Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

His eyes soared open.

His hands launched for my throat.

He tackled me to the ground.

His gaze was overly dilated, his pupils black as coal. “You want to be my friend?” His voice wasn’t his. It was black and tainted, icy and sharp. “I’m sick of friends who think they can fuck and hurt me.” His fingers tightened on my throat. “I think I’ll kill you instead.”

“Wait!” I dug my fingernails into his wrists, gasping for air. “I’m trying to help you!”

“Help?” He laughed. “I don’t want your version of help.” His thumbs crushed my larynx.

You’re going to die, Gem.

Dark spots danced over my stare.

My legs jerked, trying to get purchase and run far away from him.

Pure panic chased away my exhaustion, replacing my blood with electrifying adrenaline. Shooting my hips up, I prepared to fight for my life (again), only...he collapsed on top of me. His fingers went loose, his face slack.

He was out.

I gulped oxygen and shoved him off me.

Kicking him with a burst of hysteria, I crawled on my hands and knees, coughing and swallowing, never taking my eyes off him.

How many times must this happen, you idiot!

When would I learn?

No matter what happened between this man and me, I could never let my guard down.

Ever.

Jesus, Gem.

I’d deserved that.

He’d successfully reminded me that, once again, I’d been unbelievably stupid. I’d romanticized this entire damsel taking care of the beast scenario.

I’d forgotten that he wasn’t just a man who’d chosen to live in a forest, alone.

He was a man with serious issues, a trauma he hadn’t dealt with, and a mind that, quite frankly, seemed unable to be reasoned with.

He’s unstable.

And you’re in danger if you leave him untethered.

My knees wobbled as I slowly pushed to my feet.

I hesitated.

It went against every caring part of me, especially as I looked down at a man sprawled on the floor, his belly flat and hollow from lack of food, his skin scarred with silver mementos, his face looking far younger unconscious than awake.

I took a step toward him, wanting to pull the blanket over his nakedness. One minor act to provide some comfort before I tied him up.

But he twitched again, his eyebrows tugging low as his head thrashed side to side. “Nyx, don’t. Don’t—!”

I backed away.

Every step I took toward my backpack, my heart pounded harder.

He seemed to be plummeting faster into his nightmares.

His legs flailed outward. His lips tore wide as he silently screamed. He choked on air, his arms swooping up to attack something only he could see. “You’ll die tonight.”

Hurry.

Quietly, even though he paid no attention to me, I unzipped the main compartment of my bag and pulled out another length of climbing rope.

An orange-and-green-speckled cord that boasted the ability to hold hundreds of pounds of dead weight. The instructions hadn’t said anything about being suitable at tying someone up, but if it was strong enough to catch a person as they fell from a cliff, it would hold a man in the throes of a concussed aberration.

“Run, Quell. Do what I say!” He continued to buck and moan, completely hostage to his mind.

Unravelling the rope, I created another lasso so I could grab his arms and knot them together quickly. I didn’t want to be in striking distance now he’d lost himself entirely to whatever he saw.

My heart drummed in my ears as I forced myself to return to him, gritting my teeth as he let out another soul-crushing cry.

His chest shot off the floor as if he’d been electrified, then fell backward. His arms landed by his sides, his head turned to the left with hair draped over his cheek and eyes.

Now.

Quickly.

Dropping to my haunches, I grabbed his left hand and inserted it into the rope. Leaning over him, I repeated with his right, drawing the lasso closed and securing a knot.

I couldn’t catch a proper breath as I fell backward, feeling like I’d just betrayed him even though he was the one who’d kept me prisoner for days.

Having him secure gave me a false sense of power and tears came hotter for his situation. Was this the throes of impending death? Was his brain bleeding? Would he have a stroke and pass away?

Needing to touch him, to somehow find a way to breakthrough his pain, I scooted closer to his head and ran my hands through his knotty hair.

I pulled upward gently, raising his neck and shoulders to place him carefully on my lap.

However, he shot upright.

He swayed in the blankets.

He blinked at the library around us.

And then, he did something that ensured, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much pain he granted or blood he spilled, I would never curse him, betray him, or hate him.

I would only love him.

Love a broken beast who’d survived so much.





CHAPTER FIVE

I WORE WAR PAINT created with tears, blood, and vomit.

Their tears, their blood, my vomit.

The moment Storymaker commanded us up the stairs, reeling off bedroom numbers where we were each to serve, my heart hadn’t stopped galloping a thousand beats a minute.

I’d dutifully trudged up the steps, linking my fingers with Quell, and giving Maliki a grimace of encouragement. We were well-trained. Well reminded. We didn’t deviate or pause.