink as she runs them over Felix’s chest. “When Lachlan was burning. Sometimes, I still wake up, smelling it. Felix actually threw up that day when he saw how bad Lach was.”
We laugh together, but it dies quickly when Felix isn’t able to laugh along with us.
“He’s going to be fine,” Valerie says, laying a hand on mine before she turns and grabs her bag. “I have to get back to the baby, but I’ll be back on Wednesday, okay?”
I nod, sitting back down, forcing myself to stay busy.
Since that night with Tara, I’ve been meeting with my therapist again, and she helped me realize I need to stay focused on something other than Felix. It’s not like staring at him all day is going to help him heal faster.
As she’s a human therapist, it’s not like I could tell her that I am actually capable of healing him with my magic, butwe did get close enough with a conversation about taking from yourself and giving to others.
I pick up the piece I was working on when Valerie got here, some hand-stitching I need to do around some of the pieces, just to make sure they’re as high-quality as possible. It’s been soothing, methodical, reminding me of what I like about creating pieces by hand.
Some of my friends in Los Angeles got my fabric and machines, forwarding them to Silverville for me. I’m set to finish the pieces next week and send them over the week after that.
And when—
“Hey.”
At first, I think I’ve imagined it, like all the times I imagined his voice before, but when I look up at the end of my row of stitches, Felix is looking over at me, his head lolled to the side, and an easy, slow smile on his face.
“Felix,” I breathe, setting down the sewing a little too hard, rising to my feet, moving closer to him even though I’m already at his bedside. “Oh, gods, Felix, I—”
