Page 150 of Caged

Sweat beads on my brow. My vision tunnels. Next to me, Dax has gone very still. Instinctively, my hand snaps out, and my fingers grip onto his arm. I need physical contact. I need something to anchor me to reality.

I cant— I can’t handle this right now.

My pulse roars in my ears. I don’t remember making the decision to move but the next thing I know I’m striding through the hall, making a beeline straight for Caelan’s hospital room.

I ignore the questions and sounds of protest that follow me.

My mind blanks. One second I’m next to Dax, and the next I’m hovering at the edge of Caelan’s bed, staring down at his damn near broken body.

He’s…. not right.

This whole thing is not fucking right.

There’s something so unnatural about Caelan in a hospital bed. He’s shirtless, surrounded by lines and tubes and machines all screaming symbols and numbers I don’t understand. He has an oxygen cannula, and his eyes are shut. No movement flickers under his eyelids.

His coloring’s off. Too pale, none of the healthy glow he usually has.

He doesn’t look like he’s in pain, at least.

He looks like he’s sleeping.

Don’t lie to yourself. He looks like he’s dead.

The thought pops up out of nowhere, unbidden, unwelcome, and fucking wrong. Before the tears building behind my eyes can fall, before I let myself break apart completely, I whip around and smash my fist into the nearest piece of furniture—the shelving unit splinters apart with a satisfying crack. Wood snaps and shelves fall, landing on the floor in a clatter. The top splits into two jagged-edged pieces.

I stare at the destruction, unable to pull my eyes away from the sharp, broken wood. It’s no longer solid and gleaming with polish. Now, it looks just like I feel.

Blood drips down my knuckles and onto the floor, but I ignore it. I’m already healing, my skin knitting back together nearly too fast to register the pain.

Dax appears silently behind me. He stares at Caelan, then flicks his eyes to me. There’s no judgment in them. No pity.

“You good?”

I clear my throat and steel my spine. “Yeah. All good.”

He nods once, then folds himself into a chair next to the bed. I pull up a chair of my own and position it next to him. I slump down, swallowing hard to force down the scream hovering in my throat.

“He’ll be okay, yeah?”

I need reassurance. I need Dax to tell me, with that genius mind of his, that this new form of unnatural torture Caelan was subjected to isn’t going to permanently fuck him up. Dax rolls his head to the side to look at me and props his ankle on his knee. He stares at me in silence, searching my eyes.

I’m almost positive he’s just going to stay silent, refusing to give me what he believes might be false hope.

He must see my desperation, though. He reaches over and clasps my upper arm in a mirror of how I reached for him earlier.

“He’s going to be fine, Vae.” His voice is laced with confidence I wish I felt. “Calder is the best doctor our species has. No one on Earth is better than him. No one else has studied the effects of silver as he has, and no one else would know how to treat internal silver poisoning as well. If he says he’ll be alright in a few weeks and all the damage is treatable,” he shrugs. “Then I believe him. And you should too.”

It doesn’t escape my attention that our positions have both done a one-eighty now that Dax has all the facts. Now I’m the one panicking, and he’s the calm one.

He releases my arm and falls back, settling in like he’s going to be there for a while. Neither of us has changed yet, still dressed in black utility pants and matching Henleys. Dax’s raven hair is a wild mess from running his hands through it over the last few hours.

“Caelan’s a tough asshole. No one else could make it through this shit. He’ll come back from this.” He hesitates, then smirks. “Bleeds like a godsdamned faucet, but he always gets right back up.”

I feel an answering smile tug at my lips.

“Remember when he got shot in the chest, and managed to get Ford and Silas out of a burning building rigged to explode and didn’t say shit to anyone about it?” Dax grunts in amusement. “Asshole leaked all over my car, then looked confused when Silas asked why he was coughing up blood.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then tells me, “I watched him take a silver blade to the shoulder, rip it out, wrap it in gauze, and then ask for the best place to pawn the fucking thing less than thirty minutes later.”