Page 51 of Lucifer's Mirror
Her frown deepens.
“Is something wrong?” I ask. “Do you need anything else?”
“Shit,” she says. “You’re being nice. Too nice. I must be really sick. Like hovering at death’s door sick. Am I going to die?”
“No,” I growl. “I won’t let you fucking die.”
And I walk away.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I bend over and throw up.
Because I just don’t know if she’ll survive or not.
Chapter 24
Am I going to die? I think… maybe
Ifindmyselfstillfrowningas I watch him walk away. He’s got a great ass. I resist the urge to let out a wolf whistle, because that would be childish and sexist, and I’m neither. But I suppose I could blame it on blood loss and brandy.
The others reappear, except for Zayne. They all seem busy with something, but no one appears to expect me to contribute, which is just as well because I’m feeling more than a little pathetic and shaky. The wound is a constant ache that quickly turns into screaming agony if I move. So, I try not to.
Somebody places a pot on the fire, and I can soon smell the savory scent of yet more stew. I close my eyes and just let them get on with whatever they’re doing around me. It’s almost as though I’m not there; I’m not part of this. I’m dead already. I give myself a shake. But my head is swimming.
Khaosti brings me a bowl of stew and a plate with some bread. He studies me as he hands it to me, a frown on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. I try to eat, but while it’s been a long time since lunch and a lot has happened, I can’t get the food down. After a few minutes, I give up trying and place the bowl beside me, which earns me another worried frown from Khaosti.
There’s still no sign of Zayne, but a few minutes later, he stalks back into the camp. Khaosti has just refilled his bowl and is straightening. Zayne stalks across toward him, grabs his shoulder, and turns him around.
“You keep your hands off Amber,” he snarls.
Khaosti’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t respond. Then Zayne pulls back his arm and punches him on the chin. “And that’s for hitting me earlier. Bastard.”
Khaosti stumbles back, stew flying, but doesn’t go down.
For a moment, I think they’re going to fight, and I open my mouth to try and stop them. But Zayne steps back, and Khaosti holds up his hands, as if in mock surrender. For a second, they stare at each other; then Zayne turns around, picks up a bowl, fills it with stew, slumps down on the other side of me, and starts to eat. Khaosti does nothing; he just stands there for long moments. When it’s clear nothing else is going to happen, he gives a shrug, picks up his bowl, refills it, and takes a seat on the opposite side of the fire. I can feel his eyes watching me.
“Are you okay?” Zayne asks between mouthfuls.
“No,” I reply. “That thing ripped my bra. My only bra. I’m braless.”
Zayne sniggers, and his gaze lowers to my breasts. But there’s not a lot to see, so he goes back to eating.
Everyone is silent. I think we’re all weary, and I’m ready to sleep—or pass out. But there’s something I need to do first—it’s either that or pee myself. As I push myself up, clamping my teeth down on my lower lip, Zayne leaps to his feet and holds out his hand to me. I clasp his big, warm palm, and he pulls me gently to my feet. I’m sure everyone’s eyes are on me. Just how to make a girl feel self-conscious. I shuffle across the clearing with him, casting Khaosti a quick glance as I pass. He’s still watching me.
I head into a clump of bushes and tug free of Zayne. “I can take it from here.”
He grins. “You sure?”
“One hundred percent.” Though that’s not exactly true. My head is spinning, and it’s taking everything I’ve got to stay upright.
“Well, yell if you need anything.”
I actually manage okay and make it back with Zayne’s help.
As I collapse back onto my blanket, Khaosti hands me a mug. “To help you sleep.”
I take it with shaky hands, which he studies, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t comment but just walks away and sits back down where he can continue watching me.
I sniff. It’s more brandy, and a smile tugs at my lips. I could get to like this new, nice Khaosti. Except I’m sure it won’t last. I sip the brandy—it’s rough and raw, but feels warm as it slides down, and the heat spreads through me.
