Wait Until Dawn, Bailey Bradford [best novels to read txt] 📗

Conner’s grin was past impish and straight into devilish. “I get my point across, although… Tell your boyfriend I really enjoyed the show. You two were pretty damn hot, and that piercing—”

Rich missed the rest of the message as his being seemed to be turned inside out, everything spinning and pulsing as darkness pulled him down.

Chapter Twelve

Rich hadn’t felt so awful since he’d been attacked. Every part of his body ached, and he didn’t want to open his eyes. The buzzing in his head reminded him of a beehive full of agitated insects. He whimpered, and wondered if he was having some type if aneurism when his temples throbbed with every beat of his heart.

“Nah. You just wish you were dead so you weren’t in pain, but hey, pain’s a part of life. Physical pain, I mean. We can all hurt, dead or alive.”

Rich recognized the voice in his head. He’d heard it before. He knew he had.

“Oh, how soon you forget,” that voice teased. “I help you out so the bad guy doesn’t win, and you don’t want to remember me. I’m wounded. I truly am.”

“You don’t sound wounded,” Rich tried to say, but all he managed to do was croak like a damned bullfrog.

“Rich? Rich, can you open your eyes for me? Please? Gods, please open your eyes. I need to know you’re going to be okay.”

That was Chris, Rich knew it, and the panic in Chris’ voice brought the memories of what had occurred to the forefront of Rich’s mind. He’d died, for all intents and purposes, and McAlister had been there, inside him, his soul tangled with Rich’s.

But no longer. “Chris?” Rich struggled to open his eyes. How was it possible that his eyelids weighed so much? Was he going to have to use his hands to pry them open?

“Just relax and it’ll happen,” Chris urged. “You’re too close to panicking and tensing up all over. You’ve got tension lines right here.” He touched the outer edges of Rich’s eyes.

“Wrinkles,” Rich huffed. “You mean I’ve got wrinkles.” He got his eyes open enough to wish he’d kept them closed. “The light.”

“I’ll turn it off.”

As soon as the overhead light was off, some of the pain receded from Rich’s head. His temples still throbbed. “Everything hurts. Did…did I get—?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask if he’d been injured again.

But Chris must have known what he was going to ask, because he answered immediately. “No. No, not like before. The battle with McAlister was rough, though. Your body, I’ve never seen anyone’s body bend the way yours did.” He gently placed his hands on Rich’s chest. “I’m so glad you survived. I want to spend years with you, a lifetime. Want to see your hair turn gray and wrinkles form—”

“You’ve already seen that,” Rich interrupted, sluggishly raising one arm and nearly slapping himself when he tried to touch the spot where Chris had claimed he had ‘tension lines’.

“Those were from you hurting,” Chris said. “They’ll go away.”

“Were? Will go away? Are they still there or not?” Rich asked.

Chris moved his hands up and began to massage Rich’s temples. “Relax, and try to let go of the pain.”

“I don’t want it,” Rich protested. “I’m not clinging to it.”

“No, I know you aren’t, but just let it go,” Christ repeated.

Rich sighed and tried to imagine the pain leaving his body in a stream of red and black. It helped some, at least in regards to the pain in his temples. His entire body still ached, however.

“Try to sleep if you can,” Chris said minutes later. “Let yourself heal, spiritually and physically. Your aura, while pure, is bruised with exhaustion.”

“I thought you wanted me to wake up,” Rich replied, his voice slurred. His tongue felt thick and sleep was tugging at his consciousness, trying to claim it.

“I wanted to make sure you could wake up. Now I want you to rest.” Chris kissed him, a chaste brush of lips. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”

Chris had never felt such fear in his life, and now he was drained from it. He eased down onto the bed beside Rich. He’d watched over Rich for hours, but now he needed to sleep for a little while himself. The only way that would happen was if he lay down with Rich.

It didn’t take long for Chris to match his breathing to Rich’s. Another minute later, and Chris let sleep carry him away.

His dreams were a mix of nightmares and nonsense. He heard McAlister, whether his own interpretation of what the man would have sounded like, or a shared memory from Rich, he didn’t know. Chris wouldn’t dismiss the latter option. He knew there was more to the world and the soul than anyone living would ever understand.

So whether it was real or not, seeing Rich suffer, feeling his pain, was every level of hell that might exist.

Chris woke up with cheeks wet from tears. A warm, gentle breeze rushed over him. Chris would have thanked whatever spirit had given him that reassuring touch had he been quick enough to do so. The touch was there and gone in the blink of an eye.

He’d have put money on it being Conner, as swift as it’d been. Then again, what did he know about Conner, really?

Rich moaned and his eyes moved quickly behind his lids. Through the blind-filtered morning light sneaking in the room, Chris could see his lover’s features. Rich’s skin was too pale, and dark circles made him look almost like someone had blackened his eyes, but there was a peacefulness about Rich as he slept. And as he awakened, eyes opening on a gentles sweep of lashes.

“Chris,” Rich rasped, reaching for him.

Chris smiled at Rich. “Hey. Feel any better?”

“Still sore, but my head doesn’t seem to want to blow up anymore,” Rich said.

“That’s a plus.” Chris sat up. “I need a drink. Water, preferably. I’ll get you some juice and will be right back.”

“Okay. Thanks.”