Ben’s presence in my mind was a calming influence. Do not panic, Beloved. I will help you. Is someone harming you?
Lich.
I understand. Think of me, Francesca. Remember last night. Think of what you felt.
My mind was so overwhelmed with the blackness of anguish and panic, it was difficult for me to focus. No air!
There is air. Think about how you lay on my chest last night. Our hearts were beating together, do you remember? I felt every breath you took. Breathe now.
Slowly, the images he was projecting into my mind pushed back the fear and pain and sense of utter despair. I opened my mouth, wanting desperately to get some air into my lungs, little wavering dots starting to form in front of my eyes, but I couldn’t do it.
“Goddess? What has happened to you?”
I felt someone kneel next to me and knew it must be Finnvid, knew that Imogen was fretting beyond him, but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything but a hazy redness that was slowly being eaten up by black.
Faintly, I heard Imogen cry in relief. Just as I thought I was going to fall into the inky redness, Ben was there, pulling me back from the edge. Fingers clamped painfully around my wrist, pulling my hand from the nightstand.
The second the contact was broken, the mist disappeared and my vision slowly cleared. I looked up to find myself cradled in Ben’s arms, his face and naked torso as red as a boiled lobster, with tiny white blisters along one side.
“You’re burned.”
“What happened?” he asked, ignoring my statement.
I leaned against him, drawing comfort from the strength of him. I wanted badly to touch his burned face, but when I tried to lift my hand, I found it just hung there, as heavy as a lead weight. “My hand.”
He frowned, lifting my hand, turning it slightly so the palm faced him.
Imogen gasped. “Oh, Fran!”
My palm was as black as if I had painted it. I stared in horror at it, then looked closer. It wasn’t a true black; it was a blackish purple. “That’s . . .”
“Blood,” Ben said. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s numb. I can’t feel it at all. Why is my hand filled with black blood?” My skin crawled at the thought of some heinous disease.
“It’s not a disease. It’s like a bruise, a profound bruise. I believe I can heal it.”
I watched with concern as he gently stroked my fingers and palm. It was true I didn’t feel any pain; the hand was almost icy in its numbness. But the color was enough to freak me out. What happened to me?
You said it was a lich.
Yes, it was. A man named Ulfur. And oh, Ben, he’s in so much pain, so much torment. It was different from what I feel when I touch you.
I startled him. He shot me a quizzical glance before returning his attention to my hand, his long fingers stroking my abused flesh. You can feel my pain?
Oh, yes.
I’m sorry. I had no idea you would feel the negative aspects of being a Dark One. I will take care to shield you from them.
No, you won’t.
He looked even more startled.
Ben, I don’t just want to see all the happy feelings inside you, although those are always nice to share. If we are to get to know each other, that includes all the less than flattering stuff as well, like the fact that you snore, and I am always grumpy in the morning until I’ve had coffee.
I do not snore! he said, outraged. I am a Dark One. Mortals snore—we do not.
Fine, you don’t snore. You breathe heavily, in a rhythmical way that everyone else would assume was snoring.
You imagined it.
As Ben continued to stroke the flesh, I felt a faint sensation of warmth, not enough to make my hand feel normal, but a bit of the iciness left it. I looked away from my hand to where Imogen was hovering behind him, making little distressed noises. “Imogen, does Ben snore?”
She didn’t even bat an eyelash at that question. “Yes, he does.”
I won’t say “I told you so” because that would be gloating. But I did tell you.
I can see I’m going to have to separate you two lest you continue to gang up on me, he grumbled, but I felt his amusement nonetheless.
Why would touching something that a lich touched do this to me? Are they evil like demons?
They are beings like any others—some good, some bad. The one who was in here, assumedly to take your valknut, must have been tainted with evil.
I thought for a moment about what it was I felt. No, not evil, I said slowly. He was in pain, lots of pain. It was like he was wrapped so tightly in chains that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
He is a lich—they are bound to necromancers much in the way demons are bound to demon lords.
That makes sense, then. I don’t think he wanted to be here. I think he was being forced.