Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Opening my mouth wide, I gasp in a tortured breath, my lungs burning, my entire body rigid.
“Again.”
I let it out and drag in more air.
“Again.”
The excruciating pain finally begins to recede. I’m freezing, covered in cold sweat, and I still can’t see anything. My muscles shudder, a cramp forming in my calf that tears a pained moan from me. I writhe against the sharpness of it, my body aching.
“Georgia.” A palm against my cheek, swiping away my tears. “Let it go. Whatever you saw, whatever it is. You must let it go.”
“I can’t,” I choke out. I don’t want to. Whatever it was, I have to hold onto it. To remember. But even as I say it, the tendrils of the dream slip through my fingers. Who was I with? There were trees and faces. Friends. Secrets. I reach for them, wanting to clutch them to my chest. But they fall away, water circling a drain until there’s nothing left but a slick residue. When the image is just a blur of colors, my body finally relaxes, the cramp unwinding.
I don’t move for a long time. My hands are balled, clutching the blanket. When I finally force them open, my knuckles twinge and pop.
My vision returns slowly, the darkness receding to the edges of my vision before disappearing completely. I’m in my room. In my bed. And I’m alone. Did I imagine the voice? I test both my hands, then move my legs. A rudimentary check to see if I’ve suffered a stroke. Though sore, everything works. Not a stroke as far as I can tell. I’ve no history of seizures.
With pained effort, I sit up. My oversized t-shirt sticks to me, cold sweat giving me the shivers as I rub my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud, testing my voice. It’s raspy, but the words make sense. No slurring.
A night terror? Sleep paralysis? My mind goes into doctor mode trying to diagnose what the hell just happened. It certainly could be either of those things, brought on by stress, exacerbated by my recent exertions during the escape attempt.
I jump when a soft knock sounds at the door.
“May I come in?” Melody asks.
“Y-yes.” I grab the hem of my shirt and wipe my face as she walks in, her face drawn.
“Are you all right?” She hurries over to me, sitting on the bed without invitation as she peers into my eyes. She hands me my glass of water from the nightstand, then rises and goes to the bathroom. “You were screaming.”
“You heard me?” Then I scoff at myself. “Right, of course you heard me, super vampire hearing.”
“Yes, though I daresay anyone in the castle would’ve heard it, human or otherwise.” She returns with the bottle of pain medicine. “Take these.”
“I think I’m okay.” I press my palm to my forehead and rub in a circle. “It was a dream. A nightmare, I guess.”
“What was it about?” She drops two pills into my other hand.
I down them then follow with a too-big gulp of water that makes me cough and sputter. She takes the glass from me, then pats me on the back until I recover, kindness in her touch and concern in her eyes.
“Thanks.” I relax against the headboard, my body tired and aching. It’s like I’ve run a marathon at full speed, but I was only sleeping. And dreaming. “I don’t remember.”
“Nothing?” she asks.
I clench my eyes shut and try to find clues, but when I think about the dream, the headache amps up. “I can’t,” I gasp and shut the door to whatever that memory might be. “It hurts too much.” I focus on the here and now, on Melody as she looks at me with worry.
“I’m sorry.” She takes my clammy hand in hers.
That one kind act makes my eyes smart, tears threatening. I swallow them back and wish them away.
“This isn’t natural.” I wipe my face again.
“Hm?” she asks, her gaze assessing me. “You’re even paler than usual. I can count every freckle on your face.”
“This pain.” I let my hand drop and sag against the headboard again. “It doesn’t behave like anything I’ve ever had to treat. A concussion, head trauma—that can cause short-term memory loss, sure. Some people even experience more symptoms, their brains losing several functions over time, especially if the injury is repeated. CTE studies were quite clear on the effects of concussions over time. But this is different. The pain is real, but it’s not from an acute injury. It’s almost … psychosomatic.” It’s like I’m back doing rounds for my residency, trying to figure out what I’m looking at with no clues from the attending. I’m rambling. Talking it out more to myself than Melody. “It has to be caused by trauma, by something that happened to me though I can’t remember it. Whitbine’s torture…” I think back to when it started, when I was caught and dragged into that cell with the others. He always had a particular interest in me. I thought it was because I was Juno’s sister, but maybe there’s more I’m not understanding. Like a picture that’s out of focus, the figures in the distance only smudges of suggestion. “If only I could remember.”