(A Week Later)
A little whine escapes Neva as she feels a warm, stirring touch on her cheek. A low, breathy chuckle breezes past her ear, wavering strands of curls lacing her temple.
Her body shifts slightly as the quilt slips away—and a familiar, heavy caress slides beneath her back, a strong arm curling under her thighs to lift her languid body with feather–light ease.
Slowly, she unveils her leaden eyes.
Her blurry world narrows to the sharp sculpt of his jaw, the perfectly shaped, sweet, slender mouth, the rise of his straight, tall nose—drifting up to his warm, chocolate eyes as she's carried somewhere else.
"My Angel." Rhett's soft, chasmic voice plucks the musical strings deep within her heart.
He lowers her securely onto a cushiony mattress that yields gently beneath her, her body warming under his looming presence.
"Sorry to wake you up," he whispers, leaning in to brush a kiss against her forehead.
His lips linger on her cheekbone—gentle, warm, and sweet—before claiming hers in a slow, teasing kiss that steals her breath and glides his tongue in to find hers.
Her hands rise to his chest, lingering to feel the quickening pulse of his heart—before sliding up the slope of his neck, fingers weaving through his mellow hair. A soft sigh strays from her lips as his tongue traces her neck, tasting the heat of her skin.
Her eyes remain closed as his tender fingers loosen the strings of her nightgown, unhurried in his motion as the fabric slips down her shoulders.
His heavy, rough hands mold perfectly to her sensitive curves. The dazed, heated caress of him ripples through her body and soul, like a droplet of rain falling on an emerald lake gardened with white lotus blooms.
A drop of rain quivers a petal, flushing the blossom scarlet.
Ripples thrill across the water as the heavens splatter the scarlet drizzle—a throbbing surge of terror in the blood–red lake, strewn with a grove of bloated, floating bodies with familiar, unfamiliar faces.
She smells the faint, metallic scent blended with decay hovering in the air.
Nausea numbs a bolt of fire through her nerves. Her flesh shrinks into her bones, and her unmoving body sinks—and sinks—and sinks into the bleak abyss of the burning ocean of lake.
She hears a distant voice calling her. Gentle pats graze her cheek.
"Angel?"
Her rippling vision threads to those alarm–streaked eyes.
Warm tears gush down her cheeks.
"Are you alright?" Rhett's voice trembles slightly, worry pulling a crease between his brows.
"I—" she gasps, dread strangling her throat.
"Shh..." he breathes, pulling her to his chest.
She's a trembling mess. The war drum of her heart thuds against her chest like a warning sign. She cannot feel the soothing motion of his hand on her back, nor the warmth of him, lost beneath the crawling images in the dead of her own mind.
But he holds her anyway—unhurried, careful with his touch.
Close and safe, as always. Her lips quiver, and as the pulse of his frantic heart reaches for hers, she buries her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her arm slides under his, gripping him, fingers digging into his skin as a muffled sob escapes her.
"It's alright, Angel." He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. "I'm here. Always."
"I'm going to wear you out," she whispers, her heart chipping away at her.
"Never," he whispers back.
She lifts her head just enough to gaze at his watery eyes.
"You're hurting because of me." Neva's lips tremble as tears float down her cheeks, her brows knitting as his pained gaze mirrors her own soul.
"I'm not." He gives her a faint, comforting smile.
"Is your watch over?" she murmurs.
"Yes." His fingers brush the strands of hair from her face.
Neva tilts her head to check on the children. They are tucked snug under the covers, sleeping soundly.
Rhett follows his nightly routine to keep watch, and until he can return to her for rest, she—like always—sings or reads her children to sleep and drifts off beside them.
Even through the haze of sleep, she remembers being lifted from the bed and lowered onto the mattress she had already spread on the wooden floor.
It must be around three in the morning.
As she leans her head against his bare chest, he tugs the quilt upward, cocooning them both in the trapped heat of their bodies.
"You can have me if you want," she breathes, her fingertips grazing him, tracing the strange rhythm of his chest.
Her heart shrivels, guilty that the same vision that has haunted her all week has intruded their rousing act of passion again.
Fear grips her every waking moment.
It grows and gnaws at her relentlessly.
While her mind frays, shreds of her senses slipping through her fingers.
Sometimes, fleeting numbness sickens her, and she fails to feel her own heart—wondering how she ever lived before.
But she knows she's divinely blessed and protected. It cannot compare to the utter darkness of the days with Ishmael, nor the disastrous ones on the cruise, nor the isolation she felt when Grandpa whisked her away from Miraeth, leaving her alone with May Smith and Niall Smith—two complete strangers who claimed to be her family.
A recent dream revealed to her, Aunt May and Uncle Niall had deceived her.
It was never true that she has been in an accident that cost her parents and her memories—for she had lost them way before she could even remember.
The nightmares of the ''accidents'' were born of the lies they fed her, because they wanted her for themselves and hoped she would forget her longing for the life she had shared with Grandpa and the boy with stars in his eyes.
Neva blinks as Rhett's arms tighten around her.
"You were lost again," Rhett says, a shadow streaking across his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Neva sighs, closing her eyes for a moment.
He caresses her cheek, a thumb tracing her cheekbone. "What can I do to make you feel better?"
"Nothing," she breathes out, distracted.
The unsettling memories make her fall away, pulling her deeper and deeper—until she's drowning in a violent current of hollowness.
"Angel." Rhett lets out a heavy sigh.
Neva frowns, a sharp ache in her chest at the strain in his voice.
He must be exhausted.
This week has been heavy on him, yet even as his duties drain him, he still finds it in him to help her around the house.
Sometimes she wonders if he'd be better off without a wife who offers nothing but somberness. She winces inside as her guts twist, coiling around the core of her soul at the thought that her own rot is withering him.
"I wonder when he's going to come get the twins," she murmurs.
"What?" His brows slash down.
"Ishmael," she swallows, her throat tight. "I told him he can come get Naya and Isaiah."
"When?"
"Hm?"
He sighs again, shoving himself up from the bed.
"When did you meet him?" He looks down at her, a muscle ticking in his tightened jaw.
"About a week ago." Her voice is a breeze across the dry grass.
He rubs a hand across his face, frustrated. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
She tilts her head slightly. "I didn't?"
Rhett swallows thickly, grim eyes softening a little. "Did he hurt you?"
Neva gives a faint shake of her head. "But he asked me to forgive him..." She slowly rises, an elbow bearing her weight.
"Said the messenger told him we're meant to guide the believers."
"What more did he say?" Rhett grinds out.
Neva tucks a strand of her flowing curls behind her ear. "He also said the messenger got him to warn some believers—before the royal guards destroyed their village."
His unreadable gaze searches her face, darkening as it trails down her chest, freckled with fresh, blushing lovemarks.
He draws in a shaky breath, fingers reaching to tug the falling sleeve of her white nightgown from her shoulder.
"Get some sleep." He drapes the quilt around her, shielding her from the frosted chill of December.
"I'll be back in a moment." He smiles softly, cupping her cheek before pulling himself up from the bed.
Neva watches Rhett slip on a grey sweatshirt and leave the room, not even once glancing back at her.
The cold air rushes in as the door closes.
She quietly pulls the quilt up to her neck, clutching it tight for warmth.
Shifting onto her side, she curls into a ball—cold and hollow, as her only comfort strays far away... So far away.