“Not physically sick,” she continued in a rush, twisting the ring on her finger forcefully. “I mean, she heard…voices…in her head. Sometimes they were so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.” She pressed her palm against the wall, hanging her head as she remembered. “They told her to do things. Things she never would have done otherwise.”
Like abandon her only daughter without even saying good-bye.
She trailed off, uncomfortably reminded of her own voices—the ones she’d heard back in the museum and at her grandpa’s house. Was it just a coincidence? Her mind playing tricks? Or had her mother’s illness been lurking inside of her all along? Waiting for just the right moment to dig its sharp talons into her consciousness and rip out her sense of reality?
I’m nothing like Mom. I’m nothing like Mom. I’m NOTHING like Mom.
She shoved off the wall, plopping down on the couch and scrubbing her face with her hands. “Anyway, that’s when my grandpa took me in. He didn’t have to. But he knew how miserable I’d been in foster care over the years when my mom was in and out of hospitals, and so he somehow convinced the judge to award him custody.” She gave Connor a sad smile. “And we became a family. Just the two of us.”
And then I yelled at him, she added to herself. I basically called him a fool for wasting our money on some useless artifact.
But it wasn’t useless. And she was the one who’d been a fool.
She glanced out the window, unease knotting her stomach. Where was he? Why hadn’t he called? Had the blood on the knife been his? The fact that the agents were looking for him meant, at least, they didn’t have him. But what about these Dracken people? Could they have captured him somehow? And if so, what would they do to him? Would they hold him captive until she agreed to turn over the egg?
“I just hope he’s okay,” she said quietly. “I can’t stand thinking about him out there somewhere, all alone, maybe in trouble. It just makes me feel so helpless.” Her voice cracked on the last part as she fought back a sob.
For a moment she just sat there, staring out the window, not knowing what to do, what to say. Then, to her surprise, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Connor reaching out, without a word, gathering her into his arms.
Her first instinct was to resist, to pull away. To put distance between herself and this stranger. After all, she wasn’t the type of girl who just fell into a guy’s arms at a moment’s notice, no matter how hot they might be.
Yet she was so stressed, so frayed, so at her wits’ end. And his arms were so warm. So gentle and comforting. An embrace for her tired soul to melt into. She found herself relaxing, resting her head against his chest, breathing in his warm, rich scent. As he stroked her head with careful fingers, she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against her ear.
“I’m sorry, Trinity,” he said so softly she could barely make out the words. “No one should have to go through something like that.”
She gave a choking laugh and pushed herself off the couch, out of Connor’s reach, stalking to the other side of the room, trying to ignore her pounding heart. Seriously, what was wrong with her? She paced the room, her nervous steps eating up the distance between walls, feeling embarrassed and awkward and not knowing what to say. Here Connor was, trying to save the world from a dragon apocalypse, and all she could do was babble on and on about her pitiful life story. As if it would matter to him in the least. So her mother died. Big deal. His whole freaking world had died. Hell, he probably only hugged her in an effort to get her to shut up for three seconds, so he could get back to the mission at hand.
She turned back to him, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to pull herself together. To appear strong and in control. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. Trust me, it’s not something I normally do. Even with people I know.” She scanned the room, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “I guess it’s just this place—filled with empty promises and broken dreams.”
Connor was silent for a moment, regarding her with serious eyes. At last he spoke. “The Surface Lands can be like that for me.”
“The Surface Lands?” she repeated, cocking her head in question, more than grateful for the sudden subject change. “What are the Surface Lands?”
“That’s what we call the world aboveground where I come from,” he clarified, waving an arm around the room. “You know, where the dragons rule. Every time I head up there—on mission or whatever—I feel like I’m stepping into a graveyard.”
“You mean because of all the people who died in the apocalypse?”
“Because of my father.”
His voice was gruff. Brittle. As if it hurt to say the words out loud. And they sent a startling revelation straight to her core. He’d lost someone too. Someone he loved. His family had shattered, just like her own. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so pathetic for spilling her secrets, for accepting his comforting hug. Because, she realized, he wasn’t looking at her with pitying eyes like the rest of them did. He was looking at her with understanding.
“Was he…?” she started to ask, then trailed off, not knowing how to voice the question.
“Burned alive by dragon fire?” Connor finished for her. Bitterness flashed across his face. “Yes. It’s a common way to go in my world.”
She waited for him to continue, but he fell silent instead, probably as uncomfortable as she’d been sharing such intimate details with a practical stranger. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that she’d never betray his secrets or mock his pain. But she stayed silent, thinking perhaps it was too much, too soon. The near-death experience and mad escape for their lives had stretched her emotions taut as piano wires. But that didn’t mean he felt the same.