And like always, Axel defers. Grabbing a small glass jar from the nightstand, he repeats his usual mantra of “Not yet,” as he removes the lid and places it on the glass-topped table beside me. “But soon … very soon…”
He dips a finger into the fragrant blue ointment, about to apply it to the wound, when I catch him at the wrist and push his hand away.
“I don’t want it to fade,” I say, rendered nearly breathless from the effort it takes to resist him. Fielding his skeptical look, I add, “Now that I remember, I can’t afford to forget what landed me here.”
He mutters under his breath. Some archaic language with slurred vowels and hard consonants I don’t understand. Then he abandons the jar, pulls my robe closed, and with a sigh of resignation, says, “If you’re entertaining thoughts of revenge, I’d advise you to quit. You’ll only lower yourself to Cade’s level, squelch your potential, and establish yourself as his equal. Is that what you want?”
“It’s not revenge that motivates me.” I clench my hands into fists, my actions betraying my words. “It’s love. Dace is my only concern.” At the mention of his name, my heart clenches in pain. Imagining the grief he must be feeling, not knowing the full truth of what really happened that night.
And while the exact events may con
tinue to elude me as well, one thing is sure: I saved him.
I died so that Dace could live.
Except that I’m not really dead.
He just thinks that I am.
“Best not to think about that either.” Axel turns his back in dismissal. “You need to get well. That’s why you’re here.” He scoops an uncertain hand through his hair.
“Is that the only reason I’m here?” I prop myself higher onto my pillows, and stare hard at his back. It’s an uncomfortable subject, but I need to know once and for all.
Why did he save me?
And what does he expect in return?
“What are you really asking me, Daire?” He faces me with a gaze so open, so direct, I’m instantly silenced. No longer sure how to phrase what I most want to say.
Is he a crazy stalker who took advantage of a moment of weakness in order to abduct me?
Or is he truly a Good Samaritan, a Mystic, as he claims, with only my best interests at heart?
While he’s always treated me with kindness and respect, I can’t help but suspect that his motives aren’t entirely altruistic.
We fall into an uncomfortable, sagging silence. The kind that used to spur me to say something stupid, crack a dumb joke, but no more. I’m no longer that girl. The new Daire is patient.
She’s willing to wait.
She has no other choice.
But when Axel makes for the door, I instantly regret having pushed it too far. He can’t leave. Not yet. He’s not the only one with an agenda here.
I lift myself until I’m almost fully upright, making an exaggerated show of breathing heavily and gritting my teeth. And just as I’d hoped, an instant later he’s right back beside me.
Patience. You can do this. It’s like Paloma taught you: Think from the end.
“Don’t push it, Daire.” Axel’s fingers grab hold of my shoulders as he lowers me back toward my pillows. “Just because the fever broke doesn’t mean that you’re healed.”
I nod as though I wouldn’t dream of questioning his wisdom, the irrefutable truth of his words. “I guess I’m just feeling a little restless,” I say, aiming for chagrin and hoping I’m not overdoing it. “I’m not used to being bedridden and weak, and that makes me a pretty poor patient.” I make a guilty face. “It’s just that, if I’ve any hope of leaving this place, I’ll need to work on regaining my strength. The longer I lie here, the more my muscles will deteriorate. So, maybe I could try to walk for a bit. What do you think?”
I hold my breath and shoot him my most hopeful look, aiming to convince without coming off as rehearsed.
When he doesn’t reply fast enough for my liking, I struggle to sit up again. Grimacing and gritting until I’m propped flushed and breathless against the headboard, begging, “Please. I need to get up and move around—take a short walk. But I need your help. I can’t do it alone.” I force myself to swallow the lie, but the bitterness sticks to my tongue. “C’mon, Axel, didn’t you promise to heal me, rehabilitate me? Isn’t that what you said?”
His brow knits, his lips pull into a frown, and I know that I’ve won. That he sees what I want him to see—me, clammy, breathless, and pale—making demands that betray my abilities.
I suck in a lungful of air, curl my fingers around the side of the mattress, and attempt to swing my legs over the edge. The sight of it causing him to say, “Clearly nothing I say will change your mind.”