A Voice in the Dark

Where Warmth Begins

Elias POV

The wind had gone still, but the silence that followed was far more violent.

I didn't feel the cold. Not the rain. Not the soaked shirt clinging to my spine or the mud beneath my boots.

I felt her.

Her curls, those thick honey-blonde spirals I'd imagined a thousand times more vivid than dreams, were plastered to her skin, limp from rain and fever. Her skin was hot. Her lips... pale. Breathing shallow. Her dress clung to her like it was trying to devour her, soaked silk molded to her body, revealing every line, every curve I wasn't supposed to see. Not like this. Not now. Not when she was unconscious.

"Eira-" My voice cracked. Her name escaped me like breath after drowning. "You reckless little thing..."

She didn't answer. She didn't stir. Her lashes didn't flutter.

A different kind of fear gripped me now. One with claws. One I didn't have the strength to fight off.

"Eira. Wake up. Look at me." She didn't move.

I touched her cheek, ice. My thumb swept across the hollow beneath her eye, willing warmth back into her. Her skin was soft,her breath too shallow.

I was drenched in seconds, the rain biting through my clothes, but I didn't care. The cold didn't reach me, not in the way panic did. My pulse pounded in my ears like war drums.

"What were you thinking?" I growled under my breath, lifting her gently into my arms. Her head lolled against my chest. She smelled like lavender and rain and something heartbreakingly familiar that made my throat tighten.

"You walked here... in this storm?" Rage curled low in my stomach, not at her. Never truly at her. At myself. At the universe. At every damned thing that had failed her. Including me.

Her dress was soaked through, thin linen clinging to her like a second skin, and her legs were bare beneath her cloak. She looked like a girl lost in a myth, too ethereal, too breakable. I pulled her closer, shielding her body with my own.

"My girl," I murmured low against her temple. "What did they do to you this time?"

I should've protected her. Long ago. I'd vowed to.

"Gideon! Close the gate!" I barked toward the shadows, my dog already sprinting out of the house. My boots struck wet stone as I pushed through the grand door of the estate.

"Clara! Thomas!" I roared up the stairwell as I climbed, two, three steps at a time. "NOW!" I didn't wait for their response, I was already climbing, Eira weightless in my arms. My hand splayed across her thigh to keep her steady, God forgive me, my palm burned where I touched her bare skin.

They appeared at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed. Clara gasped.
"Dear God-"
"Doctor. Now. Warm linens, hot water, dry clothes. Move," I snapped, my voice sharp enough to make them flinch. "Tell him to bring everything. Fever's high. She collapsed at my gates." My gaze cut to Clara. "Prepare dry linens and water."

My door slammed open beneath my boot, and I brought her into my bedroom, the only place that held warmth this time of night.

The room greeted us like a sanctuary. Dark wood paneled the walls. The fire in the hearth had long died, but embers glowed. Rain ticked against the tall arched windows. Moonlight spilled in, casting silver across the thick rugs, the velvet chairs, the massive bed of carved wood and linen.

I laid her across the mattress, carefully, reverently, like one might place something sacred upon an altar. Her curls fanned out across my pillows. Her skin was the wrong color, too pale, flushed in the cheeks, the kind of heat that spoke of illness, not life.