15 - Fever

  Heat.

  Blistering, suffocating heat coiled beneath his skin, searing every nerve. That was his world now. It was everything and nothing like the mage’s fire. That roared like the furnace in the belly of a dragon. This purred like the belly of a small kitten.

  But it wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

  Darkness swirled. Shadows danced across stone walls. Monstrous shapes clawed at him in fevered delirium. His eye darted around, unseeing but frantic. Soft murmurs reached his ears, muffled and distorted.

  Then, hands.

  They pressed against him - cool, unfamiliar, unwanted.

  No!

  He snarled and thrashed violently. Metal bit into the flesh of his wrists and ankles. The metal rattled sharply with each desperate tug. A sharp cry escaped him - raw, desperate. They were trying to hurt him! They always did. No more. No more.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Soft Hands cooed. “It’s okay.”

  Fire. Internal. Whatever she wanted, he didn’t care. It was just noise, an invasion of his fragile world.

  A damp cloth touched his burning forehead. He recoiled, a strangled growl erupting from his throat. Ragged breaths. Shallow. He fought at the restraints, fought at the hands. His fingers clawed at the air. Every touch was an attack, every whisper a threat.

  “Hold him.”

  The Stern Man. His voice was commanding, steady. Angry.

  Hands again. They gripped his shoulders. Another pair pushed down on his legs. He bucked at them. A ragged scream.

  Then, glass at his lips. His eyes widened with terror and he spluttered, panicked. But a hand gripped his jaw. It felt like iron - strong and unyielding - forcing his mouth open without mercy. His mouth filled with something sickly sweet. Then, the same hand clamped over his mouth. He convulsed, his muffled cries vibrating against the hand, fighting even as he swallowed, even as the potion began to pull him into reluctant darkness.

  His breath hitched. A broken sob.

  Slowly, his thrashing slowed until he stilled altogether. He was locked in a haze between waking and sleeping, his vision blurred through the tears. The fever still burned, but his body gave into the forced calm.

  “Dammit!”

  He flinched as the Stern Man slammed his fist into the stone wall. So did the hands that held him. Anger. Bitter sounds. He whimpered.

  “Shh,” said Soft Hands. “It’s okay.”

  Okay. He was starting to understand that word. It was not okay. But he had no choice now. His eye fluttered shut, and the chains that had rattled endlessly now lay still.