When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(36)

That deep, pleasant voice. I know that voice.

I… I think I like that voice.

The strange, muddled thoughts inside my head take a back seat as I try to figure out who’s helping me.

There’s a sense of déjà vu when I find a warm hazel gaze on at me.

“Ras,” I breathe.

A wry kind of amusement slips in. “Ah, so she finally recognizes me on the third time.”

“Third time? What?”

“This is the third time you’ve woken up all worked up.” He straightens my pajama top and brushes my hair away from my neck. It’s all so familiar. He’s done that exact thing before.

I suck in a panicked breath.

“Calm down.” A glass of water appears in his hand. “Drink this.”

He watches me follow his instructions, and I watch him back. This is the first time I’ve seen him with his hair untied, and it’s beautiful. Dark-chocolate tresses hang to just over his shoulders in soft waves. He runs his fingers through it, and I have an urge to do the same, just to find out if it’s as soft as it looks.

I glance down at the suddenly empty glass. “I did it?”

His lips curve into a kind smile. The type you give to cute animals and little kids. “Good job.”

Confused. I’m so confused. Has he always smiled like that, or is that new? No, it’s new. It was never like that when he smiled at me before.

I hiccup. “Oh no.”

He brushes more hair out of my face. “What?” he asks softly.

“I hate hiccups.”

“Oh.” A different kind of smile plays over his lips, one he’s trying to hold back. “They are annoying.”

“I hate how I c-can’t speak properly with them.”

“We don’t have to speak. Unless there’s something you really want to say to me.”

The next time he raises his hand to brush my hair back, I clasp it and press his open palm to the side of my face.

Amusement leaves his features, but he doesn’t move his hand.

He doesn’t move at all as I mirror him and cup his cheek with my own hand.

I don’t see him take a single breath as I slide my hand into his hair and run my fingers through it.

My eyes fall shut from the sheer pleasure of it. “So. S-oft.”

He shivers.

I tangle my fingers through that hair while he drags his thumb back and forth over my cheekbone. I’m probably giving him a bunch of knots, but he doesn’t stop me. He just lets me do whatever I want to his beautiful mane.

“Gem?”

“Hmm?”

One slow swipe over my cheek.

“Who did this to you?”

What is he talking about? I should know… It’s on the edge of my consciousness.

I hiccup and take my hand back. A weakness spreads through me, pulling on my eyelids, pulling me down…

“Let’s get you back down. You’re falling asleep.”

Hands appear at my shoulders, a pillow disappears, then reappears, and then I’m being tucked in.

“How did I end up here?” I mumble.

“Beats me.” Lips brush against the shell of my ear. “I’m wondering the same damn thing.”





CHAPTER 12





GEMMA


I suck in a breath, my eyelids popping open. The remnants of my dream ping-pong around my head, disjointed images of fantastical, nonsensical things. Through the window, I see the beginnings of a new day and the glimmer of the sea. I think it’s dawn.

A soft snore travels across the room.

I swivel my eyes to Cleo’s bed and see a large man lying there, cloaked in shadows.

My skin tightens.

Wait a second.

Oh, those dreams… They weren’t… They weren’t…

OH MY FUCKING GOD.

I slide up against the headboard.

Ras’s ankle slips off the mattress. He’s dressed in a pair of pinstriped black slacks and a white undershirt. His jacket and dress shirt are tossed carelessly over a chair by the bed.

Wait, I remember those slacks.

He wore them at Vale’s wedding.

An indescribable mixture of horror, apprehension, and embarrassment solidifies right in the pit of my stomach.

I think I might throw up again, because there’s no way—no way—Ras has been taking care of me since the night of the wedding.

My body breaks out in a sweat. I haul the covers off me, swivel on my butt, and place one unsteady foot on the floor but stop halfway with the other.

What the hell am I wearing?

Definitely not what I was wearing before. I remember the blue pajamas from when Ras straightened them out for me. I thought it was a dream, but at this point, I’m ready to acknowledge that all of my “dreams” are likely part of a nightmarish reality.

Someone changed me out of my clothes, and the only other person in the room is the most likely suspect.

Heat travels in a slow wave up my chest.

Let’s add vulnerability to that mess in my gut, shall we?

I pull back the neck of the random pink T-shirt I brought with me from New York and breathe a sigh of relief when I discover that my bralette is still on. An image of Ras handling my body with those big hands, dragging a calloused thumb over the bralette’s lacy edge, rudely intrudes inside my head and makes my mouth go dry.