Bereft: Demise

41 | Of a Monster's Last Providence

When I woke, I was lying in my bed—or Darius's bed, I should say. My bed was thousands of miles away, across an entire ocean and a country, as far from me as it could possibly be. My faculties were muddled, but when I sat up, pain in my middle broke through the medicated haze.

I was dizzy and short of breath, but a look at my arms revealed a fresh flush to my skin and a new strip of tape and gauze at the crook of my elbow. There was an empty medical bag and a bundle of bloody bandages on the nightstand. I recalled the veritable lake of blood that had slipped through my fingers in the foyer. Given that was I wasn't dead, I must have been given a transfusion. Again.

I slid my legs out from under the blankets, bracing myself against the sudden chill that met my bare legs. I plucked at the front of the unfamiliar nightgown I was dressed in, my brow wrinkling in confusion. I stood and took the time for my balance to adjust. I laid a hand on the nightstand and recoiled when my fingers met a thin layer of frost.

The Sin of Pride was near—and unhappy.

Upright, I noticed the cat hunkered into the blankets at the foot of the bed with its tail flicking in quiet agitation.

"Lionel," I said, surprised by how hoarse my voice was. "Did I imagine it, or were you a person?"

"Meow," the Druid answered. Its tail continued to bob.

Waving a dismissive hand at the uncooperative feline, I went to leave the room. I clutched my wounded side at the threshold separating the bedroom from the parlor and felt the copious wrappings binding my ribs. They were done tightly—almost too tightly. Each breath was cut short by the constrictive bandages.

The parlor was dark, the lights left unflared and the hearth barren. Watery sunlight filtered through the window and glinted upon the iced floor like light on a bared blade. Darius was seated in his armchair with his elbows upon his knees, his hands clasped before himself as if he were lost in prayer. I knew better, though. Darius didn't pray to anybody.

I opened my mouth, but the Sin spoke before I could.

"You didn't tell me it was getting worse."

I paused only feet from the creature, waiting as his gaze swiveled onto me and I became the center of his intractable temper.

"You didn't say a word of how far your condition has deteriorated."

I splayed my open hands as I was unsure of how Darius wanted me to respond. "I fell. It was an accident."

"Lie." Darius stood and approached with his cold, efficient grace. I stood my ground, and when he was only inches from me, I tilted my head back so I could meet his uncompromising glare. "You're lying to me."

"I'm not." I ground my teeth and refused to blink or look away. "And besides, when would I have the chance to tell you anything? When I catch a glimpse of you crossing through a room? When I hear the door close hours before dawn? Tell me, Darius—when would I have the chance?"

"Don't be flippant with me, girl," he whispered, his words oddly lacking in heat and imbued with urgency. I expected rage, but this was something...different. This was fear. Unrest. "You are dying."

"I know," I replied, taking a step back, alarmed by his intensity. "I know I'm dying. I'm fully aware. We both know it. This isn't a surprise."

"We are running out of time and you didn't tell me, Sara!" Darius's voice rose, then faltered again as he ran a hand through his hair. His gaze slid away to peer beyond my shoulder. "My search is taking too long."