Page 45 of Cherish

Hudson does as he asks, pushing the door open and standing aside so Jaxon can be the first in the room. But he only makes it a couple of steps before letting out a pained cry—one that has Flint and me rushing into the room right behind him.

I want to comfort Jaxon, but my first glance at Mekhi wipes everything but total and abject terror out of my head.

25

In Need of

a Revamp

Asleep on an enormous four-poster bed, Mekhi looks like a ghost—or worse, like a shadow of his former self.

His normally rich brown skin has turned an unhealthy gray color, as if the poison creeping through his veins is slowly turning him into one of the very shadows that sought to destroy him.

Even the locs around his face—usually so well taken care of—are growing out.

And he’s swimming in his clothes, the outline of his shoulder and collar bones in sharp relief against the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

Even worse, his breathing is as fast and shallow as a pneumonia patient’s.

Panic rips through me, along with a desperate need for denial. This isn’t Mekhi. Not fun, full-of-life, friendly Mekhi.

Please don’t let this be Mekhi.

But it is, clearly.

Just enough of his former self remains for me to recognize him. And it breaks my heart.

I’m not the only one. Eden shrieks when she sees him, a high-pitched, terrified sound that is like nothing I’ve heard come from her before. Flint starts swearing, low and long and vicious. And Jaxon—Jaxon is beside himself, pacing the room and muttering, wild-eyed.

“Why didn’t she tell us?” Jaxon demands, his voice little more than a hiss now. “We thought he was safe in Descent.”

“She did tell us,” I say softly. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Too late,” he snarls, and I can’t even argue with him. Because I thought Mekhi was okay these last few months, too. Not great, obviously, but not like this—this person hasn’t had their metabolism slowed for months. This person, asleep or not, has continued to be ravaged by shadow poison.

“We never would have let him get to this point if we’d known,” Jaxon continues bitterly. “It’s like Descent didn’t slow a damn thing down.”

Flint moves to Mekhi’s bedside, grabbing a blanket from the bottom of the bed and pulling it over the vampire, who is shivering and muttering incoherently in his sleep.

“Do you think we can even get him to the Shadow Realm?” I ask the question that’s been eating at my insides from the moment we walked into this room. “Because he doesn’t look like—”

“Oh, we’ll get him there,” Jaxon says. “I’ll carry him the whole way if I have to. I just hope you’re right and the Shadow Realm slows the poison.”

“We still have to get him to the Witch Court first,” Eden points out, and the tough-as-nails dragon looks frightened in a way I’ve never seen her before.

Heather notices and moves to her side, but before any of us can propose how to move him, there’s a loud knock on the door.

It startles me, has my back tightening and my heart beating fast as I whirl toward the door. I know it’s silly, know Cyrus is locked up thousands of miles away and can’t hurt us anymore. But being here—even with the changes Hudson has made—gives me the creeps.

I’m afraid it always will.

Though I try to hide my reaction, Hudson sees it. He stiffens for a second, too, then fades to the door in a blink.

As he passes me, I feel the faint brush of his hand over my curls. It’s not much, but it’s the reassurance I need to relax just a little bit—and to remember that there is no longer anyone or anything to fear here.

Hudson opens the door, and I get a glimpse of the two men who were guarding the room earlier. Then he steps into the hall and pulls the door partially closed behind him.

It obscures my view of the two men but does nothing to stop me from hearing their conversation. One guard vaguely mentions a meeting for a couple of matters Hudson needs to take care of. He tries brushing the guards off, but they’re insistent. Apparently, these matters have been needing his attention for a while now.

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