Page 43 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
Some color leaks out of Ras’s skin. His hands tighten on my waist. “Seriously, what’s your problem with me?”
“Problem with you? Didn’t you conclude earlier that I’m just redirecting my anger at other people onto you?”
He studies my face. “I’m reexamining that conclusion.”
There’s a sharp stabbing pain inside my gut that freezes me in place. “Shit.” My throat constricts, and a surge of acid comes up.
Ras’s gaze flashes with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”
My fingers dig into his shoulders for support. I’m practically hanging off him now. When will this stupid song end? I need to get away from him and sit down, but I’m afraid I’ll collapse as soon as I let go.
He brings his palm to the side of my neck and hisses. “Cazzo. You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow. “Like hell, you’re fine. Come on.”
I’m too weak to argue. He leads me to the closest chair, hands me some else’s glass of water, and gets down on his haunches, his eyes weirdly concerned. “What is it?”
I take a gulp, wince, and put the glass back down. “I’m nauseous. Dizzy.”
He stands up and glances around. “Where’s Cleo?”
“I don’t know.” The dance floor is full now. She’s probably somewhere in there. “We’re not currently on speaking terms.”
He slips an arm under my arm and around my back. “I’m taking you home.”
I try to push him away and fail miserably. “Don’t you dare.”
“You need to lie down.”
“I can’t just skip my sister’s wedding party. Mamma will kill me.”
“I think your mamma would prefer you not puke in front of a hundred people.” He helps me up, effortlessly lifting my entire weight with one arm.
I expect someone to stop us. To demand to know where we’re going. But everyone’s been drinking for hours now, and no one pays us any attention as we slip out of the restaurant and head toward Ras’s car.
He helps me into the passenger side. I drop my head back against the headrest and focus on my breathing. My palms press against the supple leather of the seat. This is a nice car. I’d hate to vomit in it, even if it’s Ras’s.
The other door opens, and Ras gets in. He reaches over me, his scent blanketing me for a long moment while he clips in my seat belt for me.
“Vanilla. Chocolate. Burnt wood,” I mutter, trying to distract myself from wanting to hurl.
He gives me a deeply concerned look. He’s close enough for me to count his stupidly long lashes. “Are you hallucinating?”
“Maybe,” I rasp. I’m not about to admit to him that I was just cataloging his scent.
Click.
He moves away, his hand gently grazing my waist. “We’re just ten minutes away. Hang in there, all right?”
“Uh-huh.” My fingers clutch the seat belt, its narrow side digging into my palm.
The car begins to move. “Do you want music?”
I shake my head.
“Do you want to talk?”
