Black Thorns (Thorns Duet #2) by Rina Kent

I sit up carefully and his hand lies limp on my shoulder, not even attempting to stop me. “Sebastian?”

“Mmm..?”

I gently touch his abdomen, then trace a path up to his cheek. I stiffen when his hot skin meets mine. Holy shit. He’s burning up.

Fever is totally bad. He could have an infection or something worse.

I feel up his neck and face that’s lolled to the side, his chapped lips slightly parting. “Sebastian, can you hear me?”

He releases an absentminded noise but doesn’t stir.

“Sebastian! Open your eyes!”

He remains in the same position. I check under the T-shirt that’s against his shoulder and breathe out a sigh of relief when I don’t feel any stickiness. Although he’s still no longer bleeding, the fever could mean something worse.

Tendrils of malevolent fear snap around my ribcage and worst-case scenarios play in my head.

God, no.

Please don’t take him away.

Please. I would do anything.

Fresh tears fill my lids as I feel for the bottle of water, pour some on the shirt, then place it on his forehead.

I continue calling his name, although he’s still not moving, and he seems to be getting warmer, not colder.

I drink some water, then brush my lips against his chapped ones, trying to get him to take a sip, even if it’s only a little one.

The sound of his swallow is like music to my ears. At least he’s staying a little hydrated.

But even I know that if he doesn’t get medical help soon, he won’t be able to survive.

I continue brushing my lips against his, attempting to get him to drink as much water as possible. When he’s no longer swallowing, I pull back and check his pulse in his neck.

Fat tears cascade down my cheeks at the dim pulse beneath my fingers.

I can almost hear the life leaving him, and the most dooming part is that I can’t do anything to stop or even slow it down.

Placing both palms on his neck, I lower my head. “Sebastian…please, baby…please open your eyes, please…I can’t…I can’t live without you anymore. I don’t want to imagine it, so please…please stay with me…”

A low grunt leaves his throat and I straighten, sniffling. “Sebastian..?”

“You…called me…baby…”

I smile at the amusement in his voice, allowing the salty tears inside my mouth. “I’ll call you anything you want. Just stay with me.”

“Baby…” he grunts.

“Yes?”

“Marry…me.”

“Huh?”

“When…we get out…of here. Marry…me.”

I scoff through my tears.

This is crazy.

We’re crazy.

But if there’s anything I’ve learned through this whole thing, it’s that nothing lasts forever. Our fates have been connected for three years, even though we’ve watched each other from afar.

What we have happens once in a lifetime and it’s pointless to fight it anymore.

“Okay. I’ll marry you.”

“You can’t change your…mind…once we survive.”

“I won’t.”

“Good…b-because…I won’t let you…”

“Sebastian?” I grab his face and shake him gently, but he’s out cold again.

This can’t go on.

After adjusting the wet T-shirt on his forehead, I jolt up and slowly walk to where I remember the door to be. My steps are careful as I take a stab in the dark.

I bump against a wall and place my hands on it, feeling my way.

Once I touch metal, I bang on the door with both fists. “Open up!! You said you wanted to play a game, so why aren’t you playing? Open up, you sick bastards!”

I keep on hitting and calling them names in both English and Japanese. When that doesn’t work, I pull, then push at the door, shouting, “If my dad finds out about this, he’ll kill you! I’ll make sure he fucking kills you!! Open the damn door!”

“Not yet, Ojou-sama.” The voice that comes from the other side of the door makes me stop in my tracks.

He’s speaking in Japanese, but why the hell does he sound so familiar? It’s not Ren or the other guy who was with him that day at our house.

This one is calmer, sounds more dangerous. As if he’s issuing death sentences to the undead.

Ojou-sama.

He called me princess in the most honorific term possible, and it’s not the first time.

Someone called me that before, but who? And when?

“Who are you?” I ask in Japanese.

“The one who will make you worthy of joining our family. In order to do that, you have to suffer a great loss.”





7





Akira





Dear Yuki-Onna,



You’re obviously getting two letters back to back, because the moment I sent the previous one, I sat down and wrote another.

Clingy much? Probably. But I blame you for that.

You’re the only person I can’t kick out of my conscious no matter how hard I try to. It’s that toxicity, I swear. You make it addictive in a strange type of way.

But that’s not why I’m writing again.

It’s your name.

Not Naomi, but Yuki-Onna. You know, I had a daydream just a while ago and in it, Yuki-Onna came through my window.