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80

The Only Voice I Hear

Sensation flushes through me in the dark and pulls at my consciousness.

“What…” I hear myself from far away.

Like a cool breeze off the bay after a hot summer day, the sensation moves through me again. Breaking through the heat of the fever. Not eradicating it. But this is the first hint of relief I’ve felt since I’ve been trapped in my own body.

Worry wriggles through the relief like a worm. And I think I frown, because why would I worry? This is…relief.

“Is it working?” Hades’ voice comes from a long way off.

Is what working? Are they trying another medicine? Another treatment? “Not the ice bath again.” I try to say the words, but my lips won’t move.

That was agony. Fire and freezing at the same time.

Another flush of cool, like the relief is inside me. In my veins.

Then another, but this is more like a wave moving through me, and I sigh my relief. Audibly. I know because it’s loud in my head.

And yet a dark emotion coils in my stomach. Doubt? Dread? Hope?

I don’t think I’m the one feeling those things.

“I think it’s working,” someone says. They’re closer now.

Or I’m closer to consciousness. The lessening heat and pain is buoying me up to the top. Please don’t let this stop.

“Lyra?” Urgency lines Hades’ voice.

I want to answer him, tell him I’m okay. More than okay, but I’m still having trouble making my mouth and eyes work.

“What’s wrong? Is it killing her?” The panic in his voice would be adorable if it didn’t seem to be wrapping around my heart and squeezing hard. Like his panic is feeding into me.

I try to reach for him, for his hand, but I can’t move yet. The sick exhaustion is still trying to drown me.

Another wave of that blessed cool.

I manage to make my mouth work. “Hades.”

“I’m here.” His voice sounds…tortured. “I’m here, Lyra.”

His hand wraps around mine, anchors me to reality, and that single, simple touch is heaven.

“It’s getting better,” I try to say. I’m vaguely aware that the words come out as gibberish.

Another bolt of worry hits.

“Help her!” he orders someone in a voice that is all King of the Underworld. So much authority. So much power.

“We have to let it work,” someone says in a voice that quavers. “My apologies, Lord Hades.”

So much fear from them. Because of him. Him trying to protect me.

“Hades,” I whisper.

He lets go of my hand, and I whimper a protest. Then his palms cup my face. “I’m here,” he says.

That touch, the closeness of him, that voice… It’s all I need.

A final rush of that relief-giving sensation flows into me, through me, and it feels as though my body is being soothed and cleansed and rebuilt from the inside. Starting from my bones and working its way outward.

Followed by…fear.

Not my fear. I’m not afraid. I’m relieved. What is happening?

“Elysium save me,” I hear him whisper. Feel his breath brush my lips. “Is she—”

“I feel…better,” I mumble, exhaustion already reaching for me. But a different kind. The type of sleep that heals instead of traps you in your own tortured body. “Much better.”

That odd sensation has receded, so the emotion that barrels through me isn’t that. And it definitely isn’t mine. I’m sure of that now.

Shock and relief and dawning realization are followed by worry-tinted, supremely masculine satisfaction.

It moves like a lightning bolt through my chest—there in electrifying clarity, then gone, leaving me buzzing.

Not my feelings…

That was Hades. I felt what he was feeling.

How?