Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

Not for the first time, my mind ran from the library and flew up the cliff to my Jeep. I mentally made the drive out of the national park and into a populated town with doctors, police, and psychiatrists.

I’d bring them all here or find a way to take Anon to them.

I’d pass on the largest responsibility of my life to professionals who had trained for this.

I...I don’t know what I’m doing.

Kneeling over him, I made a deal with myself.

If he hung on until morning, if I could get him stable enough, if he would only just wake up so I knew he could eat and drink, I’d go for help. I’d somehow make the long journey, not to save myself but to save him.

Crazy how just a few short hours had changed everything.

Incredible how I’d gone from doing anything to get away from this man to doing whatever it took to keep him alive.

Please...wake up.

Don’t die.

My hands trembled as my courage faltered a little.

Dammit.

I dropped the tube of antiseptic for the third time as I tried to apply it to the cuts I’d given him last night. Indentations of my car keys still lingered around his throat and collarbones.

Guilt was a crushing, hissing enemy in my heart.

My shoulders slouched.

I’m sorry.

Tiredness made my arms shake like useless twigs. All my strength had been used. I had nothing left after dragging him here. I’d left scuff marks on the marble tiles as my sapling stretcher hauled in garden debris as well as a nameless man, mumbling under his breath and reliving nightmares in his ill-gotten sleep.

I’d chosen the library because it was the largest, closest room of the house. I’d pushed aside a well-worn chair that sat like a throne in the center. I’d rolled him off the stretcher and traipsed back out the door to leave the rope and branches outside.

I never rested. Never stopped.

The deeper the night turned, the more he sank into hallucinations.

He thrashed as I gently washed his hair. He trembled as I cleaned his body. He keened a noise that broke my heart as I gently pulled off his slacks and wiped away the dirt on his thighs.

His breath was shallow and fast as I touched him with nothing but tenderness and care, his back snapping straight as I applied another bandage to his shin that’d been left raw and oozing from his tumble down the cliff.

I wished I could reach into his mind and silence whatever was tormenting him. I wished I could wake him up so he didn’t have to be their prisoner.

But no matter what I did, he stayed stubbornly asleep.

Exhaustion hung off my eyelashes as I glanced at the clock again and found it was now two a.m., not midnight.

I had no recollection of the past two hours.

I wanted nothing more than to lie beside him in the nest I’d created with cushions from the couch, cosy blankets from the games room, and pillows from a few beds upstairs.

I didn’t have the strength to drag him up the stairs. There was no bedroom on this level. Therefore, I’d compromised. I’d made a bed on the plushest carpet I could find, made him comfortable and clean, wrapped him in a soft blanket, and sat vigil while he suffered things I couldn’t heal.

“Maliki, no—” He jolted with a belly-clenching groan.

Frazzled tears rolled down my cheeks as I cupped his cheek. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He threw himself away from my touch, rolling in the blankets, knocking me off balance.

I swayed and crashed to my elbows. My bleary stare and bone-weary body begged to lie down. My eyes closed even as unwelcome sleep suffocated me.

No!

Wrenching my eyelids up, I forced myself to focus.

You can’t sleep.

Not while he’s dreaming.

He’d fallen still again, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, his hands clenching as if he held invisible weapons.

My heart fisted with pity.

I’d done everything I could for his physical healing, but his mental health seemed entirely unfixable.

“Anon, it’s time to wake up, okay? Open your eyes, and you’ll see you’re alright. Nothing will hurt you here.” I shook his shoulder for the billionth time, my words slurring with tiredness. “You need to eat and drink.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I fought off a throbbing headache. “If you have a concussion, you shouldn’t be sleeping so much.”

I had no way to refresh myself on symptoms of a concussion. No Google or doctor websites, but it seemed as if he was displaying most of them.

Excessive fatigue.

Inability to be roused.

Emotional outbursts.

As if to prove my point that he’d sustained a significant head injury, he mumbled again, rolled to the side, then vomited.

His back curled, the beads of his spine evident as he wretched up an empty stomach.

Worry made me sharper than I intended. “Dammit!” Scrambling to my feet, I hastily removed the blanket he’d soiled and tossed it into the corner. Grabbing another one that I’d stacked close by, I shook it out and spread it over him.

Kneeling by his head, I brushed aside his long, wild hair, my fingers coming away damp from his clammy skin. “Hush, it’s okay.” I bowed over him, instinct directing my motions instead of common sense. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, I murmured, “It’s me. Gemma. If you can hear me, then let’s start again, okay? I forgive you for what you’ve done to me if you forgive me for what I’ve done to you. We can be friends—”