Charred Tears

Chapter One

Chapter One

 

I wish I had a magic cabin, Chace thought, struggling to focus on the thin bar of light slowly making its way across his cabin ceiling. It was morning again. As with the past several mornings, he was surprised his battered, fevered, weak body decided to wake at all. Living hurt more than he ever imagined it could.

If some part of you cares for her, you’ll do whatever it takes to survive.

The parting words of the dragon shifter that abandoned him left Chace a miserable wreck, unable to fix himself but unable to simply die the way he felt like doing every time he opened his eyes.

But if he died, so did Skylar. There were a few people he thought of who deserved a quick death, but she wasn’t one of them.

“Dammit.” Though unable to sit up in two days, he was able to brace his feet against the bed enough to roll onto his side and then pushed his heavy body off the mattress.

Chace made it out of bed and rested on his knees. He was burning up from the inside out. His mouth was parched, and the head wound he’d tried to bandage smelled funny. He opened his mouth in a noiseless laugh, wondering if gangrene in his head meant someone was going to have to chop his head off.

Sky would laugh.

He didn’t let himself dwell on her too long, knowing he didn’t remotely deserve to think of her after betraying her the way he had. Still, the memory of their time together, her sky-colored eyes and radiant smile, her oddball sense of humor, the heat of her skin and peachy scent, the way her slick core gripped his arousal, the sounds she made when she came …

The thoughts made him more fevered. He pushed them away.

The one room cabin was cold from the chilly night, his skin clammy and cool to the touch despite the fever raging within.

He was thirsty, but the trip to the sink on his hands and knees was going to be agonizing. For a moment, he considered just hefting himself back into bed and staying there.

But he didn’t. He crawled on his hands and knees across the cabin. The journey felt like a million miles, and the effort of keeping his head upright left him breathless.

He reached the refrigerator. For reasons he wasn’t able to explain, the fridge was the only part of his cabin that retained some sort of magic. Maybe Gavin did it to help him, or maybe his passive-aggressive cabin was messing with him one last time.

Opening the door, Chace blinked to clear his blurry gaze.

The fridge was full of vegetables and oranges, as if the magic thought he had a simple cold and not a head wound that required more than a huge dose of Vitamin C.

“That’s not going to work,” he muttered. He closed the door and leaned against it.

“So, there I was, drinking a glass of beer, when this thoroughly pissed off dragon came to get me. Plucked me right out of my seat. You know what happened then, Chace?”

Chace raised his head, unable to focus his senses well but trying to. Was there really someone in his cabin, talking to him, or had he moved from fevered to delusional? If he was delusional, he wasn’t about to put in the effort it would take to turn around.

“He kidnaps me, tells me I can’t use my magic again until I do exactly what he says, then dumps me on a cold beach in the middle of the night in Oregon.”

“Gunner?” Chace ventured. “Where are you?”

“Um, right behind you.”

Chace shifted painfully, wincing each inch he went, until he spotted the large panther shifter from the corner of his eye.

Gunner was staring at him. The normally hard-to-ruffle shifter was disheveled, his dark hair a mess, his clothing wrinkled and his features pale beneath the olive skin.

“Cats don’t fly,” Gunner said, gaze sharpening. “But I have a feeling you’re in worse shape.”

“I hope you’re really here, because I need a doctor,” Chace said. “Pretty sure I have gangrene in my head.”

A puzzled smile lifted one corner of Gunner’s mouth. He moved forward and knelt beside Chace, unraveling the pillowcase Chace wrapped around his head. One of Gunner’s many occupations over the years had been as a physician, and he’d prescribed Chace sleeping pills on more than one occasion.

“I’ve seen five-year-olds make papier-mâchésculptures better than this,” Gunner said. 

Chace grunted, sagging against the bed.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Gunner continued. “Don’t make a deal with some jackass who only comes around at night and won’t tell you his name.”

“I know. You were right again.”

“Holy shit, Chace.” Gunner dropped his hands, staring at the head wound.

“Is it bad?”

“If by bad, you mean is it the most disgusting, infected, horrible thing I’ve seen since I became an emergency room doctor, then yes, it’s bad, Chace.”

Chace grunted. “Can you fix it?”

Gunner was quiet for a moment, staring at the wound.

“Yo, Gun. Can you fix it?” Chace asked again.

“I don’t suppose you have any penicillin.” Gunner looked around. “Cabin. Meds, please.”

“It’s not magic anymore.”

“Then we’ll do this the old fashioned way.” Gunner rose.

Chace followed him with his gaze, his energy for the morning spent. He waited, doubtful Gunner was going to be able to save his head, but hoping his friend could.

“Okay, here we go.” Gunner tugged a stool over and set down a bucket full of supplies. He grabbed a pair of scissors and reached for Chace’s hair.

“No!” Chace all but shouted.

“Look, I need to scrub out the wound and clean it. Your hair is in the way and might have germs that can –”

“I’d rather die with hair than live bald.”

“Fine.” Gunner wiped his face and dropped the scissors in the bucket. “I was going to be gentle with you, but not now. You’re being arrogant and stupid, so that’s how I’ll treat you.” He pulled out a scrub brush with thick bristles that had been under Chace’s kitchen sink. “I’m gonna use peroxide to kill off what germs I can. It’s the only chemical you have in the house. Then I’m going scrub the shit out of your head.”

“For reals?” Chace eyed the stiff bristles of the scrub brush, not wanting to imagine the pain it was going to cause against his tender head wound.

“For reals, Chace. You wanna live? This is the price.”

This is gonna hurt. What other choice did he have? No matter how he felt about what he’d done and how much he screwed up, he was only able to think about the parting words from the infuriated dragon shifter. If Chace died, so did Skylar.

He’d fucked her over enough. He wasn’t about to be the reason she died.

“Hopefully you pass out,” Gunner said, upbeat.

“Yeah,” Chace agreed, bracing himself. “Okay. Turn me platinum.”

I deserve all the pain in the world after what I did to her.