Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

“Tam and Einar won’t intrude if I ask them not to. You might wish to call them in to deliver water and paste, then post them outside to guard the door.” Her head was getting foggy again, the moments of clarity hard-won.

The red haze of pain swallowed her up again.

Next time she roused, Jael looked considerably more haggard. His clothing was stained permanently red, and his skin had a deathly pallor. He sat on the floor beside the bed, his breath coming in shallow rasps. Alarm boiled through her.

“How much blood have you given me?” she demanded.

He couldn’t even summon his usual charming smile. “Damn near all of it, I think.”

Nobody had ever fought so hard for her life. “Why are you doing this?”

“I owe you,” he said, his voice slurred. “Remember, I was poisoned. Dying, I think, and you didn’t give up on me. If I can square things between us, I’ll feel better about it.”

Ah. So it wasn’t personal. That made it better and worse, simultaneously.

“How am I doing?”

“It’s been two days. The men think you’re in a healing trance though some say you’ve crawled off to die. Tam and Einar are keeping things calm while Ike and Wills continue with preparations for the raid on Abaddon.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” She checked out her ribs. Healed. Her shoulder gave her a twinge, but it felt better, more like weeks of rest and recovery rather than days.

Her stomach? That still hurt with a raw, deep pulse that cradled fire in its depths. From her sweaty hair and hot skin, she guessed she was feverish. “An infection set in?”

“Your body’s not like mine. Without my blood, you’d already be dead.” From his flat tone, she guessed it had been a hard fight.

“Don’t die over me. You don’t owe me that much.” She took a breath and was surprised at how much it hurt. Her whole abdomen felt swollen. Likely, she needed surgery to repair some internal damage, but that wasn’t an option here. “Better you should work with Tam and Einar to run this place.”

To her annoyance, he ignored most of what she said. “They’ve been in to check on you . . . but not during the procedure. They were most impressed with the way I’ve healed your other wounds. I don’t see why I can’t finish the job.”

“Because you’ve practically bled yourself dry, and I’m still laid out?”

“You’re not dying. I forbid it.” Her own words came back at her.

“The universe orders itself to your liking, does it?” Dred raised a brow because that was all she could manage in the way of gentle scorn.

“Not often,” he muttered.

“Is there water?”

“I’ve been spooning it into you, so yes. Let me get the cup.” More tenderly than she would’ve guessed possible, he lifted her head and she managed three swallows.

That cool liquid felt good in her throat, but her stomach burned. She had no way to be sure whether her renal system was still functioning. The way she felt, probably not, which meant waste was backing up in her blood, and she didn’t have too much longer. As deaths went, it should be peaceful.

“I feel like I owe you something for this,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You put yourself out there, showing me you could do this. The easy course would’ve been to let me die. I don’t know what I can do for you, but—”

“You already did it,” Jael cut in.

“What?” she asked dizzily.

His reply was so soft, she might’ve imagined it. “You treat me like a person.”

Jael . . . Pain had lowered her defenses, so the words arrowed right to her core. Somehow, she resisted the urge to reach for him as the world lost focus.

“If I don’t wake again, thank you. And please don’t fetch Tam and Einar. I’d rather they don’t remember me like this.”

He roared something at her, but the sound went out. Thereafter, everything was black and red, a rolling storm of impressions. Jael’s face appeared again and again; and each time, he looked worse. She tried to tell him to stop—that it was pointless—but she couldn’t speak. Heat blazed through her body in a killing wave until everything was pain, endless spasms of it. She would’ve vomited if she could have, but there was nothing in her torn stomach.

Two armies warred within her body, and Dred fell into a nightmare pit populated by regrets and memories. She shouted at people long dead and threatened others. The pain didn’t diminish, and through it all, she heard him whispering to her. No making out the words but the intent was unmistakable. She wasn’t allowed to die.

At last, she surfaced again. This time, her skin was cool and the bed was clean. I’m completely naked, weak as a kitten, but there’s no pain. That was . . . surprising. Jael was unconscious beside her; she had no way to tell if he’d passed out in exhaustion or if he’d given her so much blood that he was now comatose. It didn’t seem right to poke him awake to ask, if that was even possible.

Gently, she probed her stomach and found a fresh, ridged scar. “Dear Mary.”

At that, Jael raised his head groggily. “You’re awake.”

“So are you, I see. Somewhat.”

“How long’s it been?” At this point, Dred had no sense of time.

“Four days, total.”

“You look like hell.” It was true. His face was beyond pale and into gray, his mouth white and bloodless. Deep purple circles shadowed his blue eyes, and his blond hair was dull, heavy with grease. The lines that slashed his arms filled her with guilt, a feeling she’d have said she was immune to.

Before her incarceration, she’d stalked so many murderers, hunted them like animals, and she hadn’t cared if they had families who didn’t know about their hidden proclivities. All that mattered was stopping them, so they couldn’t hurt anyone else. That single-minded pursuit of prey had made her too much like her targets. So this resurgence of emotion surprised her.

It’s the injuries. I’ll be back to normal soon. I just have to ignore it and ride this out.

“I could use a bath,” he admitted. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead. And then you can help me. I can’t stand myself another minute.”

While he showered, she pulled herself upright. The room spun for a few seconds, but the head rush didn’t end in another bout of unconsciousness. It was impossible that he’d healed her in four days. Doubtless the process had been torture for both of them—for different reasons—but she was grateful. It didn’t sit well because the Dread Queen needed to be in a position of power . . . but Dred, the woman, didn’t.