Page 186 of Harbinger

The night blurs in fevered flashes stitched together by the fiery ache working its way through my skin. There’s something soft against my cheek. Sheets, I realize as I sink into a pillow that smells like leather and mint and a hint of icy winter. The room is dark, but I know it’s Bishop’s, because even now, I feel safe.

A hand strokes the hair from my face, fingers shaking.

“Come back,” he whispers. “I need you.” The words echo in my head, clinging there even as I start to slip away again.

I drift, sometimes waking to a palm pressed to my chest, counting my heartbeats. Sometimes the pillow is gone, and I’m cradled in his arms.

And when I wake, thrashing violently to vomit, Bishop catches me before I can fall from the bed. He holds my hair back with one hand, the other bracing my shoulders as he murmurs something low and steady I can’t quite hear.

When it’s over, he draws a quilt over me. “You’re safe,” he says roughly. “I swear it.”

I want to tell him I know that, but the poison steals the words, and I collapse into the darkness again.

Voices find me in a place between dreams and waking.

“The worst is over,” Hadrian says.

“We need to know how much she was given,” Bishop growls.

“If it was a lethal dose, she’d be dead by now.” Hadrian again.

Something slams, followed by a crack.

“She will recover,” Hadrian insists. “Let her rest.”

Bishop’s voice fades along with me.

I wake shivering, sheets twisted around my legs as dawn seeps through the windows. My skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, but I’m freezing. Bishop is sleeping in a chair by the bed, vestiges peeking past his unbuttoned collar. One of his hands rests on the mattress, as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go even after I fell asleep. I reach for him, fingers brushing his hand, and his eyes snap open.

“Arden?” he says hoarsely, voice choked with something that isn’t just sleep.

“That’s me,” I mumble, discovering how dry my lips are.

He leans forward, taking my hand in both of his. “You scared the shit out of me.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a croak. “I’m not that easy to kill.”

Someone tried to kill me. It still feels like I’m caught in a dark cloud, but that’s becoming clear enough.

“Here.” Bishop brings a cup of water to my mouth, but I’m shaking so hard now that it spills down my breasts.

I blink, realizing that I’m in nothing but my undergarments.

“You were burning up,” he explains, pulling the sheets up to cover me.

I smile weakly. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.” But each word is punctuated by the clack of chattering teeth as the fever works its way from my body. “So cold.”

Bishop climbs into the bed and pulls me against his chest. I melt into him, his heat a balm soothing the final chills coursing through me. His lips press into my hair, and he murmurs words that sound dangerously close to a prayer as I settle into the cage of his arms.

This time, when the darkness comes, I fall into it without fear.

I come to in stages, increasingly aware of a hammering behind my eyes. When I finally pry them open, my tongue is thick, my skin clammy, and every joint in my body throbs. When I try to roll over, I discover he’s gone. The effort at movement leaves me dizzy, so I settle for blinking up at the ceiling as this processes.

The empty space in the bed beside me hurts worse than any poison.

A soft snore draws my attention to the chair by my bed. Lenora is there, her Twelvetide gown rumpled and her head tilted back as she dozes.

I force myself to sit up, and she startles awake.