Page 61 of Dark OZ

I’d awoken from my own drugged-out coma two days before she did and was lucid long enough to earn a front-row seat for the full weight of her hallucinations. The Morphan had done a number on her mind.

Dorothy’s tiny body bowed over and over, as though she’d been possessed, and the demon was twisting her spine into knots. It had taken both Nick and Crowe to restrain her as she clawed at whatever invisible foe was attacking her.

I’d thought the cries from when Nick had patched her lacerated back were haunting, but those panicked and fear-driven screams would plague my nightmares for a long,longtime.

Crowe refused to sleep, choosing instead to drink a straight feed of coffee and spend hours sitting in the uncomfortable dining chair beside the bed. Nick offered to watch over her. Shit, even I tried to talk him into sleeping, but he refused to let me give him the bed, even though I could see how badly he needed to hold her. He was really beating himself up over the entire scenario, assuming full responsibility. But it wasn’t his fault.

Orin-Oz damn-Berret, on the other hand, earned himself an excruciatingly drawn-out death. I would make him suffer for every single second of her torment. The long hours watching her sleep were giving me plenty of time to fantasize about all the creative ways to end him. My favorite at the moment was by dosing him with small increments of Morphan. Just enough to make him feel the paralyzing fear but not enough to kill him. Especially now that we knew what to administer to pull him back from death. I’d play into each of his hallucinations, taking my pound of flesh one strip at a time. When he came to, I’d just dose him again. I’d make him holler, and scream, and beg for deliverance—just like she had. When he was good and truly broken, that’s when I’d let her have the killing blow because she deserved that much. I would give her that. Some men gave flowers. I would give my girl revenge.

Crowe was slumped on the side of the bed, finally succumbing to exhaustion. Good thing, too. I needed him at one hundred percent. One of his hands was draped protectively over Dorothy’s hip. I let out a long, slow breath. He was falling hard, something I had never seen him do before. He never so much as looked at a woman a second time, much less looked after one. The grief in his eyes these past few days had been genuine. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Because she definitely had her hooks in me, and from the way Nick was hovering in the shadows, I knew he wasn’t far behind. Even if that hollow chest of his would never let him admit it.

I didn’t know what it was about Dorothy, but she was unraveling my crew one strand at a time. What would happen once we were finally undone?

The crease between her brows returned, and I smoothed it away—again. Oz damn, she was beautiful. I couldn’t stop gazing at her. There wasn’t a word large enough to explain how thoroughly ensnared I was. I’d laid for hours memorizing the slope of her nose, the long spray of lashes, the tiny freckles dusting the bridge of her nose like stars in the night sky. Everything about her was like she’d been sculpted, right down to the divot of her Cupid’s bow. She wasn’t just perfect. She was what perfection dreamed about when it closed its eyes. It made my soul ache just to look at her.

I leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to her pouting lips. Just enough to feel the warmth of emotion bleed into my chest. In a moment of honesty I never allowed myself, I acknowledged it for what it was—love.

For the first time since I was a child, I didn’t hide. I would never do that again. We’d almost lost her, and she would have gone to the grave thinking I loathed her or, at best, was indifferent. And that…that was unacceptable.

After I fully regained consciousness, Crowe told me the full story of that night. Dorothy died. There was no other way to describe it. This tragically beautiful fallen angel had died. Her wild heart stopped for two full minutes.

That knowledge alone had torn out what little was left of the selfish prick. In the void he left behind, it was filled only with the images and sounds of her. What would I do when she really woke up? When she went back to pushing buttons and starting fires. Would I fight back, or would I kneel before her in submission? I honestly didn’t know. No, that was a lie. I knew exactly what I would do.

I kissed her again, this time firmer, drawing the bow of her lips between mine. Her lashes fluttered, and slowly, her mouth responded, moving in time with me. Not wanting to make this more than it needed to be or to cloud the emotion with lust, I pulled back. Her eyes were a deep sea green when they met mine, a color I’d never really seen in them before. Or maybe I’d never taken the time to study them so intently.

She mouthed, “Hi.”

“Hi.” I laced my hand into hers, settling them between us. Careful not to wake Crowe in the process, I shifted so that my other hand slid beneath her pillow. Her head dropped to rest on my shoulder, peering up at me through her dark lashes.

“Have you been awake this whole time?” She sounded rough but so much better than yesterday when she first awoke.

“For a while. I’ve found that I quite like watching you sleep. Especially without the nightmares.”

That crease returned as she processed what I was saying, and my new habit showed itself. I released her hand, running my thumb over it. She closed her eyes and sighed. The tension in her body ebbed away. I preened. Had I unconsciously trained her body to react to that touch? Why did I like that so much?

When those heavy lids opened again, they landed on the thin red lines circling my wrist. They were still a bit raw. Shortly after I had regained functionality of my limbs, I began throwing punches. So, Nick had hog-tied me in the car. Hearing the full story of how I’d gone straight for Crowe, I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t take any chances.

“What did you dream of?” she asked quietly.

I’d been wondering the exact same thing. What was it that was making her scream with such abject terror? Did she need to know that she hadn’t suffered alone? Was that why she was asking?

“My sisters.” I smoothed my palm up and down her arm. It had been such a long time since I’d needed anyone’s touch. I needed hers like a shark needed the ocean. “On the last day I ever saw them.”

“Tell me.”

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart hammered against my ribs. I’d never told anyone, not even the guys. But after reliving it so many times this week, I needed to share it with someone and sever the chain that was holding me down. I wanted the weight of this guilt gone. I was tired of drowning in it, of feeling like a coward.

“The Farm killed my mother.” Dorothy’s eyes widened, then glazed with the icy recognition of what that meant. Of what she must represent to me. I was still having a hard time reconciling the girl who made my heart twist with the villain I’d spent my life loathing. To prove it to myself, I kissed her again. Not with the aggression still looming beneath the surface, but with the tenderness that I’d locked away long ago.

“Emily Rosen’s Wolves took my sisters in a raid, all three of them…” Long seconds of pure silence passed before I added, “…and me.”

She nodded. In her lifetime, she’d probably seen more doomed souls pass through the Farm’s dusty gates than she could count.

“How old were you?”

“Eleven. Before you ask, I never went to The Farm’s main compound. I ended up in a Shifting Sands distribution center.”

The Farm had perfected their trucks to easily pass over the deserts ringing Oz and had made a literal killing on bringing inmerchandisefrom beyond the borders. Even the name, Cyclone Shipping, was a reference to the sandstorms the trucks kicked up during the passing. I knew that those centers were a waypoint on the route to The Farm’s main campus, and then again before the unlucky continued on to whoever had bought their lives out from under them.

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