Page 45 of The Tallest Tower (Underbelly Enchanted)

“Do you need to be sick, Christabelle?” Finally giving up on giving her space, I lie on my back beside her, and pull her closer until her cheek rests near my heart, and her breath, sweet and candy-ish, touches my tongue. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”

11

FELIX

I FUCKED UP

Somewhere around midnight, Christabelle begins vomiting. Her eyes water, and her belly rejects every last morsel of food she’s consumed in, perhaps, ever.

She’s in pain. Barely lucid. Too weak to get up and go to the bathroom to clean up.

Around two in the morning, she begs to be put out of her misery. Pleads tearfully to die. To leave this world.

The woman who demanded freedom hours ago, now asks to die right here in my bedroom.

“Micah!” I hold the bucket beneath her face, supporting her body with my other hand so she doesn’t simply slump over and choke on her vomit. “Micah!” I shoot a look to my closed door and pray he’ll hear me. My phone is on the floor, and getting it would require me to let Christabelle go. “Malone!”

“What?” He charges through the door still dressed, like he’s yet to go to bed, but when he finds us lying in Christabelle’s mess, his eyes widen. “What the fuck, Lix.” Stunned, he watches as she wretches and attempts to rid her body of whatever poison is in it, but there’s nothing left in her stomach to expel. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” I spare another glance for my phone on the floor beforeswinging back to support Christabelle. “Get that for me. I’ve gotta call Mayet.”

“It’s late in Copeland, Lix.” But he stalks forward and sweeps up the device, checking the screen, and gulping when he finds what I know are multiple missed calls.

I’ve been listening to the damn thing for hours as it vibrated to the same beat as Christabelle’s illness, but it was out of reach, and I was simply unwilling to leave my charge’s side.

“Fuuuuck.” He unlocks my screen without asking for the password. “Mayet tried to call you.” He hits dial on her name and sets the phone on speaker, holding it between us as the other end rings. “Like, thirty times, man. You didn’t answer?”

“I couldn’t! I’ve been busy. Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit.” I shove the bucket closer again and rub a hand along Christabelle’s back. “This isn’t a normal bug. This is bad.”

“Felix!” Minka bursts onto the line fully alert, not asleep like I expected her to be. “She’s in DKA!”

“What?” I set the bucket on the floor and tug Christabelle across my lap. “What does that even mean? Where are you?”

“Driving onto your property now. Faster, Archer. You said she’s drinking a lot of water,” she says to me. “Sleepy. Nauseous. Barely eating, and what she is eating is meat and cheese. And you told Archer her breath smelled sweet?”

“No, I…” I look down at the unconscious woman in my arms and bring my nose closer to her lips. “What?”

“She’s diabetic!” A door slamming echoes not only through the phone, but through my still-open balcony doors. “She’s Type 1, Felix.Everyoneknows that about Christabelle Cannon!” She crashes into something hard—our front door, maybe—then stops with a grunt. “Archer!”

“I’m coming.” Gravel and dirt shift beneath his feet. Breath panting. Keys jangling, then the front door opening so my phone, and Micah’s, beep with a security alert. “Where are you, Lix?”

“In my bedroom.” Still cradling Christabelle in my arms, I shove up from the bed, like I think I can run her to safety. “You’re here?”

“On our way up now.” The call cuts to silence, but the thundering of footsteps on the stairs fills the space left behind.

I move toward my bedroom door, circling Micah when he peeks over to look down at the woman covered in my shirt and her own stomach bile, then I step into the hall and shudder when Archer and Minka crest the top of the stairs and sprint our way.

Behind them, Cato stops and studies the scene laid out before him, his green eyes partially covered by his moppy black hair.

“Lay her down!” Minka reaches me with a skid, her perfume and natural scent blasting into my lungs, but her hands and eyes are completely and totally for Christabelle. “Shit.” She grabs Christabelle’s hand, while Archer carries bags and steers us across the hall, into the bedroom that was once Tim’s.

Minka takes out a small device, much like the one that fell on my floor from Christabelle’s purse, and pricks the tip of Cannon’s finger, while Archer throws Tim’s door open and tosses his gear down like he’s moving in.

“What are you doing, Minka?” My voice shakes… which is a completely foreign concept for a guy like me. A guy whose entire existence stems from depravity and violence, and not once in my thirty-four years has anything gotten better. “And why are you in New York?”

“Because I tried to call you!” She squeezes blood from the end of Christabelle’s finger, the action, while reasonably nonviolent, enough to make my heart twist. “I tried to call you so many times, Lix! Why didn’t you answer?”

“I was busy!” Anger makes my blood boil, but Archer guides me to the bed, his touch gentle and direct, like he knows I need it. “She’s been throwing up.”

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