Chapter Twenty Three
Ara
Istirred awake surrounded by warmth, noting the morning sunlight through closed eyes.
Taking a deep breath, my eyes cracked open and I froze. This was not my room.
An arm tightened around my waist, pulling me back. My breathing hitched and quickened. Looking down, Rogue’s arm was wrapped around me with a wing thrown over my hip, enveloping me in his warmth.
My eyes snapped open wide, swollen and irritated, reminding me of the night before.
Grief stole my breath as guilt sank its claws in, sinking into my bones and rooting itself in my soul. It felt as if my chest was caving in under the weight and pain. My shoulders slumped around me.
The sunlight in the room darkened as a storm rolled in outside.
My mother.
Her sweet face echoed throughout my mind and I couldn’t stop imagining it as Evander… As he killed her. Because of me.
I needed to move. To get out of here. To breathe.
Peeking over my shoulder, I made sure Rogue was still asleep and carefully removed his arm, sliding out from under his wing.
As I stood, my hand went to my side in anticipation, but there was no pain. Shocked, I lifted my shirt to find the wound already closed and scabbed over. Someone must have applied the healing salve after I fell asleep. I glanced at the nightstand, noting the small container. The same one he’d used in the Cursed Wood.
Clenching my jaw, I moved toward the door but paused at the edge of the bed, glancing back and studying him for a moment. Part of me wanted to wake him so I wouldn’t be alone, but the other part of me—the deep, guilt-ridden, disgusted part of myself—wanted to leave and hide and never face anyone again. Never speak to anyone of anything again.
He sighed, rolling on his back. My breath caught in my throat, but he remained asleep. My gaze lingered on his bare chest, tracing the scar that stretched across his abdomen.
Orphans. We are orphans. Both raised by men who wished us dead.
My eyes burned with tears as I stared and heavy rain released from the clouds, filling the room with a dull roar.
I knew if I woke him, he would hold me and assure me it wasn’t my fault. He would wipe my tears and try to make me feel less alone, less burdened.
How odd it was. My stranger turned kidnapper turned…
I jerked my face away and strode to the door on numb legs.
Stepping out of his room, I closed the door quietly behind me and stared into the hallway, unsure of where to go. I had spent my entire time here preparing to return home to my mother, and now she was gone. My father hated me. Evander, not my father.
He killed her. He tried to kill me.
I have nowhere to go. No one to go to.
My head dipped to my trembling hands as they knotted into the hair at my temples, attempting to control my spiraling thoughts. The sorrow weighed on my chest, so tight, so heavy, I couldn’t breathe anymore. I was tired of breathing, tired of having to force the breath into my lungs. For so long. Through so much pain. I cried out and dropped to my knees on the stone floor, curling in on myself.
No one.
Nowhere.
No one.
I wrapped my arms around my torso, holding myself together as if I could stop my heart from breaking into pieces on the floor. A sob escaped me, followed by another and another, echoing down the hall. It was never-ending, the grief. It was an ocean, sucking me under and threatening to drown me.
Strong arms wrapped around me, lifting and carrying me back into the room. He kicked the door shut behind us and walked to the chair by the window. Sitting, he cradled me in his lap with a hand on my back, just as he had the night before in the library.
I almost allowed myself to settle into him, but I wasn’t ready.