The Bewitching Queen by Jovee Winters

Author:Jovee Winters [Winters, Jovee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jovee Winters Publisher
Published: 2018-12-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Lleweyn

Coming awake was a gradual thing. Until it wasn’t. At first, it was simple. Easy. Painless. But then I realized that something wasn’t right. That something had broken. And then I realized the thing that had broken was me.

I roared as all of my wounds finally made themselves manifest.

Sights were nothing but fuzzy images. And all I could hear was utter chaos. The roaring scream of a dying animal. The cries of many females, but one above the din of the rest, begging and pleading with me to be still. Be easy.

Tiny, cold hands began to touch my face. And those hands, they were soothing waters. I stilled, or tried to. But I was trembling fiercely all over. As I slowly became cognizant of something outside of the pain, I began to note where I was.

I was on a floor. Laid out like a broken scarecrow. Arms in haphazard positions and my legs pointed in directions they should never be pointed in. I was covered in sweat and blood, my blood. I smelled the overwhelming iron tang of it and knew that I’d nearly bled out.

There was utter madness and chaos as figures bobbed and weaved round and round one another.

“We’ll have ta sedate him, girl,” said a voice that sounded like the ancient groaning of a rusted hinge.

“No!” Rayale hissed, and that was when I realized that she was actually sitting upon my chest. Her hands were shoved into my pectorals, and I frowned even as I moaned. She was a slight weight, but everything ached.

I felt as though a giant had taken me up in his hammy fist and used me for batting practice. I knew without needing to ask that every bone in my damn bloody body had been nearly turned to sand. Every breath felt like fiery agony. But I was somehow cognizant, somehow aware still.

“He needs the drugs, female. Ye dinna do it and he might no—”

I bucked. Violently. They couldn’t drug me. If they drugged me, I would die. I knew it. I’d seen it before. Men with mortal wounds who, once given even an ounce of relief, simply wilted and gave up the ghost. I tried to roar at them, to tell them that I wouldn’t take the damned drugs. But all that came out was nonsensical gibberish.

“You drug him now, he might not wake,” Rayale hissed, still using my body as a bench. She was up on her knees though, and now that I thought of it, I thought that maybe she was actually trying to protect me from them. Whoever “them” was.

“The pain is the only thing tethering him to this body. I know what I’m talking about. We’ve seen far too many die from their wounds when given relief. You fix him; you fix him without the drugs.”

Those words nearly had me wilting with relief. She’d felt my panic and she’d been my voice when I did not have one. My lashes fluttered, and that darkness that’d held me fast not too long ago was teasing at the fringes of my mind once more.

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