Chapter 25 #2
I groan, frustration twisting with hunger as my hand moves, desperate to ease the ache pressing tight against my pants.
Avilyna watches, amused, that cruel, slow smile spreading across her plump lips, tormenting me.
Her finger trails down, slow and deliberate, settling between those smooth lips.
She parts them just enough, circling that pink clit like she knows exactly how much it drives me insane.
As if she can see the way I want it to be, me touching her soft pussy—
I fall hard on the cold marble, my head smashing into it with a dull thud. Lost in the fantasy, I didn’t notice the towel tossed on the floor, my foot getting caught in it. A pained moan rips free from my mouth. Mixed with frustration as the absurdity of it all finally hits me.
Get a fucking grip, Brackwell.
Here I am, lying on the cold floor, drunk and daydreaming about a woman I shouldn’t be giving any of my attention to. Maybe hitting my head is exactly what I need. It will right my senses, my thoughts.
Rubbing my face as if it could scrub away this whole damn pathetic scene. She’s over there, clearly having a hell of a good time, moans getting louder. While I’m sprawled out on the floor, stuck thinking about her naked like some lovesick teenager.
Pathetic, no way I am going to be the only one suffering here. Stumbling back to my feet, I grit my teeth and decide to crash her little party.
Her door? Not warded, again. And that just makes me even more pissed off. I push it open and catch her soft sigh, sending a jolt straight to my cock.
“When are you gonna learn to ward your damn door?” I mumble, stumbling in, but only muffled moans answer me. “You’re definitely no prude,” I add, closing the door behind me, but then I actually look around.
The room is lit by the moonlight seeping through the balcony windows.
But Avilyna isn’t lost in pleasure like I so foolishly thought.
No, because when I see her, my heart jolts in panic.
Between the sheets, she’s bent over, head in her hands, knees buckled.
Avilyna is grunting in pain, and I recognize that sound.
It’s the kind that animals make in the woods when they’re crying for help.
I’m a fucking idiot, and I curse myself for drinking this much because right now, it’s so not fucking helpful.
“Hey! Where are you hurt?” I shout. But she’s not here, because Vi looks up at me, eyes glazed, blood running from her nose, dripping down her chin.
And then she just fucking collapses.
“Avilyna! Vi!” I yell, stumbling forward on instinct. “Shit, shit, shit!” The whiskey in my system dulls everything, reflexes, thoughts, but I force a plan together. Probably not a good one, but better than doing nothing.
I bolt to the bathroom, grab a towel, and soak it in cold water.
Her skin is feverish, and judging by the racing heartbeat I hear, she needs her nervous system cooled.
So I freeze the water with Kvirr. Back at her side, I gently lift her head, rearranging the pillows to cradle her neck.
Then I lower her down, slow and careful, resting her on the makeshift ice pack.
Fuck, now the pillow is going to be soaked.
I dash back for a second towel. Trying to think through the fog in my mind. It feels like wrestling a damn bear, and I know what I’m talking about. Splashing cold water on my face and neck, I run a hand through my hair, making the mess worse. What else, what else…
Essence.
I dig through the mantel for the healing herbs: dried echinacea, rosemary. My hands move on autopilot as I set up the altar and light it. I crack open the balcony door to let Kvirr do its work, and a gust of air ruffles the curtains. Then my eyes go back to her, the blood on her face.
It hits too close to home. The ghost I thought the alcohol had knocked out is suddenly wide awake, rattling its chains.
That bitter knot tightens in my gut and drags my legs to the bathroom for the third time.
I come back with a steaming towel, sitting beside her, I start carefully wiping away the crimson stains that don’t belong there.
Taking my time, the rhythm calms my racing heart.
Bit by bit, the peace I saw in her the other night starts to return.
The frown on her brow eases, her breathing evens out.
But it’s not until my trembling hand brushes a curl from her face that she truly relaxes.
After that, her breathing slows to a steady rhythm, and that’s when I realize where I am, what the hell am I doing here?
I probably look like a real freak hovering over her like this. Fuck, I should go.
But what if it happens again? What if it gets worse?
Yeah, I should stay.
Just in case.
So I sink into the desk chair and take a slow, deep breath. I wait and wait, eyes on her. Strangely, I don’t feel bored or fidgety, just anchored. Focused on my mission, on the slow, steady beat of her heart, following the rise and fall of her chest as Avilyna settles into a restful sleep.
And I wait.
Wait for the room to stop spinning. Wait for the sun to rise. My patience, for once, holds steady.
Her calm, monotone breaths become a lullaby, weaving through the leftover buzz of alcohol in my system. And finally, sleep pulls me under; slow—heavy—tinged with whiskey and regret.
I might have overdone it this time.