“Lachlan.” His name was but a soft whisper from her cracked lips. Struggling with the weight of her lids, it took a few minutes before she opened her eyes fully. Once a little more alert, she blinked rapidly as her gaze darted around the room. “Lachlan.”
“I’m here.” He towered over her, yet she failed to notice his large frame.
She raised her hand; tentative fingers touched his arm, patted nervously at his chest. “It is so dark in here,” she said.
He glanced at the various candles illuminating the room. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
“Am I dead?”
A weak chuckle fell from his lips: an expression of relief as there was nothing amusing about the situation. “No, my love. You are very much alive.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers.
“Then why is it so … so dark?”
Ivana moved closer, waved her hand in front of Isla’s face as she studied her eyes. She shot back. The shock on Ivana’s face caused a feeling of dread to grasp him by the throat and squeeze.
Lachlan stared at Ivana and raised a questioning brow.
The lady shook her head in reply, yet he had no idea what that meant.
“The recovery process can be long and exhausting,” Ivana said. She sat on the edge to the bed, took Isla’s hand and stroked it affectionately. “It is not dark in here, but your eyes are yet to heal fully.”
Isla gasped, tugged her hand from Ivana’s to touch her eyes, her face. “I cannot see. Everything is dark.” She pulled and prodded her lids, blinked too many times to count. “Help me, Lachlan. Help me to
sit up.”
“Is that wise?” His words of caution conveyed his conflicting emotions: relief tinged with fear and anguish. “Should you not rest a little longer?”
She put her hand to her throat and shook her head. “No. My throat feels gritty and I … I need to drink.”
Ivana’s bottom lip quivered, and she asked, “Water? Do you need water?”
It occurred to him that she feared Isla would still crave blood.
“Yes,” Isla gasped. “I need water.”
They both took an arm and helped Isla to sit up. Ivana plumped the pillows to support her head while he brought the pitcher and glass. Trying to keep his hand steady he filled the tumbler, only spilling a drop.
“Shall I hold it to your lips?” he asked. Putting the pitcher on the side table, he sat next to her on the bed.
“Put it in my hand.”
He did as she asked but her trembling fingers forced him to cover her hand to help guide the glass. She made no objection but sipped the liquid slowly until she had drained the vessel dry.
“Do you remember anything of the last few hours?” Ivana asked.
Isla’s frown turned into a grimace. “Just that … it was so terrible. I have never experienced such pain. It … it was like being stabbed with skewers whilst being cooked alive.” She shook her head vigorously. “Please, I do not want to speak of it. I do not want to remember.”
Lachlan placed the empty glass next to the pitcher. “And how do you feel now?” He drew his hand roughly down his face but suppressed a sigh. Watching the cure do its work had been torturous.
She contemplated his question. “Still a little weak but the burning pain has subsided.” She looked at a point beyond his shoulder, her pretty blue eyes flitting back and forth as she struggled to focus. “Will … will I regain my sight?”
He caught Ivana’s grim expression, and she said, “I’m sure it will just be a matter of time. While you grew new teeth to cope with the consequences of the affliction, your eyes would have suffered under the strain whenever you changed.”
He watched helplessly as a tear ran down Isla’s cheek. “Perhaps it is the price I must pay for lying with a devil.”
“No!” Ivana cried. “You must not say that. Never say that. You just need to rest for a while longer.”
A light rap on the door disturbed them. Ivana went to investigate. She slipped out into the hallway for a time before returning with Leo.