Maybe Hell was the reality and Maccus the dream. Her blood ran cold. What better torture than for Lucifer to let her reach for hope then snatch it away at the last second?
If this was Hell, she could live this scenario over and over and over until she went mad. There was no greater torture than hope.
So be it. If it was a trick, she’d find out, and she would remember. That was another trick the devil used. Sometimes he’d make you forget so everything was fresh and new, the anguish real and immediate. Sometimes he’d let you remember, and you knew how the scene would end but be unable to stop it.
It was a tossup as to which was worse.
“Stop lazing around in the damn bed. Get up.”
He seemed closer, his voice louder. She tried to open her eyes once again, and this time they seemed lighter, like maybe they only weighed a ton each. She put every ounce of her power into moving her eyelids. Inside, she screamed as the pressure in her skull built to enormous proportions. The strain was huge.
Something inside her let go, and her eyes flew open. She expected Maccus to be sitting on the bed beside her, but she was alone. Where was he? How long had it taken her to wake?
…
It had been three damn days, and she still hadn’t stirred. At his wit’s end, Maccus peered out the window at the city beyond. What else could he do? His already nonexistent patience had worn thin.
In pure desperation, he’d logged into the Forgotten Brotherhood website and asked for help. But none of the others had ever dealt with such a situation.
Asher had offered to come to turn her. His reasoning—if she were a vampire, she’d die to her mortal body and reawaken a vampire. That he’d make such an offer, when Maccus knew he’d pledged never to turn any human, meant a lot.
He’d thanked his friend but turned him down, realizing he’d kill Asher if he touched her in such an intimate manner. As soon as he thought about it, two blades appeared in his hands. His fingers caressed the handles, but he had no memory of summoning them.
Yeah, he’d decapitate the vampire if he so much as tried to get near her, let alone sink his teeth into her and drink her blood.
Not happening.
It was the first time he’d ever asked any of them for anything. Okay, the second. He’d asked for information when he and Morrigan had first met. Both times he’d asked for help were because of her.
She was making him weak, but it was too late to change the situation. Better to accept it and find a way to minimize the damage.
Kill her.
The voice wouldn’t leave him alone. It was louder now, ever since he’d given up some of the remaining grace in his soul to heal her.
There was no sound behind him, but he turned away from the window, sensing a change in the energy of the room.
Morrigan was lying on the bed where she’d been the past three days and nights, her body as still as death.
Her eyes were open.
In two steps, he was beside her. Her eyes tracked his movement. “Morrigan.” She blinked twice. Something was still very wrong. “Can you move?”
Panic filled her gaze.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. We’ll figure this out.” We. Such a tiny word, but the implications were huge. He’d been alone for thousands upon thousands of years until she’d walked into his life.
A bead of sweat trickled down her temple and disappeared into her vibrant hair. She swallowed, and her lips moved.
Even though he didn’t need to, he leaned forward to hear her better. Just to be closer.
“Wha…”
“What happened?” She blinked in reply to his question. A lie would be easier, but he’d promised to always tell her the truth.
“Do you remember the alley?”
A frown marred her forehead. After a brief moment, her chin tipped