Thirteen – 01

[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]

It was rumbles of thunder in the west that woke her, though it was the chill that seized her that kept her awake. Hecate took a slow, weak breath, then another. The wound in her side burned and she clutched the blankets closer.

Who’s out there? Who’s here?

She swallowed down bile, trying to tamp down paranoia and fear. Matt wasn’t in bed, wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The lamps were out. She couldn’t hear any rain on the roof…

Pressing her lips tightly together, she waited, counting the beats of her racing heart, willing it to slow down, trying to force herself to be calm again, to not panic.

You’re safe here. It’s okay. You’re safe here.

But something was here—or coming, at the very least.

It was close.

Slowly, painfully, she sat up. Beads of sweat were collecting at her brow, sliding down the back of her neck. Her muscles screamed, ribbons of pain wrapping around her midsection and squeezing, tendrils snaking up and down her back and down her hip into her leg.

You are stronger than any pain you might endure in this life.

The memory made her throat tighten. She could still hear his voice echoing in her ears, still see his face, pale and bruised, feel his hands on her face, calloused and cold. She wondered if Matt could remember moments like that. It didn’t matter if he did, but sometimes she wondered.

Cíar had been the first man she’d ever loved. Matthew Astoris was the second—and, she hoped, the one she would live out the rest of her days with. Two men, one soul.

The mate of her soul, tattered and shriveled though it was.

“Be strong,” she whispered to herself, fingers curling around the edge of the mattress. “You can do this. Just be strong.”

After another few heartbeats, she stood up from the bed, gasping at the pain that shot up her leg as she shifted her weight from the bed to her feet. She leaned against the edge of the frame for a moment, swallowing more bile.

He got a bigger piece of me than I thought.

Swallowing hard and biting her lip, she straightened again, limping to the dresser tucked into the corner near the door. She didn’t know if there would be clothes for her in any of the drawers, but it would be worth checking before limping outside in only a nightshirt.

As she leaned against the dresser, it struck her that at some point, she’d actually decided that she was going to leave their room.

Will wonders never cease?

A faint sigh escaped her and she tugged the drawer open, starting to paw through it for something likely to wear—either something of his, or something tucked into the drawer for her. Either way would be fine.

No one was going to come to tell her what was out there. Matt—and Marin, she strongly suspected—would be too worried for her to do that; they wouldn’t want to frighten her or put her under more stress. She was just going to have to see it for herself.

And so she would.

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