Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Crymson
It isn’t until a few days later that things take a different sort of turn. I go from spending my time hanging out with Delilah to Aerin coming crashing inside the room, his eyes wide as he finds me.
“He’s awake,” are the only words he says. They’re all he needs to say though. I’ve been waiting on those words since I arrived here in the Fae Kingdom.
I scramble to my feet from the bed and rush out into the hallway, Delilah following along behind me. She’d been in to visit Seven, too, but he hadn’t woken for her or me. But now . . .
“You’re sure?” I ask Aerin.
“Saw him with my own eyes before I came to get you,” the Guard Master answers. “Thorn has been notified.”
I’m running barefoot through the hallways to the infirmary before he finishes his sentences.
When the doorway comes into view, I push myself harder, desperate to see him alive and well.
I slide through the doorway on panicked feet, my eyes searching the room until they land on the vampire sitting up in bed.
I rush forward, my eyes wide, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
“You’re awake!” I cry, and Seven immediately winces at how loud my voice is. “Sorry,” I say, lowering it. “How do you feel?”
Seven presses a hand against his forehead. “Wrong.”
“Wrong?” I repeat, glancing at Delilah with worry. “What does that mean?”
Thorn appears in the doorway, his eyes taking in Seven in the bed and the way I’m sitting on the edge, my hand wrapped around his fingers. “He was bitten by the undead,” he points out. “We had to utilize fae healing practices. He likely feels those effects,”
“Are they permanent?” Seven growls, his eyes hard on the Thorn King.
It’s only then that I realize that Seven looks different too.
Like Christian, small black veins trace beneath Seven’s skin, making him look like some strange marble sculpture.
Christian’s come and go, but with Seven, they look more permanent.
They don’t seem to be fading, but maybe it’s just temporary.
“Yes,” Thorn admits. “It was either that or die.”
Seven winces and glances at me. “That makes me a danger to you, Crymson.”
“You’re not a danger to me,” I growl. “Stop that.”
“He’s right,” Thorn admits. “We don’t yet know what changes will come with his new state of being. He could be volatile—”
“If this is some way to convince me to send him away, it’s not going to work,” I growl. “He just needs to heal, and then he’ll be back to normal.”
He’s going to be fine. He’ll be fine. Everything’s fine.
I repeat those comforting words over and over in my mind but no one else in the room seems to share the sentiment with me.
Seven squeezes my hand. “There’s no more normal, Crymson. I can feel it. Like a thread in my veins pulling me toward a power I don’t know anything about.” His next breath rattles from his chest. “Something is . . . stirring. Something is . . . wrong.”
I glance at Thorn, worried, not sure how to help him. “What will happen to him?” I ask, hoping he knows something. Anything.
But Thorn frowns, and I know his answer won’t make me feel better.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “There’s no way to know.”
My chest squeezes in fear for the vampire I desperately want to stay alive.