On Your Mark

Chapter 29

An entire day has gone by with no word from Sam, Isaac, or Gregory and the horrible aching feeling in my gut has only gotten worse. Unable to eat, drink, speak, think, or sleep, I move through the day like a zombie. Danny holds a great ball of worry for me, staying by my side the whole day to help with the baby. He tries to force me into taking care of myself, but I can't be bothered - not with my mate so far away and possibly in danger.

Something isn't right.

Nightfall comes with no word from anyone still. I stay up, pacing in our room and praying to the Moon Goddess. The baby sleeps soundly across the room with Danny propped against his bassinet, and I clutch the necklace Sam gave me, moving the medallion between my fingers with my bottom lip between my teeth and the glow of the moon on my face. My legs grow numb and I have to sit down, but before I know it I am fast asleep.

Until I'm not.

Until my hip begins to burn.

Until my heart is ripped from my chest.

I jolt out of bed, screaming and scratching at my white hot skin. I pull my shirt up, trying to get some cool air on my throbbing mark. I scream again when it sparks and begins to sizzle, burning off of my body. This is wrong. This isn't supposed to be happening. It's too soon.

My bedroom door is thrown open and my parents rush inside. My father pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shouting at my brother, "what's wrong with her?"

"I don't know!" Danny panics, running his hands through his hair frantically, "she- she was sleeping and then she just suddenly started screaming!"

The tears burst from my eyes like geysers and I claw at my mark - it has to come off, the pain has to stop, it hurts too much. My claws dig into my skin as I try to remove it before the pain kills me. I sink to my knees in a pool of my own blood as it runs down my legs. I hold my throat with one hand and my chest with the other, screaming and howling.

"Sam!"

"Oh my Goddess." Danny gasps, dropping his hands from his hair and reaching out to me, but too afraid to touch me. "Help her!"

"No, no, no." My mother repeats over and over again, shaking her head and crying. She walks to the bassinet to console the baby and my father squats down beside me.

"It's okay, Darling, it's okay."

I cry out, curling up on the floor, my body shaking involuntarily. My dad holds me in his lap, protecting my face from smashing on the hardwood and he frantically smooths out my hair, trying to console me, but his hands shake and the pain is too much to bear.

"He's gone!" I scream, "I begged him not to go! It hurts, Daddy, it hurts so bad."

"I know, Sweetheart." He cries softly above me, hugging me to his chest, "I know."

The world crumbles around me and my heart bursts into a million pieces. Ariya disappears from my consciousness completely and a cold darkness takes her place. I scream out for my mate, wanting him by my side - safe in my arms and protected from all harm, but he's not here and I am alone. I squeeze my hands around my throat, feeling the open gash gush with blood, but when I pull my hands away they are clean. Agony overcomes me, ripping screams from my chest so roughly, I am certain my throat is truly bleeding now.

"Please make it stop! Make it not be true," I wail.

"I can't," he says, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

"He can't be gone," I cry. "He just can't!"

My mark burns as a white scar forms over it. My sobs are labored and hoarse, and the pain becomes too much to handle. Darkness soon consumes me, taking me far away from here.

~

I wake up in my bed, blinking my eyes open into the sheltered darkness of my room. The curtains have been pulled shut, the baby's crib has been moved and he's not in here with me. I am alone.

I am alone.

The ache in my chest pulses all the way down to my toes and a long, deep howl escapes me. I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping that when I open them again all will be right in the world - my mark will be perfect, my heart in one piece, and my mate laying next to me.

I roll over, reaching my arm out across the empty sheet and grasping the fabric in my hand.

"No!" Crying into the pillow in his absence, muffles my moaning. "No, he can't be gone."

With my eyes still squeezed shut and my chest heaving erratically, I bring my fingertips to my hip carefully and cautiously - just barely dragging them across the skin. A fresh scar covers where Sam's mark once was and I whimper, grazing over the spot. I curl into a ball, recoiling my hand to my chest and crying.

I don't know what time it is, but eventually the sun stops trying to break through the curtains and a soft knock comes to the door. I don't flinch at the sound, I don't even shift my eyes in the general direction. My mother slowly opens the door and closes it behind her. She sits on the edge of my bed, my son in one arm and she gently moves the hair out of my face.

"Allie," her voice is soft and broken - she too has suffered this loss, but not as deeply as I have. "He needs to eat, my love. He needs his Mama."

My son squirms in her arms, whimpering softly as his tummy growls. I close my eyes, catching a whiff of his father's scent. I can't bring myself to look at him and I won't touch him. I can't. I bury my face further into the bed, away from him, another sob shaking my body.

"Allie," she says again, but I ignore her. She sighs and gets up to leave, but I hear him start to fuss in her arms. He needs me and he's all I have left of Sam.

"Wait," I whisper. I push myself up into a seated position, holding out my arms. She places him in my lap and sits beside me again. I lift my shirt and allow him to eat from me.

"Allie-"

"He's gone, Mama," I cry softly, keeping my red, puffy eyes off of the baby and directly on her. I shake my head, pressing my lips together in a firm line as the tears fall, "I felt him die."

"Baby, I am so sorry." She cries freely, grabbing my hand and holding it tightly in hers.

"I loved him." I sniffle, "so much. We didn't get enough time."

She nods in understanding and we sit in silence.

"Has Isaac come back yet," I ask in a hushed tone.

My mother shakes her head, looking down at the bed. I hate to think that his fate could be similar to Sam's, but it's hard to think he survived when Sam didn't. The empty space in my chest aches for both of them. We sit quietly crying, waiting for the baby to be finished. I cradle him in my arms, but refuse to look at him. I take a deep breath, my tears obstructing my vision and I drop my head. His sweet face with his father's soft features, smiles up at me. I caress his little cheek with my finger and he coos at my touch.

"Could you bring his bed back in here," I whisper.

She meets my determined expression and nods, "of course."

My mother brings herself to the door, but turns around to watch us. I admire my son, wiping the tears from my face - unsure if they are for him or for his father. She clears her throat to get my attention.

"He needs a name."

And without a second thought, I name him, "Samson. Samson Archibald Porter."