A Touch Of Hate

Chapter 15

Verity

I had a nightmare.

If only it had stayed that way – just a horrible dream one can wake up from and disregard as the fabrication of a sick mind. Yet life had never been that easy.

Waking up, screaming, I lunged off the bed. Terror rippled through my body, shaking me to the bones. Hot shivers ran up and down my spine, and sweat covered my skin. Pain shot through my chest, and I wailed. Hot angry tears burned at the corners of my eyes as I tried to force a breath down my throat.

"Hey, brat. You are all right," the voice sounded familiar, but my tortured brain couldn't distinguish it. Something touched my arm, and I jerked away, instantly regretting it. My vision went dark from the agony encircling my midsection. "Stop it! You are gonna hurt yourself."

Wheezing and fighting the pain, I forced my eyes open to glance at the speaker, only to have the air I breathed stuck somewhere in my throat. I coughed as Captain's grip on my arm strengthened, and his usually cold, steely eyes glistened with some emotion. My vision blurred as the realization dawned on me in one swift moment.

It really wasn't a dream.

"Are they... Did it..." My thoughts swirled, mixing, and twirling around like a tornado, making me dizzy. But I didn't have to finish my questions to know the answer. I knew it all along.

Tears ran down my face as I gripped the blanket hard, as though I could squeeze a different reality out of it. Captain's hand shifted, and a warm touch landed on my wrist. I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to follow the bitter-sweet contact. But it never did, never with him.

"It's all right. Go back to sleep," he coaxed, his hand trailing up and down my arm. My skin broke into goosebumps, and the stinging pleasure mixed with the lingering pain encircling my chest.

"Where am I? Why are you here?" I asked, fighting the calmness his touch brought. He sighed heavily, and his hand left my skin, leaving a cold emptiness in its stead. I looked over, watching him take place in the armchair beside my bed.

"Infirmary. You blacked out on our way back to Trost," he provided, reaching for a disregarded cup of tea on the bedside table. My bedside table. I fell back on the bed, letting the growing dizziness take the better of me. I close my eyes against the swirling world, fighting growing nausea and the sour taste in my mouth.

"How long was I out?" I asked, swallowing the rising bile in my throat.

"About twelve hours," Captain's tone was again bored and somewhat disconcerted, with no trace of the previous emotion or care. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from thinking about it. There was no point in trying to dissect Captain's actions. He was closed up and unpredictable, guarded in a way that I had only seen in one other person – Kenny.

Fuck.

Kenny!

I had to get back to him about the mission. But getting in contact with him while stuck in the hospital wing seemed nearly impossible. "When do I get released?"

When the reply didn't sound immediately, I opened my eyes and glanced at the Captain. He watched me closely, his face impassive, yet his eyes squinted. I gulped, feeling small and naked under that gaze. "Tired of hospital food already?"

"No, but I need to get back to the team. I have to...."

"As of right now, there is no team," he cut me off, and I flinched at his words. Catching my reaction, his features softened, and he continued in a more calculated manner: "You have two broken ribs and a concussion. It takes time to heal."