The Fae King's Dream (Between Dawn and Dusk #2) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,124

supplies.”

“Yes,” she hisses, her hands trembling as she picks up the package. She rips it open, revealing a plastic tube. “Zander, you’re a literal life saver.”

“What’s going on?” I ask groggily.

“This is going to cure you.”

“What do you mean?” I’m trying to focus on Whitley’s face, but the agony is almost too great.

It feels like flames are engulfing my insides, and every thump of my heart causes a zing of pain from my spine to my head.

My eyes flutter shut.

A few soft slaps are delivered to my cheek. “Wake up. The Glow can purify your blood.”

“Not true,” I grunt. “I won’t drink it.”

“You’re not going to drink it.”

When Whitley raises the needle, I realize I must’ve lost consciousness for a few seconds. It’s already full of Glow. After flicking it a few times, she lowers it to my neck.

I try to scoot away, but all I manage is a wiggle. “No. Whitley, don’t.”

“Stay still. I’ve never done this before.”

“The stuff is bad.”

Grabbing my chin, she makes me look at her. “Not completely. This is the secret I’ve been keeping. I found out from the prisoners on the ship—Glow will heal you, but only if it’s injected within minutes. It’s been minutes already. Stop fighting me. Please.”

Her desperation chips away at me. If she believes this to be true, I won’t prevent her from trying.

“A deal,” I request, my voice weak.

“What?” Whitley asks impatiently.

“Remember when I asked you to show me the same kindness you did to our prisoners?”

Her eyes narrow. “Yes.”

“If this doesn’t work, you’ll follow through with it.”

“No,” she practically yells, jerking back. “I won’t.”

“Then you’re not sure about this.” My eyes go to the syringe.

“I’m like ninety-nine percent sure.”

Despite the circumstances, I smile a little. Ninety-nine percent. She loves to say that. And I have to hand it to her—she’s usually right.

“She’s not making this up,” Zander cuts in, pacing behind her. Thankfully someone’s gotten him some pants. “There are documented cases.”

“Make the deal,” I demand, looking to Whitley.

“Why does it have to be me?”

“Because I trust you. I don’t want you to see me suffer, so I have to play hard boil.”

Half-laughing, half-crying, Whitley huffs out a sob. “It’s hard ball.”

My lips curl up, and I use all the strength I possess to lift a hand to her chin. I rub the favorite spot. “Whatever.”

“Fine—deal.” Whitley’s agreement is made in haste, but it doesn’t diminish the promise.

She’s locked in now. It was unfair of me to back her into a corner, but when it comes down to it, she’s the only one I trust with my life. With my death.

Satisfied, I roll my head, exposing my neck. “Then go ahead.”

Whitley pokes and prods at my artery. Just the touch of her fingers soothes me, and I watch her from the corner of my eye. She’s so serious as she feels my pulse.

She brings the needle close to my skin.

Retracts.

Comes back.

Retreats again.

Biting her lip, she whimpers with distress.

“You got this, baby,” I encourage. “You can’t hurt me worse. Just do it.”

With renewed determination, she presses her lips together and leans in close.

As the needle penetrates my skin, I concentrate on the way the light shines on her sunset hair. The peach, the fire, the deep amber.

The liquid feels cool going in. It’s a pleasant sensation in contrast to the burning in my heart, but it doesn’t lessen the pain.

“Better?” she asks, checking my gaping wound.

I look down. Black blood is still flowing out. “Not yet.”

“We just need more, that’s all.” She refills the syringe, and glances over her shoulder at Zander. “The notes on the experiments—was there a dosage written down anywhere?”

“Unfortunately, that was unclear. The amount of Glow needed to cleanse the heart varied from person to person. So, your guess is as good as mine.”

Whitley nods. “That’s what Maisel said. I’d hoped she was wrong.”

“Maisel knew about this, too? I’m feeling a little left out here.”

Without responding to my complaint, Whitley goes back to my neck. After more poking and prodding, I get my second injection.

Hovering over me, she takes my face in her hands. “Anything?”

I wish I could tell her I was all better. That it fixed me. But that would be a lie.

So I apologize instead. “I’m sorry our first days together were spent in such turmoil.”

“What are you talking about? This past week has been the best of my life.” All that gets her is a doubtful look from me, and an angry wrinkle appears on the bridge of her nose. “If you’re