Page 74 of Touched By Sin
Almost suffocating.
A deafening void.
I climb over a broken log, slimy between my bare thighs, and pieces of rotten bark come away beneath my nails.
Aurelia…
My breath catches in my throat when a light flicks on behind the door and floods through the gap at the bottom. Then it shifts as if there’s someone on the other end.
I backpedal a step, and the log behind me connects with the backs of my ankles. I fall backward—my dress snagging on a thin branch—and when I sit up, a piece of fabric has been torn from my dress. It’s stuck to the branch like a quivering leaf, but that’s not what’s got my attention. I’m bleeding profusely from a deep, throbbing cut on my thigh.
“Fuck,” I whimper, touching my fingers to the slippery blood. It’s too dark to see how deep the wound is. Climbing to my feet, I leave a trail of dripping blood behind as I hobble closer to the door. The wound stings with every step. An icy yet burning pain.
I come to a stop in front of the door, staring at the chipped red wood and the wrought-iron key. It’s old, as if time itself is carved into the metal. Reaching out, I trace the unique bow design with the tips of my fingers.
Aurelia…
I pause, retracting my trembling hand. Nothing else happens, so I reach back out. My fingers grip the end and turn it slowly.
It clicks.
Holding my breath, I shift on my feet, steeling myself as I slowly push down on the handle. The sliver of light floods over my bare feet and ankles, growing larger and climbing up the muddied fabric of my skirt.
My eyes flyopen and I shoot up, my gaze darting around the bedroom. I’m in Alaric’s bed. The breeze from the open window whips through the curtains, and the single sconce on the wall beside the door is lit up, the flame flickering angrily.
Alaric’s side of the bed is empty. I shift my legs beneath the quilt but wince in pain when the damp sheet slides over my thighs.
The dream…
My heart starts racing. I strike a match and light the bedside candle before kicking my legs out from underneath the quilt. Now that I know something is wrong, the pain is an insistent throbbing.
As I slide the torn black dress higher up my thigh, my eyes widen. Blood trickles from the wound, soaking the sheets. The gash is deep enough that I can see the stark white of my bone.
My palm flies up to my mouth, and my other hand presses down on my thigh to stop the bleeding. It doesn’t work. Warm, slippery blood seeps between my fingers as panic swells within me.
In a flash, I’m out of bed, hobbling downstairs and wincing with every step on the staircase. Behind me is a trail of scarlet and bloody footprints. Feeling dizzy, I flatten my hand on the stone wall to steady myself. I don’t know if it’s because I’m losing blood or breathing too hard.
“Alaric? Daemon?” My mouth is dry and I swallow before croaking, “Ronan?” I grip the handrail as I descend the stairs, leaving a bloodied handprint behind on the wall. By the time I reach the landing, my stomach churns with nausea.
“Oh, God,” I whimper, falling back against the cold wall to steady myself. I’m losing blood too fast. The ends of my wings dragging behind me on the floor are smeared scarlet. My baby feathers don’t look so cute now. Bending over, I tear the hem of my skirt, and the ripping sound is loud in the quiet hallway. I quickly tie it tightly around the upper half of my thigh with slippery fingers. Then I straighten up, dragging in steadying breaths.
What the fuck am I doing? Where are the others? “Daemon?” I call out again, stumbling forward. “Ronan?”
When I round the corner, I finally hear voices. The relief I feel has me toppling to the ground. I sit up, lifting my skirt to inspect the wound. Why won’t it stop bleeding? I release a pathetic sob, and the voices in the kitchen fall silent.
Heavy footsteps sound on the floor. Alaric stumbles through the door first, followed by the others. They stare at me wide-eyed before taking in the blood on the floor and walls. Daemon shoulders past the others. “Fuck, Alaric. You shouldn’t have left her alone.”
My head feels heavy. I can barely hold it up. Boots appear in my vision and Daemon crouches down, parting the curtain of hair in front of my eyes. His fingers stroke over my cheek. “My little angel?”
I smile weakly, but even that’s an effort.
After standing back up, he bends down to scoop me up in his arms. “What happened this time?” The sconces on the walls burn brighter as we pass.
“I tripped over a log.”
“You’re very accident-prone in your dreams.”
“I’m sorry.”
