Page 146 of Once Upon a Fable

I took a step toward him, wanting to pull the blanket over his nakedness. One minor act to provide some comfort before I tied him up.

But he twitched again, his eyebrows tugging low as his head thrashed side to side. “Nyx, don’t.Don’t—!”

I backed away.

Every step I took toward my backpack, my heart pounded harder.

He seemed to be plummeting faster into his nightmares.

His legs flailed outward. His lips tore wide as he silently screamed. He choked on air, his arms swooping up to attack something only he could see. “You’ll die tonight.”

Hurry.

Quietly, even though he paid no attention to me, I unzipped the main compartment of my bag and pulled out another length of climbing rope.

An orange-and-green-speckled cord that boasted the ability to hold hundreds of pounds of dead weight. The instructions hadn’t said anything about being suitable at tying someone up, but if it was strong enough to catch a person as they fell from a cliff, it would hold a man in the throes of a concussed aberration.

“Run, Quell. Do what I say!” He continued to buck and moan, completely hostage to his mind.

Unravelling the rope, I created another lasso so I could grab his arms and knot them together quickly. I didn’t want to be in striking distance now he’d lost himself entirely to whatever he saw.

My heart drummed in my ears as I forced myself to return to him, gritting my teeth as he let out another soul-crushing cry.

His chest shot off the floor as if he’d been electrified, then fell backward. His arms landed by his sides, his head turned to the left with hair draped over his cheek and eyes.

Now.

Quickly.

Dropping to my haunches, I grabbed his left hand and inserted it into the rope. Leaning over him, I repeated with his right, drawing the lasso closed and securing a knot.

I couldn’t catch a proper breath as I fell backward, feeling like I’d just betrayed him even though he was the one who’d kept me prisoner for days.

Having him secure gave me a false sense of power and tears came hotter for his situation. Was this the throes of impending death? Was his brain bleeding? Would he have a stroke and pass away?

Needing to touch him, to somehow find a way to breakthrough his pain, I scooted closer to his head and ran my hands through his knotty hair.

I pulled upward gently, raising his neck and shoulders to place him carefully on my lap.

However, he shot upright.

He swayed in the blankets.

He blinked at the library around us.

And then, he did something that ensured, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much pain he granted or blood he spilled, I would never curse him, betray him, or hate him.

I would only love him.

Love a broken beast who’d survived so much.

CHAPTER FIVE

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I WORE WAR PAINT created with tears, blood, and vomit.

Their tears, their blood, my vomit.