Wicked (Eternal Guardians #9) - Elisabeth Naughton Page 0,59

always believed him to be.

Her gaze lifted to Rhen’s worried face. “What did you mean by give up? He’s immortal. He can’t die.”

“That’s a myth. Any god can die. Either by choosing to give up power and moving to the afterlife, or by losing the will to live.”

Oh gods… That couldn’t be as bad as it sounded.

She swallowed hard. “And if a god… loses the will to live… what happens to his soul?”

“Exactly what you think.” Rhen’s eyes darkened. “It fades into nothing. Like his body.”

The pain suddenly exploding in her chest was like nothing she’d ever felt. Like a thousand daggers stabbing straight through her heart, stealing her breath, making her gasp.

She didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand why she was feeling it for Zagreus or why any of this was happening. She just knew she had to get to him.

She gripped Rhen’s arm, a new sense of panic taking hold. “Where is he? I have to see him.”

Rhen nodded and gently tugged her away from the rock wall. “This way. Hurry.”

She barely remembered the trek back through the tunnel. Wasn’t sure she’d have been able to find the way without Rhen guiding her. Luckily, someone had lit torches so they weren’t lost in total darkness, but the flames were nothing more than a blur of light as she passed.

The grand hall was dark and quiet once more when they returned. Only a few people lingered. Rhen led Talisa up to the third floor, down a long dim corridor lit by sconces, slowing when they reached two sentries standing guard outside a tall, arched wooden door that was open a mere foot.

Rhen quietly pushed the door open and spoke to whoever was inside, then looked back at Talisa and motioned for her to follow.

Talisa’s first impression was of a giant bedchamber with high ceilings, heavy wood beams, and dark woods. A fire burned in the large stone fireplace to her left, flanked by shelves stuffed with books on each side. She spotted a desk against one wall, a deep red velvet couch, and a few matching high-backed chairs in front of the hearth.

Old oil lamps sat on the bedside tables, and heavy red curtains framed the cathedral windows on each side of the massive medieval-style, carved-wood canopy bed. But her focus immediately went to Zagreus, lying still as death on that enormous mattress. And all that fear she still didn’t completely understand overwhelmed her all over again.

Talisa stepped past Rhen to the foot of the bed to get a better look. Zagreus’s eyes were closed, his head tipped to the side, his arms unmoving against the red comforter. He was naked but for a white sheet draped over his lower body, but most of his skin was covered by once-white strips of cloth that looked damp and were now tinged pink by blood.

She swallowed hard as she gripped the wood post at the corner of the bed and watched Nysa ring moisture from a strip of cloth over a pan on the side table, unravel the cotton, then lay it over a bloody wound on his shoulder. The scent of lavender filled the room, along with some other incense or herbs Talisa couldn’t name.

This wasn’t right. His wounds should already be closed. He was a god. Yes, he could feel pain, but he healed fast—faster than those from her race. She could already feel most of her wounds from that fight knitting back together.

“Why isn’t it working?” Talisa asked in the silence as Nysa laid the last piece of cloth on his arm. “It should already be working.”

Nysa turned, dried her hands on a towel, and looked toward Rhen at Talisa’s back. “Stay with him?”

Talisa didn’t hear Rhen’s answer, didn’t see Nysa move, but she felt Nysa’s hands on her arm, slowly pulling her away from the bed.

“Come this way,” Nysa said. “You’re a mess.”

Talisa’s heart raced. Her head spun. She felt herself moving, but it didn’t seem real. Nothing seemed real. Nothing made sense. And as Nysa drew her into another room then pushed her to sit on some kind of padded bench, she focused on the one thing that was real and looked at the nymph. “Wh-what’s happening?”

Nysa reached for the tattered sleeve at Talisa’s shoulder and tugged, ripping it open. “I’m getting you patched up.” She pressed her fingers around Talisa’s biceps. “Does that hurt?”

Talisa shook her head. She couldn’t feel any pain in her arm. In the center of her chest, though? Yeah. Her chest was