Wake of the Dead | Three

Chapter Twenty-Eight | Killian

"I found him!" A loud voice was what Killian woke up to. He wasn't sure what was going on, who had they found, who was looking for somebody and where was he? But as his eyes began to peel open through the sickly, thick tears and he sat up, he knew. Why was he sleeping in the horse stables? He hauled himself to his feet and stumbled, his head felt too heavy for the rest of his body to hold up. There was a weight to his shoulders, like something was trying to drag him to the ground.

Loud and heavy footsteps summoned Stephan, who loomed in the doorway of the horse's stable, his brows narrowed irritably. A snarl curled at his lip and he snapped, "What are you doing here, Rabbit? Why aren't you in your room?" He flinched back as the large man extended a hand, preparing for pain, but when none came he slowly opened his eyes again. He looked Stephan up and down carefully. Nothing about his captor's body language suggested aggression except for the deep-etched annoyance on his face. But this man was unpredictable and he couldn't think straight. He didn't trust his own mind to make decisions, but if he couldn't trust himself then who could he?

There was no other choice, Stephan blocked the entrance and would catch him if he tried to skirt past. "I don't remember." He mumbled, reaching out with a shaky hand to take the tyrant's. He didn't like the sound of his voice, it was hollow and flat, ghostly even. "Did I do something wrong?" You shouldn't care if you did or not. A small thought in the back of Killian's mind lingered. Nobody here cares about you, there's nobody. All your friends are dead, so why do you still bother? He clenched his fists. No. You haven't seen their bodies so you don't know if they're dead or not. But if you escape you can still find out. Then you can decide what to do.

Stephan narrowed his eyes. "No." He said. "But if you run off again without permission you will be. Now go and clean yourself up, then have something to eat. We're going on a little trip to have a meeting with The Mistress on neutral territory." Killian didn't even have a chance to speak before the man rumbled, "I'm not idiotic enough to leave you here alone. Now go."

With a reluctant sigh, Killian forced his aching feet to move. With every step, a jolt of pain ravaged up his arm, his eyes were uncomfortably heavy, the sticky tears that welled at the corners was becoming constant, he couldn't wipe them away enough. With his vision blurred, it was harder to navigate his surroundings. Some things were closer or farther than they looked, nothing appeared as clear as normal until it was right in front of him.

The urge to rub his eyes in an attempt to rid the fogginess was instinctual, but Killian knew that would only make them worse. His whole face felt hot, the center of the fever zoned in at his eyes and nose. He didn't want to touch it, he didn't have the energy to. Instead, he nibbled at the sleeves of Jasper's jacket, but that only reminded him of how hungry he was. Every other step he would glance over his shoulder, worried somebody—or something—might be watching him.

The previous night he could have sworn he'd heard Jasper's voice, but when he'd peeked out of the horse stables, nobody had been there. What's happening to me? He thought. Am I losing my mind? Before he knew it, Willow was carefully guiding him to his room. "Come now, love. I've managed to sneak you some medical supplies from Lennox." She snorted with a sort of wry amusement, "No matter how insane that man might be, he's still obsessed with watching over his patients' health."

"No," Killian said. "That isn't the reason. He just likes have control over whether people live or die." He shuddered, the image of his father's face was fading in place at the forefront of his mind. "I know men like him." Other, less familiar thoughts of past strangers crossed his mind, his heart felt as if it had stopped, his breathing halted for a split second. "There will always be people like them."