Читать книгу Mirage's Revenge - Lorena Garcia - Страница 5

I was awakened by a cry in the middle of the night. Mirage was not in my arms but writhing on the bed beside me. She seemed as if she was battling with some putrid dream. I gathered her in my arms and held her close as she cried, begged, whimpered, and squirmed.

It seemed like my body heat and the lull in my voice as I tried to calm her held the opposite effect for she woke screaming, “NO!”

She curled deep into my arms as I continued to try to calm her, her tears streaming between us. We stayed in that position for hours, until her tears had all but dried and she stopped quivering in fear. I couldn’t find the courage to ask her what her terror was about, lest her tears should start once more.

“I know what happened to me,” came her muffled voice from my chest.

“Pardon?” I asked, not understanding what she was referring to.

She looked at me, her eyes shining in the dim light because of fresh, unshed, tears. I pulled her close and I felt her exhale deeply. Her body trembled nervously once more before relaxing in my arms.

“I know what happened to me during the time I escaped and you finding me.” Her hand had traveled to her stomach in a nervous gesture.

“You remembered?” I asked her softly, feeling her breathing hitch as she talked.

“Bits and pieces of it,” She looked at me, searching my eyes, “but I believe so.”

I nodded and smiled softly at her, kissing her lips before saying, “Tell me what you remember.”

She scoffed softly, to try to make the situation less serious but it did not work, causing her tears to fall down her cheeks. I kissed her tears away, pulling her close in a soft support.

“I was running,” she exhaled deeply, “I heard shouts and footsteps but I was too afraid to look back. I just ran.”

She paused for a long while, I held her in silence, knowing that she needed some time to process the information and find the strength to relive them.

“I remember coming up to the dead end and being forced to stop. I could hear the footsteps closing in and, though I thought about hiding, it was too late.”

She exhaled forcefully, forcing her tears away until she finished the story.

“I can’t remember his face… I can’t remember what he looks like or who he was but all I do remember is he tore me apart.”

I pulled her closer, tightly. I heard her defenses break down and felt her body rake with sobs once more.

“The last thing that I remember,” she sniffled, pushing back to look at me, “Is his blade snapping in two, and him plunging it still within me.”

She put her hand over one of the scars, and she placed her head on my shoulders, her tears started once more. I arranged her in my arms so that her head still rested on my shoulder, but she was curled up where I can hold her close.

I examined her stomach and, sure enough, there was one where it seemed as if it was done by a broken blade. It was deeper and longer than the other two. I skimmed my fingertips over her wounds, before tracing the path with my lips. Her tears had stopped but her cheeks were still moist when I kissed her face before I kissed her lips. She reciprocated and we joined together once more before we both fell into a peaceful sleep. She slept in my arms and when dawn broke, she remained in my embrace.