Page 9 of Wild Heart
The sound was shrill, an indignant shriek that slashed through the air like a bolt of lightning. Dr. Hawthrone reared backward, and I threw my arms over my head. Knees bent, I made myself as small as possible and screamed until my lungs started to hurt.
Fingers wrapped around the back of my throat, and when I tried to jerk away, the grip only tightened. A puff of breath coasted the edge of my ear just before his voice whispered, “Marcos.”
I choked on my scream and struggled to put oxygen back into my chest. His fingers crawled across my scalp and tangled themselves in my curls, scratching lightly.
“I can’t leave,” I croaked.
“I know that now, and I won’t let anyone make you.”
Hands shaking, they fell away from my head, giving his fingers more room to explore. My own grip landed on the swell of his arms and the symbols he had tattooed there. They were crafted of sharp, blunt lines and devoid of any color. With my pinky finger, I started to trace them.
“Screaming makes the pain go away.”
He hummed. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm. My mama taught me. She said if you scream loud enough, the pain will hear it and run away.”
“And are you in pain, Solnyshko?”
I pressed my cheek to his skin. “Not anymore.”
ChapterFour
Marcos
Water rolled down my skin in rivulets, dripping off my chest and the tips of my fingers. Chin low, my hair stuck to the tops of my cheeks as I stared down at the shower’s drain and watched the last of Ivan’s blood circle it.
I could still feel it—the ache just below the surface of my skin. The blood was gone but my skin still bore the evidence of another’s pain while my insides shook with my own.
Palms against the tile wall, I inhaled. My lungs struggled to fill, and I flinched against a familiar soreness. It followed me like a shadow, lingering for hours, sometimes days, after a screaming fit. My throat felt the same, but I didn’t mind how hoarse my voice was or the unrecognizable inflection.
It usually meant I wasn’t expected to speak, and when I did, I sounded like somebody else.
I didn’t mind that either.
Steam swelled up around me, and while my muscles seemed to appreciate it, I couldn’t help but feel suffocated. Hand on the lever, I turned until the stream stopped. I stood there unmoving until the heat left me and goosebumps were rising against my skin.
The curtain made awhooshwhen I peeled it open, and I reached for a towel that hung on a rack beside me. It was toddler-sized, and I wondered how the hell they expected a towel like this to be suitable for a man like Ivan.
I was quick, running it over my body, and then wrapping it around my waist. Stepping up to the sink, I used the edge of my fist to rub away the condensation covering the small mirror. Coming eye to eye with myself would’ve been alarming if I hadn’t already seen this version many times before.
My eyes were shadowed and deep-set. I didn’t know which was more ghastly looking—the tops of my cheeks or the cushion of my lips. It was all very doomsday.
Water dripped from the tips of my hair and slipped down the ridges of my neck. Pushing my fingers into my curls, I squeezed and felt cool water soak my palms before it filled the sink below.
There was a pile of clothes resting on a small bench beside me, brand new with tags. Elijah had gone out and bought them, and while I refused them last night, I couldn’t imagine walking back into that hospital room wearing anything else.
Ivan had all but demanded I shower and put on clean clothes, and while it was in my nature to be a bit of a brat, I’d found that around him, I just wanted to be good.
The simple sweatshirt and joggers fit perfectly, and I refused to think too hard about how these men knew all my sizes. Flipping the hood over my head, I used the strings to pull it tight and tugged on a pair of socks. My toes curled against the warm cotton, and I enjoyed how it felt before cracking open the door and slipping into a narrow hall.
My steps were near silent as I moved back into the wide room.God.The lights in hospitals were always impossibly bright, like the administration wanted to add a dash of war torture to their patient’s recovery plan.
It was absurd.
My left eye twitched, and I wrapped my arms around my middle as if I could protect myself from both the over-stimulation and the ugly memories.
“Hey!”
