And dress wounds properly, though neither of them mentioned that.
“You like him, don’t you?” Raven asked. “Shepherd?”
Another smile, reflexive, automatic, and then Cass’s head whipped around and her eyes got big. “No, not like –likelike him. He’s just…” When Raven grinned she scrunched up her nose. “I dunno. He acts like a right arsehole most of the time, but he’s decent. To me, anyway. He kept me company while you were…away.” A distinct note of hurt crept into her voice, and her gaze slid back to the bed, and Toly.
Gently, Raven said, “Cass, you know I didn’t leave you behind because I think you aren’t smart or capable or brave. You’re the smartest, most capable, bravest girl I know.”
Her mouth twitched, a rueful attempt at a smile she obviously didn’t feel. “Yeah.”
“I don’t think you’re a child, either – but you’re seventeen. I want you to have a long and happy life. If anything ever happened to you–”
“I know.”
“Not to mention having to tell your mum–”
“I know, I know, okay?” Flash of teenage irritation – but only a flash. She glanced back to Raven, and her expression softened. “I know you’re protecting me. I don’t like it – but I get it. I want to contribute, to be important to the family the way everyone else is.”
“You are. You must know that. But you’re–”
“Seventeen.” Eye roll. “Yeah, yeah.” A huff, and then another softening. Raven remembered being that age, how intolerable it was, how everything happened all at once, and yet nothing ever happened at all.
“I’m glad you got him back,” Cass said, quietly, serious now. Her throat jumped as she swallowed. “I’m glad that you – that you have him. That you have somebody like that, now.”
Raven’s eyes burned. She set the tea aside and opened her arms. “Here. Give us a hug.”
Cass leaned sideways until Raven could get her wrapped up tight, and together they listened to Toly’s breathing as sunlight crept in over the window ledge.
~*~
Toly woke after breakfast.
Raven was in the room’s single, narrow chair, attempting to read a mystery novel she’d found on the shelf downstairs, when his breathing hitched.
She dropped the book and bolted to the side of the bed in time to watch his eyes flutter open.
In time to watch panic slam into him like a city bus.
His eyes went from slitted to white-rimmed in an instant, and he gasped in a huge breath that left him coughing and retching. He tried to sit up, flailing at the air; when that didn’t work, he tried to heave himself sideways off the bed.
“Toly!” She gripped his shoulders and tried to wrestle him back. Even dehydrated and freshly conscious, he was too strong to hold. “Toly! It’s me! It’s Raven! You’re safe!”
His eyes were huge, the breath sawing in and out of him in rough draws, but he was miles away. His hands flailed up to her forearms and clenched tight enough to make her hiss. That – that sound – seemed to punch through his fog, finally.
He blinked, still breathing like a racehorse, and tipped his head back; met her gaze, and slowly, his own cleared, sharpened. Horror dawned in his eyes, then, and he released her; tried to reel back away from her.
“Sorry, sorry,” he croaked, voice cracked and dry from disuse. “Raven.” Again, soft and fervent: “Raven. I didn’t – I don’t–” He ducked his face away, greasy hair falling forward to conceal it, shivering where it hung in front of his mouth, stirred by the little gasps that passed his cracked lips.
“It’s okay,” she assured. “It’s fine.” She tried to smooth his hair back, but paused when he flinched. A tiny, but unmistakeable movement.
He sat a long moment, trembling, hands clutching the bedclothes. When he spoke, his voice was a little clearer. “Where am I?”
A lump formed in her throat because he didn’t know, couldn’t tell. She hadn’t seen the room where he’d been kept, the old office space gone to hell, and Fox and Devin wouldn’t give her details, but it had been hell. It didn’t matter how short the duration: hell was hell.
“Albany. You’re at the clubhouse.”
A beat, and he nodded, but his hands stayed clenched tight.
Raven didn’t know what to do for him, or how to proceed. He was due for a dressing change on his legs, and she’d be delighted to get some solid food in him, but he sat with his head bent, knobs of his spine vulnerable in the cool wash of noon light through the window, fighting for control of his own body.
