Chapter 7 #2
She wore a medieval-style dress in deep green wool with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that reached her ankles. The kind of garb you’d see at a Renaissance fair, except this looked real. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and wavy brunette hair spilled from where she’d tied it half-back.
“Holy fuck!” I blurted in the voice that wasn’t mine.
Flinching at the alien pitch of my own words, I scrambled backward until my spine hit the headboard. This was a bed—an actual bed with a frame, not a hospital gurney or a morgue slab.
Memories returned in a brutal rush: the muzzle flash, the fall, Gregory’s hand on my neck scalding my skin. That psychotic woman with purple eyes, her kick crushing my fingers.
I slapped my hands to my chest, patting down my body—no bullet wound. I flexed my fingers; all ten were present and functional, with no jagged breaks or swollen joints. Even the splitting headache had vanished.
My reflection in the lake returned to my thoughts—those gentle features that resembled Mom, this body that wasn’t mine but had trapped me inside it.
I’d wondered if the fever had finally killed me, if this was the end.
Instead, I’d woken from the best nap of my entire existence in a body that had no business being functional, let alone comfortable.
Metal clattered, startling me. “Evan!” The young woman hurried across the room, tears streaming down her cheeks as she headed toward the bed, arms open wide and ready for an embrace I absolutely didn’t want.
I scooted farther back against the headboard, wishing I could melt into the wood itself, dissolve between the logs, and disappear. “No. No. Hell no,” I stammered as I raised both hands between us. “Don’t think about touching me.”
My frantic pulse drowned out everything else.
I was still trapped in this medieval fever dream, and the score so far wasn’t encouraging.
Two people had already hurt this body. Whatever this Evan had done, he hadn’t won any popularity contests.
I wasn’t willing to risk whether the next contestant would be gentler or simply better at hiding their madness.
This wasn’t hell; it wasn’t heaven either.
Now that I was fully awake, the psychotic woman’s claim that a portal had opened and I had somehow ended up in another world echoed in my mind.
My rational side rejected it, desperate to dismiss this as a coma dream or hallucination.
A dangerous hope whispered otherwise. If she was right, this might be a place where my mother was alive.
Or at least, this body’s mother. I hovered on the edge, caught between the need to deny it and the impossible evidence before my eyes.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
The young woman froze mid-step, elbows dropping to her sides, hands clutched together in front of her as she held herself back.
“Oh, Evan. Goddess.” A sob caught in her throat. “I’m… I’m so glad you’re awake.” Her shoulders shook with relief. A pang of guilt struck me for my immediate suspicion; I had no idea who she was or what she might be capable of.
The door burst open and a gust of wind rushed into the cabin, followed by a deep rumble. “Lyra, what—” He stopped short, piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. Gregory, the same mountain of a man who’d nearly killed me at the lake.
He closed the distance quickly—too fast for someone that size—and hauled me up from the bed, wrapping his arms around me, locking me against his chest, and cradling my head. He buried his face in my hair, inhaling long and deep in a way that should not have felt so good.
Jesus, he was huge. His broad frame engulfed mine, hard muscle straining through the white linen shirt. The bastard smelled incredible, that sandalwood stronger now, accented by smoke and pine.
My body betrayed me, muscles melting into his touch against my will.
Gregory smelled like the bed and the blanket, his scent layering over everything, the combination sweeter somehow, almost calming.
I wanted to stay right there. But this was the same man whose grip had burned my neck, the same man who’d walked away while I lay broken by that lake.
Gregory drew back, enough to cradle my face between his hands. Adrenaline gave me strength, and I drove my forehead into his nose with everything I had. The crack echoed like a gunshot.
He reeled backward, cursing. Blood exploded from his nose and streamed between his fingers, dripping onto the wooden floor in thick drops.
I squeezed my eyes shut as pain erupted. I touched my forehead, and my fingers came away slick with red. His or mine, I couldn’t tell.
Lyra shrieked and rushed to my side. She helped me sit up straight while I shook from the throbbing that radiated across my forehead. She snatched a cloth from her pocket, one hand steadying me while the other dabbed the fabric against my wound.
“You brute!” I shouted at Gregory, who stood there trying to stem the flow from his nose. Crimson had already soaked into his white shirt.
“Evan, please calm down,” Lyra pleaded, settling on the bed beside me, her touch gentle even as panic widened her eyes. “I need to heal you.”
I whipped my head toward Lyra, my neck protesting the strain. Everything seemed ordinary until she closed her eyes and began speaking in a strange language, the meaning snapping into place in my mind. “By Celeste’s light, mend what is broken, restore what was lost.”
Her hand pulsed with the same ethereal glow from when I thought I’d taken my last breath, light shining from her palm and a small holographic symbol materializing above my head. When she lifted her chin, her gaze blazed with that same golden light.
Every time I’d seen that glow, pain followed. And everything I’d experienced in this fevered nightmare involved suffering—Gregory’s scorching grip, that scarred woman’s violence. Trust was a currency I no longer dealt in, not even when someone was trying to help.
I shoved Lyra with all my strength, and she hit the floor hard, the thud making me wince despite my distress. Gregory rushed to help her, but I was already planning my escape. I needed to get out while they were distracted.
I launched myself from the bed and stumbled when my feet hit the floor, dizziness from the headbutt making the room spin. Adrenaline kept pushing me forward, and I bolted for the door, bursting out onto a covered porch. I flew down the stairs, taking multiple steps at once.
Bare feet struck cold mud, rough dirt, and wet grass that squelched beneath me. Rocks and twigs bit into my soles, but I didn’t have time to register the sting. Didn’t pause to figure out where the hell I was. I just ran.
Get away. Put as much distance as possible between that man and me.
He’d already marked my skin once. I wasn’t sticking around to see what he’d do now that I’d broken his nose. There had to be somewhere safe in this nightmare. Maybe I could find a town or other people, someone who could explain what was happening.
Burning hands, holographic symbols, a language I somehow understood, and this whole medieval setup…
Magic.
The word was insane, but it was the only one that fit.
No. I was the one who was mad for trying to apply logic to this insanity.
I ran as hard as I could, using every bit of strength this new body had.
Air wouldn’t come fast enough, but I didn’t stop, hoping I could outrun them, hoping I could get away.
I risked a glance over my shoulder. Gregory chased after me, roaring my name, the gap closing fast with his longer stride covering more ground despite my head start.
I skidded on wet leaves and grabbed a tree trunk to stay upright, bark scraping my palms. My ribs throbbed with each gasp. The forest blurred past, branches catching on my hair and clothes.
I had to outrun him.
My legs threatened to give out, but stopping meant that hand around my throat again.