Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Neal
Iwoke in a cold sweat. But I wasn’t in our dingily opulent hotel room in New Orleans. I was back in Houston, asleep with my back to the door of that awful room in the saloon, bleached floorboards creaking beneath me. I looked around for Ansel, but he was nowhere to be found.
The light filtering in through the barely shuttered window seemed off, the wrong color somehow, flickering.
I checked on Sorcha, still asleep on my chest. And then the window flew open. But this time it wasn’t just some thug trying to recruit for the local brothel, it was Iksura—eyes a deathly glowing purple, black fog clinging to her fingers.
And suddenly Sorcha was choking in my arms. I screamed her name, but she went stiff against me as Iksura walked effortlessly through the exterior wall.
Then Iksura snapped her fingers. And suddenly Sorcha’s body was just a pile of ash in my hands.
“Neal! Neal!” Sorcha’s voice cut through my fitful sleep and pulled me into proper awareness.
She was sitting on my chest, hands gripping my shoulders. The big grandfather clock in the corner said it was nearing two o’clock in the morning.
“Wake up!” Sorcha shook me.
“I’m up,” I said, still slurring. “I’m up.”
“It was just a dream,” Sorcha said, hands still digging into my upper arms.
“I know,” I muttered, groggy.
“A bad one,” Sorcha added.
“I know that too, love,” I said, shifting her against me so I could sit up. I scrubbed my hands over my eyes, through my hair, shaking it off.
“You were shaking,” Sorcha said. “And your breathing was all wrong.”
“I’m okay, love,” I assured her.
“You weren’t,” Sorcha replied bluntly. “You were screaming for me.”
“I’m gonna sit up for a bit.” I climbed out from under her and made for the couch. But Sorcha followed instantly, her hand finding mine, dragging blankets behind her.
“I’m helping,” Sorcha insisted.
“You’re going back to sleep,” I said as I lit a lamp and sat down. “Where’s Ansel?”
“Hell if I know what he does in his off hours,” Sorcha muttered, climbing into my lap.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping,” Sorcha said.
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You were screaming my name,” Sorcha said. “So I’m gonna be right here. And then you won’t have to worry.” She cuddled against me, pulling up the blankets she’d scrounged from the bed.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Just let me take care of you for once,” Sorcha mumbled into my chest. “You like this. Admit it.”
“I like having you here in my arms,” I agreed, hugging her closer. “That’s certainly true.”
She took one of my hands and pressed it gently to her belly. “We’re both fine. Promise.”
Ansel arrived not ten minutes later, dusting himself off and hanging up his coat with a satisfied expression.
“What do we have here?” he asked.
“Neal had a nightmare,” Sorcha said, picking her head up.
“I thought you were asleep?” I muttered.
“Oh how sickeningly domestic.” Ansel chuckled as he settled in the armchair across from us.
“Shut up,” Sorcha muttered, pressing her face back into my chest. “I’m being supportive.”
“Right.” Ansel smirked. “We’ll go with that.”