“Stay,” Waleron said, “because I ask it of you.”
Oh, God. I closed my eyes, fingernails digging into my pants leg.
I opened the front door and a cold breeze gusted into me, pushing me back a step into his warm, hard chest. He stood stiff, unmoving.
“Delara.” He whispered my name like a fingertip drifting across my skin.
Love me like I know you can. If you love me, I can survive what I have done. Just tell me, my love.
But he never made a move to touch me and I walked away. Again, he let me go.
Waleron strode back into the living room looking pissed as hell, but there was also a flicker of uncertainty I’d never witnessed in my Taldeburu. He looked directly at me, eyes steady, although he hesitated as if he was contemplating what to do. Delara was gone.
“Exile, in the Pyrenees mountains until an appeal is heard,” Waleron announced.
My brows lifted with surprise. What the hell? Obviously, Delara’s arguments had done some good. Exile was certainly better than Rest. If whatever Delara was saying was true, then Danni would be safe. Thank fuck, because I knew if I’d lost it and physically fought being put in Rest, then Waleron would have easily killed me, and then I could do fuck all to help Danni.
“But the—” Jedrik began.
“I’ll deal with the Wraiths,” Waleron said. “Let’s go.”
I always knew Danni and I were an impossible match, even if I hadn’t broken our law. She was human and I was an immortal Scar. Shit like that didn’t happen.
Keir approached me and held out his hand. I hesitated, surprised by the gesture. “My girl wishes to know her brother. When this is over, I expect you to make that happen.”
I nodded, but it was a lie because I knew, I’d never return here.
THE PAIN UPON WAKING and finding him gone sucked, but after a few hours it was as if my emotions were in a blender with the shredding blade going full tilt. Emptiness was a desolate emotion, and, sure as shit, I felt it. God, was it possible to have physical pain when you were emotionally hurting? My stomach was killing me, and my head pounded as if I were hung over after a night of mixing rye, tequila, and beer.
I moaned and lay back in bed, feeling like I was going to pass out. Sensations pumped through my body. My heart raced. I was sweating, and anxiety built with each breath I took. I groaned as my stomach cramped, and then . . . Oh, crap. I vaulted from bed, diving for the bathroom just in time to spew the contents of my breakfast into the toilet.
It had to be the flu or something. Probably, the stress of everything that had happened over the last few days had brought it on.
I washed my face then looked in the mirror. My skin was a pasty color and there were dark circles under my eyes. The last time I had the flu was in grade school, when Bobby Fradkin passed the virus to half the class.
I swallowed three ibuprofen, brushed my teeth, and then had to kneel over the toilet to throw up again. So much for the drugs taking any effect. Makeup was going to be my best friend today.
I was sweating profusely by the time I put on my eyeliner, and from the shit job I did, I looked worse than before.
I stared at myself in the mirror. “God, Balen, why do I feel like . . . like I need you here.” It was fucking with my head, the emotions, the feeling as if I was falling over the edge of a cliff, waiting to land smack on the hard pavement.
“Damn it.” I slowly sank to floor, brought my knees up to my chest, and wrapped my arms around them.
What the hell was wrong with me? I barely knew this guy and yet . . . Jesus, I was crazy. It felt like I was dying and it was because he wasn’t with me.
I’d survived on my own without a mother, with a father who struggled to support us with his constant state of depression. He’d died the day my mother had. He was just a shell of existence until he blew his brains out.
I’d fought against the odds and made it as an artist without help, without anyone. So why did I need this man so much it hurt? Why was I falling apart?
Splat meowed and pawed at my leg. “God, Splat, I can’t even stomach the thought of eating, and you want me to open a can of your disgusting, smelly chunks and gravy.”
Bed. I had to lie down for a few hours. The gallery would have to stay closed today. Whatever I’d come down with wasn’t going away anytime soon.
I made it halfway across the room then stopped. I stared at the bed where Balen had been last night. Shivers gripped my body and I rubbed my arms up and down. I’d never believed in premonitions, but . . . Coldness swept through my veins as dread shadowed my mind.
Pain.
Death.
I staggered backward, tears trickling down my checks. I gasped as a razor-sharp pain gripped my insides so intense it was like someone ripped me open with a knife.
I collapsed to the floor.
Then darkness.
“Something’s wrong with her.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood. “We have to go back.”
Waleron remained lying back in his seat, eyes closed. “We’re too far away. It’s impossible for you to pick up on her.”
I paced the length of the private jet, raking my hand through my hair. Bullshit, it was Danni. She was in pain. Sick. Jesus, I could feel her pain with every breath.
“No, it’s her, for Christ’s sake.” I knew my abilities were incapable of picking up a scent from this distance. It made no sense, but, fuck logical—it was her.
Waleron opened his eyes and I could feel him pushing at my mind. “It’s impossible.”
I stopped pacing. “Screw impossible. She’s in trouble.”