Allegiance(70)

Caden’s hand lifted to the good side of my face. “You won’t,” he whispered. “And you can do it. Sofie and I already talked. We’re going to convince him you need space with all this stuff going on. Something like that. Sofie will take care of it.”

I nodded and stifled a yawn. The poor sleep and the various attacks were wearing me down. “Stay right here,” he whispered and then he disappeared, returning about fifteen seconds later with a bag of frozen peas in his hand. Before I could move, he scooped me into his arms and we were sailing upstairs to my room. I was under the covers in twenty seconds.

“Sleep now.” He pushed the hair off my face. I had to admit, the bed felt especially welcoming at this point, as my muscles relaxed into its softness.

“Stay?” I pleaded softly. He paused and I figured he was deciding how he would deny me this time. But instead, he swung his legs onto the bed to lie beside me. He leaned forward, elbows and hands on either side of my pillow.

Pressing his forehead against mine, he whispered, “Just for a little while.” My breath hitched as his lips grazed mine, first as soft as a feather but then growing with fervor. A little too fervently. I tried not to flinch, but of course, Caden caught it, instantly shifting his mouth to the side of my neck. His nose trailed against my skin behind my ear, tickling me.

“You should ease up on the Bactine.”

“I had an amateur nursemaid,” I murmured, delighting in his closeness. Why the sudden change in him, I couldn’t say, but I wasn’t about to question it. I wouldn’t utter a word. I would simply enjoy. I slid my arms around his chest and pulled him down to lie on top of me with all the strength I could muster.

“No, no …” Caden chuckled, reaching behind to peel my arms off his torso, much to my protest. “You need to sleep.” He gently flipped me onto my side and slid in to spoon me, snuggling close. A cool hand pushed my matted hair off my face. I felt the lightest kiss near the nape of my neck, igniting my insides. It was extinguished quickly with a bag of frozen peas against my face. The icy chill brought almost instant relief to the throb, numbing it to the point that the pain almost disappeared. And it was like that, held safely in Caden’s arms, that I somehow drifted off to sleep.



Familiar prickles sparked through my body as I struggled to focus—the sign that I was now sharing Veronique’s body with her, seeing the world through her eyes. Fortunately, I had left my mangled face and stitched arm back in France. Unfortunately, Veronique had plenty of injuries to make up for them. My entire body ached right down to the bone, like someone had whipped, burned, and beaten me within an inch of my life.

I wasn’t in a dark, dank cell this time. I wasn’t strapped to a metal table, either. I was now in a quiet little room with dove-gray walls and ethereal curtains. A single bed with a simple crocheted quilt sat to the right of the armchair where I rested. I could see that my tattered, bloodied dress had been replaced by a long white cable-knit sweater and white leggings with lace at the bottoms. Dappled yellow and blue skin peeked out from the cuffs at my wrists. God only knew what lay beneath my sleeves.

Slowly, holding my breath against the twinges of pain, I leaned forward to inspect my feet. A thick layer of white gauze protected them, wrapped around so fully that they looked mummified. I shuddered, memories of that blowtorch sending an icy shiver running along my neck and shoulders.

“Allo … Evangeline?” Veronique’s voice called out, moving my lips.

My short hairs spiked. She knew I was there. I could no longer play the silent observer. “You can tell I’m here?” I asked timidly.

“Oui. I feel tickles.” Her voice sounded much firmer than the last time.

“How are you?” This back and forth feels so strange! For anyone witnessing it, they’d quickly write Veronique off as a mentally disturbed young woman.

“I have been better. One of the witches put a special salve on my burns to help,” she explained. “They say they can’t heal my feet. I don’t know why …”

I know why, Veronique. But I’m not sure I want to tell you just yet.

Would she transform into Walking Death as well? Maybe not. Maybe she’d be like Julian. “It sounds like they’re treating you better,” I said instead, forcing the disturbing questions from my head, thanking God that we didn’t share our thoughts like we shared her body.

“Yes … they brought me up to this room and gave me food and water. And they’ve left me alone for some reason.”

An inkling of suspicion pricked me. Why would a group of witches hell-bent on setting fire to her to get her to speak just a day ago now feed and care for her? Especially when they knew they had an occasional intruder coming to watch? Something didn’t make sense.