3. Hayden
I was flying. All I could feel was the wind on my face and the sensation of being totally and completely weightless. It was heaven.
I dipped, diving toward the ground, then somersaulted before charging upward toward the sky again. A laugh bubbled out of my lips as I rolled to my back, just floating mid-air.
Everything about the sensation was wonderful. I never wanted it to end, yet I could feel a tugging in my chest. Something that was urging me back toward the ground.
I frowned. I didn’t want to go down there. I wanted to stay up in the sky, where there were no problems or pain, where I felt free.
“She’s frowning. Is she in pain?” a deep voice asked.
That voice was familiar. Some part of me said, Viking. But I didn’t know what that meant.
“Physically, she’s healed. She shouldn’t be in pain.” The smooth, smoky tone read professor.
“She’s been unconscious for a week,” the Viking growled, and something smashed.
“You need to shift,” the alpha said. “Or your beast is going to do it for you.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
The pain in the Viking’s voice had me lowering myself, dropping slowly toward the ground. I wanted to see him. To comfort him.
It was as if the ground was covered by a thick fog. I had to wade through the haze to find my way toward the voice.
I tried to blink, but my eyelids felt heavy, as if they hadn’t lifted in years and had forgotten how to execute the motion. Finally, after several attempts, light flashed across my vision.
“Hayden?” A hand squeezed mine as Knox’s warm voice wrapped around me.
He pressed a hand to my cheek. “We’re right here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Cáel’s massive form loomed over me. “Little One?” he croaked.
He looked like heaven and hell all wrapped into one. Just the sight of him eased something in me, but there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his typically fair skin had a sickly pallor.
“Hi,” I rasped.
Cáel dropped his forehead to mine, breathing deeply. “You came back.”
His words had memories surging to life. The alley. That awful man. The dragon fire.
I jerked as I remembered the feel of the flames connecting with my chest.
Cáel pulled back but took my hand. “You’re safe.”
My gaze flew around the room. Knox sat propped next to me in bed, thick scruff along his jaw. Cillian stood, arms crossed, dressed all in black like some dark, avenging angel. Maddox held a clipboard, studying me carefully. And Easton stood on the opposite side of the room, his face an impassive mask.
Cillian prowled toward the bed, his arms dropping to his sides. “How do you feel?”
I tried to take a mental inventory, but my mind was swimming. “Okay, I think. Just tired.”
Maddox nodded, adjusting an IV that hung above the bed. “It took a lot of energy for you to heal. You’re going to be tired for a while. We’ve been giving you special vitamins and nutrients intravenously to help you get your strength back.”
I studied the bag that hovered above me. It wasn’t a typical clear color. It had a greenish hue and seemed to shimmer. Magic. I wanted to know everything about how that could be used to help people heal.
Cillian moved to the head of the bed, his hand brushing the hair from my face. “No pain?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Remembering the feel of the blast to my chest, I tugged my hands free from Cáel and Knox, careful not to dislodge my IV. My fingers unbuttoned an unfamiliar pajama top so that I could see my chest.
A series of growls filled the air. These weren’t ones of possessiveness; these were sounds of anger. The emotion matched the mark on my chest. It looked like a firework of puckered skin. But it also looked far past the healing stage it should’ve been in.
Cillian pressed a hand over the scar as if he could erase it with his touch. “The injury was severe. There was no way to heal you without scarring.”
My gaze lifted to his. “I don’t know how it’s possible I’m even alive.”
Another series of growls swept through the room.
Cáel took my hand again, as if he couldn’t stand not touching me. “I’m going to rip Hal apart piece by piece.”
A shudder ripped through me at that. “He was a Corbett, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Cillian gritted out. “Their beta. The son of the alpha.”
“And he hates you,” I surmised.
“From what Easton shared, he hoped to kill Easton and take you,” Cillian said, his voice carrying a lethal edge.
My gaze flicked to Easton. He hadn’t moved from that spot on the opposite side of the room. He looked the worst of all of them. His eyes had more red in them than any other color. His hair hung in a tangle around his shoulders. It was as if there was no life in him at all.
I stared harder, trying to search for any emotion. Even a flicker of hatred would’ve been welcome at the moment. But there was nothing.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Are you okay? You weren’t hit?”
Some jolt of energy seemed to zing through Easton’s body. His muscles tensed as he pushed off the wall. “Why? Why did you do it?”
Anger vibrated through every word. But I welcomed it. At least his fury meant that Easton wasn’t dead after all.
I searched his face, trying to read the root of the anger. My eyes locked with his again, and I didn’t look away. “You matter,” I said simply. “I know you don’t want to matter to me. But you do. It doesn’t matter how much of a jerk you are. I wasn’t about to let someone kill you.”
Easton’s chest rose and fell in ragged pants as his back teeth ground together. His lips parted as if he was going to speak, but instead, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.