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Nesta was furious. Specifically, Nesta was furious with Cassian. But she supposed that wasn’t anything new.
Somehow, he managed to get under her skin more effectively than any other being she had ever known in her life. A rare talent, indeed.
She had purposefully positioned herself with her book in a chair close to the entrance to await his return from court. She had a bone to pick with him and was not in a patient mood.
He had snapped at her during training this morning. After he’d instructed them to be in the ring an hour earlier than usual, and then had the audacity to show up almost half an hour late.
To be fair, she had started it. Insisting that she needed to take an extra break and he had not so kindly informed her that if she didn’t get her ass back in the ring and finish the godsdamned set he would gladly add another hour to their session. Nesta had flipped him off and taken an extra three minutes just to watch him fume. His agitation was palpable for the entire session.
The extra hour Cassian promised them was spent running suicides up the side of a remarkably jagged hill. Gwyn had nearly passed out. Emerie had thrown up, and Nesta was seething. Plus she had one hell of a fresh bruise blooming across her shoulder after missing a step on an unstable boulder.
As much as she hated to admit it, it was humiliating. And the heated exchange had been on display for the entire group. She chose to keep her mouth shut in the moment as she had been too exhausted for a full blown argument.
But the behavior was very unlike him. His harsh tone and outright annoyance towards her had stung. Whether she admitted it to herself or not.
Cassian had been off all morning. Distant and restless. In place of his usual good-natured teasing was an unnerving solemnity that was entirely foreign to her. She had meant to ask him how the meetings with Rhysand had gone. He had been so quiet since he returned last night.
That was until he started barking orders at her in the ring. Now Nesta decided she did not give a fuck about the details of the meeting. Now she simply wanted to rip his balls off and watch him writhe on the ground before her while he begged for her forgiveness.
A jarring crash startled her from her novel, immediately followed by a frustrated groan. She listened to him mutter distractedly to himself and watched as he stumbled inside the double doors.
She quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. Cassian was…disheveled, to say the least. His hair was mussed, as if he hadn’t bothered combing a hand through the unruly strands since morning practice. Sweat glistened on his skin and his dark complexion had drained nearly to gray.
Nesta’s initial surge of fury faltered as a twinge of worry bloomed. She narrowed her eyes, assessing him more closely. The unsteady gait, his hand unconsciously drifting towards the wall to check his balance, the way his throat worked as if he were having difficulty swallowing.
“Cassian.”
He nearly tripped over the rug when he heard her voice. Had he not noticed her? That was more concerning than his appearance. He noticed everything. Especially when it came to her. Always.
“Shit,” he cursed. “Nesta. I didn’t see you.” He waved at her, looking rather dazed.
“Finally took my advice and flew into a wall?” She asked tersely.
He snorted. “Something like that.”
“Are you hurt?”
He blinked, seeming surprised by the inquiry. His pinched features softened a bit.
“I’m fine. Just an awkward landing.”
“Good.” In one fluid motion she rose from her chair, tossed her book aside on the coffee table and strode towards him, pinning him against the wall with a hand pressed to his chest.
“Just who in the actual hell do you think you are?”
“Huh?” He gaped back at her, sweaty and wide-eyed and disoriented.
So, the interaction that morning hadn’t even been a blip on his radar. So inconsequential that he had no idea why she was mere seconds from biting his head off. Nesta didn’t know why she was surprised. Males were all the same.
“You do not have the right,” she barreled on, barely pausing for breath, “to order me around like one of your foot soldiers.” Her nostrils flared and Cassian swallowed hard. “Just because we’ve gotten-“ she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, “— used to each other that does not mean you can—“
“What the hell are you talking about?” Cassian interrupted, features twisting in confusion.
“You can’t be serious,” Nesta gaped at him.
Cassian heaved a long suffering sigh, his breath hitching towards the end. Almost as if he were stifling a hiccup. He raised a fist to his lips as he slid along the wall, trying to shimmy away from her hand.
“I’m really not in the mood, Nes,” Cassian grimaced. “Can we talk in the morning?”
“I knew you were an idiot, but I never took you for a coward, Cassian.”
He winced at her harsh tone.
“Are you actually trying to get out of this?” Nesta demanded, digging her pointer finger into his chest with renewed vigor.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cassian managed a tight smile. “Especially if I knew what it is I’m supposed to be getting out of. But right now I really need to—“
“What’s wrong with you?” Nesta snapped, noting the way his gigantic form seemed to be trembling with involuntary shivers, his shoulders hunching as if he couldn’t help curling over to protect himself. She heard him gulp carefully before he dared to open his mouth again.
“Jus’…tired, I guess,” he murmured, a noticeable slur lacing his words. “Long day. Sorry.”
She wanted to point out that he was apologizing for the wrong thing. But a second later, Cassian began slumping against the wall, eyes fluttering.
He inhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head against an apparent swell of dizziness.
“Cassian.” Not a question. A demand to look at her.
Cassian’s hazel eyes lifted to meet her own, glassy and unfocused.
Nesta’s finger retracted, her palm flattening against his chest in its place, rubbing a tentative circle. An unspoken question. The gesture seemed to unbalance him.
Cassian swallowed thickly once more, forcing out a steadying exhale as he attempted to straighten.
“It’s late,” he grunted softly, “I’m going to bed. You should do the same.”
“It didn’t matter to you,” Nesta said, eyes lowered. Ashamed he had made her feel this way to begin with. Disgusted she had let herself indulge in the feeling. Let it ruin her entire day. He wasn’t worth it. She would tell herself that until she finally believed it.
“What didn’t matter?” He looked genuinely distressed, searching her face for an answer. “Please, I don’t—“
“Forget it,” Nesta spat, angry and simmering with an acute hurt that she was doing a piss-poor job of disguising. “It doesn’t matter. Clearly.”
“Nes,” Cassian reached for her as she turned away from him, grasping for her hand.
She snatched it away and left him clinging to the wall. Every intention of retrieving her book and escaping to her bedroom to fume in peace.
“Nesta,” Cassian begged weakly, desperation practically vibrating off of him.
She faltered at the soft groan and muffled thud that immediately punctuated his plea.
Nesta whirled on her heel and froze. Her mouth went dry and her heartbeat thundered in her eardrums. The world ceased to spin. Or had begun spinning too fast. She wasn’t certain.
Cassian had collapsed. He lay crumpled on his side against the wall, long legs splayed before him and his head lolling against his chest at an awkward angle. Completely unconscious.
It took Nesta a few seconds to shake herself back to reality as the world resumed around her, and her panic fueled instincts took over.
She rushed back to him, clothed knees sliding on the floor and bumping against Cassian’s spread thighs in her haste to reach him. She shook his shoulders. No response. She pressed her head to his chest, calming her frantic breathing so she could hear… yes, his heartbeat. Too fast. Much too fast. But it was there.
Nesta sagged in relief. The bastard wasn’t dead.
She cupped his face in her hands, supporting his neck as she raised his chin to assess. She felt the heat radiating beneath her fingers, roiling and insistent and wrong. Felt her fingers slip over the sticky sweat coating his skin.
He was burning, his cheeks flushed with fever. And he wasn’t waking up.
Nesta patted his overly warm face, gentle at first, and then more insistent when he didn’t budge.
“Cassian? Open your eyes,” she swallowed the tremor in her voice and forced her words into some semblance of a command. “Get up.”
He groaned, the noise rumbling low in his throat, but he did not open his eyes.
“Cassian,” Nesta demanded. “You’re scaring me,” she ran her knuckles over his cheek, balancing his head against her free palm. She could feel the panic threatening to overwhelm, found herself glancing around for someone to help. Anyone. Where was the damn Shadowsinger when you actually needed him?
Cassian shivered involuntarily, eyelashes fluttering. Blown orbs encased in hazel blinked up at her, slowly, as if he had no idea where he was or which realm he was in.
Breath Nesta hadn’t even realized she’d been holding rushed out of her. She wilted over him, her forehead momentarily coming to rest again his shoulder as he took stock of himself.
“Nes?” he slurred, staring up at her in confusion. Then after a moment, smiled drunkenly and moved to thumb away a loose piece of her hair that was hanging in his face. “Hey,” he whispered. He coaxed the strand over the shell of her ear and adjusted his hips underneath her. “You’re…on top of me?” Woozy amusement danced in his dazed eyes.
“Don’t hey me,” Nesta huffed, struggling to keep her welling tears at bay. “Don’t fucking do that.” She pulled his hand away from the side of her neck, immediately climbing off of him.
“Sorry,” Cassian tried to push up straighter. “Think I got dizzy.”
“No shit,” Nesta glared, checking his pulse again with her middle and forefinger pressed to his wrist. “You’re running a fever. How long have you been running fever?”
“Um,” Cassian gulped, head lolling against her hand. “Don’ know.” His thumb grazed her wrist, circling once. An entirely unconscious gesture, she realized. He was quiet for a few seconds, sorting himself out.
“I don’t feel good,” he frowned, as if just realizing his predicament. His shoulders jolted ominously, unintentionally punctuating his statement.
“You don’t say.”
Nesta froze, watching warily as the column of his throat bobbed again. She saw him fighting against the obvious urge to retch. He shuddered, fists clenching as he nearly lost control. His throat worked convulsively while he struggled through the nausea. She heard a wet choking noise, quickly followed by a heavy swallow, then another. Suddenly, the situation had become dire.
“Cassian?” She whispered, her fingers hesitating against his cheek, more worried than she cared to admit to herself. “What do you need?”
He pressed a fist to his mouth, closing his eyes as he rolled onto his knees, swaying precariously while he waited for the scenery to slide back into place beneath him.
“Think I need—the bathing room,” he gulped, staggering against the wall as Nesta helped him to his feet.
She was afraid of that. He looked so nauseous she was surprised he hadn’t already lost it.
“Please don’t vomit yet,” she begged, unsure if she was imploring him or her own constitution.
Cassian looked down helplessly at her as he belched into his hand, low and wet. A warning. They needed to move quickly.
“Come on,” she urged him forward. She had only passed by his bedchamber once, but she navigated the hallways winding towards his room easily enough. His scent seemed to be much stronger in certain parts of the House. She didn’t pause to consider the fact that apparently she was fucking scenting him now.
“Almost there,” Nesta reassured. They staggered to a stop when Cassian curled over his knees to stifle a retch with his palm. But he managed to swallow a few times, inhaling carefully through his nose, and pushed away from the wall.
“Now or later?” Nesta asked, glancing between the bathing room, a few more steps down the hallway, and his bedchamber. He looked ready to collapse on his feet.
“I—don’t know,” Cassian panted. He still held his stomach, considering. “Feel strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Don’t know,” he slurred unhelpfully. “Dizzy.” His eyelashes fluttered and his shoulders rolled with another aborted retch. He composed himself, coughing roughly into his fist.
“Hold on.” Nesta decided for both of them, and maneuvered him into the bathing room. Cassian didn’t protest. Although she was certain it was because he couldn’t exactly open his mouth at the moment for fear of losing his breakfast.
Nesta breathed a sigh of relief when she realized he was going to make it. She guided him over the toilet when he teetered sideways. She began removing his leather wrist bands and undoing his jacket strings. Cassian tugged weakly at his damp tunic, unsuccessfully attempting to pull the fabric over his head.
“‘S too hot,” he complained, inhaling a few careful breaths through his nose.
“Here, let me,” Nesta placated, batting his uncooperative hands away and quickly peeling off his shirt. His skin glistened with fever sweat, even as relentless shivering seized his muscles.
Cassian criss-crossed his arms over the bowl, letting his head rest against his forearm. He started coughing again and spat into the water, waiting.
“You don’t…” he paused to gag in his mouth, lips stubbornly closed. “—don’t have to stay,” he choked out. He seemed to be waiting for her to decide to leave before he fully gave in to the nausea. Before she saw everything.
Nesta considered. If it had been anyone else she would have left them to their misery long ago. But something in her chest had begun to ache, watching Cassian struggle to lift his head. And earlier, he hadn’t woken up for…what felt like a very long while. And she refused to think about the last time she’d seen him look so vulnerable. The last time he hadn’t woken up.
Didn’t change the fact that he’d scared the shit out of her. She wasn’t going to let him keel over. Not tonight, anyway.
“You can’t be by yourself right now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Cassian insisted with a distracted wave in her general direction. He turned back towards the bowl with a grunt to spit up more saliva.
“Don’t be stupid, Cassian. You can barely hold your head up.”
So, it was decided. At least for Nesta. And Cassian could bitch all he wanted, but whether he admitted it to her or not, he needed help.
“Can you try some water?” Nesta coaxed, reaching to fill a glass near the sink.
“Mmm,” Cassian groaned, giving a quick shake of his head. “Feel too full,” he managed thickly.
“Just try a little,” Nesta sighed, tipping the glass to his lips. “I think it’ll help.”
Cassian looked skeptical, but apparently did not have the energy to protest further. He accepted the glass she offered and swallowed obediently, throat working as he managed a few tentative mouthfuls.
After he’d had as much as he could handle, he crouched back on his heels, sitting very still for several seconds, breathing deeply while his body decided if it was going to accept the water. A moment later he shook his head in defeat, lurching forward with a harsh gag as watery drool fell past his lips. Nesta gave a surprised yelp, hand hovering uncertainly, but not quite touching him.
“Please don’t,” Nesta begged, turning her head away.
Cassian braced his arms against the bowl and belched deeply, immediately spitting up a lukewarm mouthful of the water Nesta had just plied him with. His muscles quivered as he fought the urge to keep going, to allow his body’s instincts take over and just let it up. He felt Nesta frantically gathering his hair away from his face, bunching the strands in her fist against his nape.
“Can’t really help it, sweetheart,” Cassian slurred. “Sorry.”
She flicked his ear and settled into a crouch close behind him, against her better judgement. She rested her fingers tentatively against his lower back, expecting him to flinch away. Instead, he seemed to relax into her touch. She despised the flood of relief at the unconscious acceptance of her presence.
Unspoken permission granted, Nesta began tracing light circles into the coiled grooves of muscle along the broad plane of his back. She did her best to avoid looking inside the bowl, swallowing back an involuntary gag of her own.
Cassian hummed, appreciative, but so overwhelmed with the need to be sick again that he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He was panting miserably now as he adjusted his crouch in preparation. She heard the next attempt to swallow catch in his throat, heard the gurgle of liquid as his body’s reflexes kicked in and his muscles prepared for release.
When Cassian felt his stomach contract again, he didn’t fight it. He opened his mouth and let it come, ugly and brutal, but a welcome relief after holding it down for so long.
He was shocked to find Nesta still clutching a fistful of his hair in place when he eventually came up for air. Especially because he could tell she wanted to be anywhere but with him while he puked his guts up.
“Finished?” Nesta wrinkled her nose sympathetically, reaching to offer him the water glass.
Cassian was too exhausted to do more than shake his head. His mouth was already filling with more bitter saliva, jaw going slack as a fresh wave of nausea sluiced through him.
“Fuck,” he swore, spitting up the excess. “Nes, really. I’m ok, you don’t —“, he paused to burp, “—don’t have to stay with me.” His stomach gurgled unhappily and he winced.
“No,” Nesta agreed. “I don’t.” But she didn’t budge from where she sat perched behind him.
“I’m not done,” he warned, “probably going to be here a while.”
His shoulders tensed as he repositioned his upper body back over the toilet, as if bracing for her to call him disgusting and storm out. She supposed a few months ago she might have done just that, just to spite him. She felt ashamed of the thought now. And his odd behavior earlier in the day suddenly made more sense. Assuming he’d been feeling sick since that morning. She still needed to talk to him, but she could also feel her anger dissolving in the wake of his suffering.
Despite her vested interest in ensuring Cassian didn’t drown in the toilet bowl, she also didn’t want to force her company on him if he preferred privacy. She would understand if he did.
“Do you…want me to go?” Nesta hated herself for dreading his answer.
Cassian turned his head to look up at her, most of the weight still balanced on his forearm. His eyes were wet, stress tears leaking out to drip over his nose. But they softened as he took in her expression. Softened just for her.
He opened his mouth, presumably to answer, but his features went slack and the blood drained from his face. She quickly combed his hair back tighter and followed him up to her knees as his large frame bowed forward with the contraction.
At first nothing happened. Cassian swayed unsteadily and mumbled something she couldn’t make out. The floor seemed to be tilting beneath him. The arm supporting his head slid off the rim of the bowl and Nesta caught his forehead before it hit the edge. Her concern spiked as she realized just how dulled his reflexes were.
Cassian shuddered beneath her, the abrupt movement sending his throat into full contraction. He could do little more than groan as once again, his stomach contents came pouring out in heavy gushes, spilling violently into the bowl.
It went on for several horrible, unrelenting minutes. Finally, it seemed he was close to emptying himself out, bringing up little more than bile. Cassian gulped down a frantic breath of air, finally able to fill his lungs, desperately trying to settle his stomach.
Nesta dared to slide her hand carefully around his midsection, kneading at the spasming cramps as his body continued to revolt.
She felt his muscles seize up beneath her fingers and hummed sympathetically as Cassian retched on nothing but air.
“Calm down,” Nesta soothed, massaging circles into his overly warm flesh. “You’re empty.”
Cassian coughed, straining to catch his breath, his stomach stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that he was indeed empty.
“Nes…”
Quiet, barely a whisper.
“Yes?”
“Get Az.” Cassian’s voice was thick with lingering sickness. He sounded strange, not quite coherent.
“Why?”
“G—gonna pass out.”
Cassian’s coiled muscles went limp as he made good on his warning and slid to the floor.
“Oh, fuck,” Nesta cried, “No. We’re not doing this again. Cassian, sit up!”
To his credit, he did make an attempt to follow her order. Trying to rally his waning strength and stay awake. But the moment he was upright, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fully lost consciousness.
“Fuck,” Nesta repeated.
She was going to need help moving him.
Cassian could feel hands roving over his chest, his face, urgent and insistent. He wanted them to stop touching him. He wanted to sleep and be left alone. He was so tired. And every movement seemed to hurt more than usual. He felt large hands snaking underneath his armpits and suddenly the floor fell out from beneath him as someone began hauling him upwards.
He groaned, only semi-conscious as his forehead came to rest against a strong shoulder. He vaguely recognized Azriel’s scent, too woozy to wonder why he’d come back to the House so soon.
“Come on, help me out,” Azriel said in his ear. “I told you to stay at the camp.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Someone asked from behind them, a female voice whose scent he also recognized… craved….
And then it was all Cassian could do to keep from vomiting down his brother’s back as Azriel hauled him over his shoulder and walked him the few steps to his bed chamber, laying him down on the massive mattress.
“He never listens to me,” Azirel replied in that calm monotone.
Cassian immediately rolled onto his side, gulping down a fresh surge of queasiness. He couldn’t help gagging into the sheets, but nothing came up.
“Be gentle!” He heard Nesta demand from somewhere over Az’s shoulder, and nearly choked with delirious laughter when he saw her smack his brother’s arm.
Az, for his part, appeared entirely unbothered by her tone, sitting on the edge of the bed to gauge Cassian’s temperature. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at the heat rolling off his brother.
Azriel watched Nesta fuss over him. She had gone to fetch an empty basin, a pitcher of water, and a few extra cloths from the bathroom. She adjusted his bedsheets and arranged the items in the order she intended to use them.
“It’s been going around the camp,” Azriel explained. “He’s been off all day. I told him he’d wear himself out. Told him to rest.”
“What’s been going around?”
Cassian made an embarrassingly needy noise when she settled down beside him, content to nuzzle in to her scent and lose himself in the glorious feeling of her fingers in his hair. His head was pounding, but her fingers felt so nice.
Azriel thought for a moment, “I suppose that it is similar to your human flu. Except the symptoms are more acute.” He frowned down at Cassian. “Some of the Illyrians have been ill for almost two weeks.”
Cassian wished he wasn’t already aware of just how much of an understatement that was. They had visited a few of the more severe cases over the last three days. He was glad his brother had neglected to mention the two that had died the night before.
After a few contemplative moments Az said, “You probably shouldn’t be in here. He’s definitely contagious.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Nesta replied without hesitation.
And although Cassian agreed with his brother—she should not be anywhere near him like this—he couldn’t help the swell of warmth that flooded his chest at her unwavering response. His muscles relaxed just a fraction when he realized she wasn’t going to leave him alone. She would stay.
“Will he survive?”
And directly to the point as always.
Cassian couldn’t help snorting softly. If this illness was what took him down after all they’d been through in five hundred godsdamned years, he didn’t deserve to live.
His throat felt too raw to speak properly, but he slid his hand over the sheets until he found hers, and gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
It’s going to be all right.
She clearly thought he was seeking comfort because she shushed him, not unkindly, and smoothed a damp strand of hair out of his eyes.
“Of course,” was Azriel’s gentle response. “But from what we’ve been dealing with in the camps, he’s in for a rough couple of days. Or longer.” Then, quieter, almost to himself, “Cassian does not often get sick.”
He could feel Azriel’s spike of anxiety. His shadows circled the bed, almost hovering, as if awaiting orders.
“Get the healer, Azriel.” Nesta’s features were set, her mouth a hard line and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she poured icy water into the bowl and began wetting one of the cloths.
“Nes,” Cassian croaked, immediately regretting opening his mouth as her name grated past his sore throat. “I’ll be fine. I jus’—“ he faltered when she laid the cloth securely over his forehead, the wonderful coolness soothing the burning beneath his skin, “—need to…sleep it off,” Cassian’s involuntary sigh of relief was audible, his eyes drifting closed without his permission.
“Azriel.”
Nesta’s voice was quiet, but her tone was like polished steel. Dangerous. So deadly serious he knew anyone who wasn’t his brother would have been scampering out the door as fast as they could put their legs in front of them.
Azriel merely glanced past her to Cassian. He could practically see the smoke billowing out of Nesta’s ears at the delay.
“Az,” Cassian made sure his eyes were focused and held his voice as steady as he could manage when he told his brother, “I’ll be fine. The healers can’t be spared right now. They should be tending to—“ he bit his lip, glancing briefly at Nesta. “—to the others. I just need sleep.” Cassian tried to muster a smile for her. “We can fight in the morning. I won’t forget. Promise.”
Azriel didn’t look convinced, but he wouldn’t go against Cassian’s decision.
Nesta stared at him, studying him intently for an uncomfortably long moment. He saw the second her shields slid firmly into place. Then she carefully placed the bowl on the floor. Rose from the bed and smoothed her skirts. His heart sank into his already roiling stomach. He knew what that look meant.
“Fine,” she didn’t look back at Cassian. Instead, she strode past Azriel, heading for the door. “Since you’re both so unconcerned, I’ll leave you to it. I should have been in bed three hours ago.”
“Nesta, wait,” Cassian groaned, angling his neck to follow her retreating figure. “Stay…” Cassian didn’t know if she could hear him, but he still flinched when she shut the door behind her. He already missed her scent, her hands, her company. He was mortified to feel his eyes welling.
Don’t leave.
He let himself whimper into the pillow, grinding his teeth through a particularly intense cramp. Her fingers had been the most incredible thing he’d ever felt. He tried mimicking her ministrations, kneading his own hand directly into his stomach muscles like she’d done earlier, coaxing them to relax. But it wasn’t working, his stomach continued cramping horribly, refusing to release him from the spasms. He must not be doing it right.
“Cass,” Azriel redirected his attention.
It took longer than Cassian was comfortable admitting for his eyes to focus on his brother. The room spun in a disorienting circle and he rolled back over, shoving his face into the mattress, hoping if he stayed perfectly still, the seasick feeling would pass.
“Maybe she’s right about the healer,” Azriel ventured. “This hit you fast. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“I know,” Cassian mumbled, his breaths already evening out. “But…shouldn’t waste their time on me.”
Az opened his mouth to protest, but Cassian shook his head.
“—‘s fine. Dealt with worse.”
“What do you need?”
Nesta’s hands…Nesta. But now she was angry with him. Always so angry….
“Sleep.”
“All right,” Azriel conceded. “I’ll check in later. Don’t forget to drink your water, dumbass.”
Cassian waved a thumbs-up in Azriel’s general direction, relieved that he could finally close his eyes without feeling like he had to convince everyone of just how fine he was.
He was dead to the world in seconds.
Something was wrong.
Nesta wasn’t certain how she knew. Except that she woke from a restless sleep with a horrible sense of dread. An uneasy knot of terror twisting deep in her gut. And— a tug. A strange sensation of longing for…something. She didn’t know what. Only that it ached terribly, cried out to her in a silent scream, swallowing all rational thought whole. Nesta choked back a sudden sob as it nearly tore from her throat. Where the hell had that come from?
Cassian. Something was wrong. Fuck….
Nesta jumped at the abrupt knock on her bedroom door. She took a moment to compose herself and slid out of bed, wiping her eyes and smoothing her loose braid. She opened the door and found Azriel standing outside, fist raised as though poised to knock again.
He lowered his hand and cleared his throat nervously.
“I’m leaving,” he told her. “I’ll bring back a healer. I need you to sit up with him.”
Nesta’s brows rose in surprise. Then her stomach flipped at the realization that his condition must have worsened considerably if Cassian could no longer prevent Azriel from leaving to fetch a healer.
She studied the other male. The defeated droop of his shoulders, the guilt furrowing his brow. The way his shadows seemed to flit restlessly about him.
“He keeps asking for you,” Az scrubbed a hand over his exhausted features. “I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it. Please? Just go sit with him.”
And the quiet desperation in his voice cleaved at Nesta’s heart. She knew Azriel was assuming she was going to slam the door in his face, maybe tell him to fuck off because they didn’t listen to her earlier. And Az would be forced to leave his brother alone, without bringing Cassian the only comfort he’d asked for these past miserable hours. And inexplicably, impossibly, that comfort was her.
Nesta opened the door and pushed past Azriel, heading directly for Cassian’s room.
“If he dies before you return,” Nesta called over her shoulder, her words razor sharp, “—don’t bother coming back.”
It wasn’t fair to him. Nesta knew that Azriel was just as worried. But she had no one else here to direct her anger towards. And if she kept it inside she knew she was going to lose her mind to the fear, instead.
And so she did not look back as she hurried down the hall, spurred on even quicker by that godsdamned ache throbbing in her chest.
The room was dark, her figure casting long shadows before her as the light from the hall spilled through the doorway. His scent was so strong, roiling with pure, undiluted terror. She nearly gasped as a heaviness settled over her, something dark and wrong and so all consuming that she couldn’t tell which of them it was emanating from. Only that it was…wrong.
Cassian was curled on his side under the blankets. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, too shallow, the air rattling in his lungs. He was moaning softly in his sleep. The sounds of his distress filled the space between them. Nesta realized that she would do just about anything to make those noises stop.
Nightmare. That’s what this was. He was trapped in a nightmare. She could feel it writhing in his subconscious like a living thing. Awful and overwhelming and he couldn’t find his way out. Couldn’t get out….
Because inside the void was death. Death and pain and nauseating fear and the scent of it clung to everywhere. There was so much blood on his hands. And he couldn’t wash it away, and he couldn’t forget a single one of them. Couldn’t save them. Couldn’t save her….
Cassian whimpered something in his sleep that sounded like her name. He trembled beneath the sheets, body straining against an invisible force.
Nesta didn’t realize she’d climbed onto the bed until she was hovering over him, her hands moving over his bare shoulders and chest of their own accord, trying to turn him over. Trying to pull him out.
Her heart stopped beating for a split second when he slurred her name once more. So desperately full of anguished sorrow that it took her breath away.
“I’m here,” she told him, smoothing back his unruly hair. “Open your eyes, Cassian.”
Cassian thrashed beneath her, his sleep addled noises growing more frantic. But he did not wake.
“Cassian,” she tried again, desperation slithering into her voice despite herself. “It’s a dream. Just a bad dream.”
Cassian gulped down what sounded like a sob as he burrowed further into the blankets, mumbling incoherent nonsense and sweating through the sheets.
Nesta stroked his brow, wincing at the heat she felt. Cassian seemed to unconsciously lean in to her touch. His wings were splayed over the mattress at an awkward angle that did not look the least bit comfortable.
Cassian cried out, suddenly jerking upright and inadvertently throwing Nesta off of him as he scrambled back against the headboard. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he struggled out of deep sleep.
His hazel eyes were bloodshot, darting wildly around the room. He made a small, disbelieving sound of relief when they finally landed on her. His bottom lip quivered and his eyes glistened, threatening to overflow any second.
“N-Nes…Nesta?”
Cassian reached for her, as if not believing she truly stood before him.
Nesta crawled back over to him, cupping his face in both hands, stroking the tears from his cheeks. His fever was raging, glazing his eyes and dulling his movements.
“I’m here,” she soothed, making sure to stay in his line of vision. “You’re all right.”
Cassian rolled onto his knees towards her, face crumpling as he engulfed her in his arms, burying himself against her stomach. His hands shook as he stroked up and down her sides, needing to feel that she was really there with him.
“It’s all right,” she repeated, running her fingers through the tangled strands of his hair. “Just a bad dream.”
“Y-yeah—“ Cassian’s voice trembled as he clutched at her, his whiskers tickling her stomach through the thin layer of her nightgown. He rose up higher on his knees, petting her hair, kneading his thumbs against her temple as he searched her face and then her body for signs of harm, for any sign that she was in pain.
She had already lived part of the nightmare he’d been trapped in. Wished she hadn’t been able to feel every fucking thing he felt all over again in those dreadful moments before waking. Nesta’s own breath hitched dangerously.
“You’re…all right?” His chest jumped with a hiccup.
Nesta swallowed, that aggravating tugging sensation thrumming insistently when she rose to meet him, looping her arms around his neck.
“Yes,” she whispered. “So are you.”
Cassian closed his eyes and nodded, letting his forehead fall against the crook of her neck. The broad shoulders jolted against her, his nose smooshing into her collarbone in a desperate attempt to regain his equilibrium. He huffed out a warm puff of air through his nose, followed by an audible gulp.
Nesta pulled away to study him. She rubbed his chest and retrieved the bin from the floor with her free hand. She could feel that he was about to throw up. His fever was too high and he was far too disoriented to bother denying the residual nausea. She could feel his control slipping as consciousness reignited the symptoms that had been lying dormant for the past few hours.
He released her abruptly, leaning to the side to retch into his palm. Nesta shoved the container between his legs just in time for Cassian to burp up a messy stream of liquid. A heavier gush immediately followed without requiring any effort on his part. Cassian was flirting with unconsciousness again as he drooled into to the bin, trying unsuccessfully to clear his throat.
“Fuck,” he coughed, bowing further over his knees when his stomach seized again.
Nesta brought a damp cloth to his lips, wiping away the worst of the mess. Cassian swayed, shoulders hitching ominously when he belched again over his lap. He wasn’t even trying to keep up a facade any longer. Between the fever and lingering nightmare, Cassian’s tolerance was spent.
Nesta paused her ministrations, holding the cloth loosely against his mouth as a precaution while he composed himself, making sure the latest expulsion wasn’t about to become productive again. Finally, he nodded, panting roughly as she set the soiled cloth aside and replaced it with a glass of water.
Cassian shook his head, not wanting to risk putting anything else in his stomach.
“Can’t,” he croaked, voice rough from sleep and the unexpected bout of vomiting.
“You’re dehydrated,” Nesta argued gently. “Just try a few small sips.”
Cassian groaned in response, curling in on himself as he collapsed onto the pillows at an awkward angle. He coughed roughly into the mattress, grunting at the effort it took to force a swallow. His uneasy stomach rolled in protest at the abrupt movement.
“Hush,” Nesta soothed, her fingers straying lazily over the arc of his back, stroking over the sinuous membrane connecting the joint of his left wing to his shoulder.
Cassian’s entire body shuddered and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, clenching the bedsheets in his fist. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his breathing. Nesta’s fingers paused, she frowned down at him.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Did I hurt you?” She slid her fingers lightly along the velvety winged flesh fluttering against his ribcage.
Cassian gasped, inhaling another startled breath. “N—no,” he slurred. “Feels….” he trailed off, a moan tangling with the ghost of her name on his lips, “—‘s good.” He keened at the sudden pressure of her thumb circling the base of his other wing. The membrane rippled involuntarily beneath her touch, unfurling of its own accord.
“What?” She asked, curiously sliding the back of her fingernail against a raised vein.
Cassian’s mouth hung open as he panted, “Holy mother, Nesta….”
Nesta halted, caught off guard by his reaction. At first she assumed he was cramping, but her ministrations seemed to loosen his muscles, calm his frantic breathing. The furrow between his brows smoothed and when he opened his eyes again, they seemed a little clearer. Or he was simply coming down from the adrenaline surge after getting sick.
“Your hands are…fucking magic—“ a wet cough of hysterical laughter burst from his chest. He sounded absolutely delirious. She wasn’t certain whether or not that was a good thing.
“Keep…keep going—“
She arched a surprised eyebrow. A smile curved at the stern corner of her mouth as she stroked a single, deliberate forefinger along the thick shaft of muscle connecting soft membrane to the rougher web of flesh along the outer edge of his wings.
His response was immediate. Cassian groaned, completely unrestrained, his breath hitching unevenly. “You… gods —“ he slurred, fingers roving over the blankets, searching for her.
She obliged, allowing his hand to close over the one she still held pressed to his chest. He slid their entwined hands down to his sternum, past his belly button, and finally coming to rest just below the dip in his lower stomach. Cassian sighed appreciatively at the unexpected reprieve from the misery of the last several hours.
She knew she could have easily kept going, would have been willing to offer him a pleasant few minutes of escape to ease his discomfort. But Nesta took advantage of his brief moment of lucidity to accomplish a much more pressing goal.
“Try some water?” She paused the massage to gauge his reaction.
Cassian hummed a soft, noncommittal noise in response, sliding his free hand further down her thigh, circling his fingers suggestively over the smooth skin.
“Will you stay?”
And Nesta’s heart clenched.
“Will you try some water?” Nesta countered. “You need to keep some liquid down.”
Cassian nodded, closing his eyes when the room swam. He pushed himself up on his elbows and accepted the glass she raised to his lips, covering her hand with his own to tip it.
He managed a sip, then choked on the second attempt and the meager mouthful Cassian had forced himself to swallow made a swift reappearance. He spluttered and spit up the excess into the cup Nesta now held steady below his chin.
“That’s okay,” Nesta soothed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
“Sorry,” he coughed. “Can’t swallow.”
“You can’t swallow?” Nesta repeated, her lips pursing with concern. She dabbed at his wet chin and rang out the cloth in the bowl.
“I didn’t think that would ever be an issue for you,” she remarked, eyes still focused on her task.
Cassian blinked at her, then gave a weak, incredulous snort of laughter that dissolved into a fit of coughing as he fell back against the pillows.
“Oh, trust me, sweetheart,” he rasped, attempting to muster some semblance of the grin he knew ruffled her feathers every time without fail. “If I weren’t so fucking nauseous I’d be swallowing you whole right now.”
To her absolute mortification, Nesta felt herself blushing. The tips of her ears flared hot as she yanked her hand away from his and busied herself with straightening his bedsheets.
“Don’t be disgusting,” she grumbled. But her nostrils flared when his hand moved further up her thigh just below her backside.
“You come to sit with me on the bathroom floor and hold my hair while I puke,” the amusement rumbled in his throat as drowsiness settled over him once more and he shifted beneath her. “You clean me up, and that is what disgusts you?”
His expression was serious but his eyes twinkled, gently teasing her. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, too. She was just relieved to see some of his usual self. To see something other than misery and sickness etched in his face.
“You’re ridiculous.”
And this time, Nesta found that she did not care if he noticed the rogue twitch of her lips.
“Thanks, I try,” Cassian winked at her.
A pitiful effort but she still appreciated that he was making an attempt. It helped to banish the images of him lying unconscious and far too close to death for comfort.
That was the moment Nesta remembered she was supposed to be angry with him.
Cassian sensed the tension shift between them and frowned warily.
“What is it?” The question was soft, full of concern. His hand on her thigh moved in a questioning circle, pausing to squeeze as if urging her to tell him.
Nesta rolled off of him, disentangling their limbs as she bent down to retrieve the bin to wash it out.
“Don’t try any more water until I get back with this,” she instructed. Cassian looked confused.
Nesta understood why when she glanced down and found the inside of the container completely spotless. Right. Magic House. She kept forgetting.
She froze, glaring at the floor as if it might offer an alternative escape route. And then her shoulders slumped. She sat back on the bed and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Please? Tell me why you’re upset,” Cassian tried. “I’m sorry for whatever I did.” He pushed himself up and tried to sit behind her. He blew out a queasy breath as a wave of dizziness slammed into him and he let his forehead bump against the back of her shoulder. The impact did not feel intentional.
“I said it doesn’t matter,” Nesta replied, snapping her gaze over her shoulder at him. Cassian’s equilibrium seemed to settle enough for him to lift his head a little.
“Yes, it does,” he stared her down in return, hazel eyes flashing with that familiar stubbornness.
Nesta deflated, accepting that she wasn’t going to win this one. She suddenly felt very stupid. And she hated that yet again, Cassian was the reason.
“I don’t want to talk,” she swept her hair behind her ears with a practiced flip of her fingers. “And you need to rest. Azriel will be back with a healer soon.”
“You’re leaving again?” Cassian’s face fell, panic filling his fever-glazed eyes. He moved as if to reach for her and pull her back to him.
“I’ll be close by,” Nesta reassured him. “But you should try to get some more sleep. I’ll wake you when Az returns.”
“Nes?” Cassian had given up on her returning to his bed and slumped onto his side, his arm dangling awkwardly off the edge along with his foot.
“What?” She sighed, exasperated with him. With herself.
“Thank you.”
She paused at his door. Damn it, why couldn’t she stay mad at him? She dipped her head but did not glance back.
“Don’t die.”
“I won’t,” he promised, so gently that her resolve nearly collapsed. She could hear the lilting smile in his voice. “Besides,” he was slurring now, drowsiness overcoming his willpower, “we have a fight scheduled for tomorrow morning. I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
Nesta thought she heard a sleepy chuckle from beneath folded wings as she slammed the door shut behind her.