The Rapture

TWENTY-THREE

PEARL

When I came across the threshold, Ogrik whispered twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes. What did that mean? Did that mean he had twenty minutes left to live? That I had twenty minutes to talk to him?

I swallowed panic because that didn't seem like a lot of time. Why did this shit have to be rushed?

Then I saw him. Actually saw him, and it felt like someone had punched me right in the gut.

My heartbeat roared in my ears, threatening to drown out my fast breathing. What I saw nearly dropped me to my knees. The door shut behind me, leaving just me and a shattered man.

My first thought when I saw him restrained with blue, glowing restraints, was: what if he doesn't recognize who I am? Is he too far gone?

My second thought was my self-preservation kicking in—the very thing that Shadrach proclaimed I lacked.

Danger! Danger! Danger! it screamed.

But I knew better than to listen to the voice that told me to run away. To listen to every cell of my being that told me this being, this holy creature, was every bit as dangerous as he looked.

But I wasn't the kind of person to run away from something like this.

His eyes were closed, almost serene, and his lashes were wet—achingly beautiful, the sharp features of his face pinched. The awe of his beauty quickly fizzled out when I realized he was in pain.

There were dark circles under his eyes, darker than ever before. His breathing was labored. His shirt was off, revealing tight, chiseled abs covered with what looked like bright, blue tattoos.

His muscles were... glorious.

And from this angle—or any angle, really—he was frighteningly huge.

How did I not know he had the sick glowing tats? Probably because I had never seen him with his shirt off.

What a shame.

Despite my reservations and the fear crawling up my spine, I took a step forward. My breath caught in my throat as his eyes snapped open.

Instead of purple, they were black and dilated. As soon as he made eye contact with me, his head dipped. My eyes filled with tears. Something told me that this was a bad idea, and maybe it was dangerous, but—

I approached him anyway because this was Dumuzi.

My voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm here."

A glowing blue energy held his wrists in place. The white hair on his shoulders was wild and matted with sweat; an angry spew from a volcano. His large, muscled chest was covered in cuts, no doubt the result of the fight he had got into. His lips were bitten all to hell and bleeding.

I took in a shuddering breath. "Dumuzi?"

He did not respond.

Okay, this is bad, very bad.

I took another step forward.

I put my hands in his hair, soothing. His eyes closed and he sighed. A hand, although restrained, had enough room to touch my hip and travel up to my waist. His fingers were feverish against my skin, and not gentle, which should have worried me a little.

My heart pounded in my chest as I ran my fingers through the long white strands, putting as much compassion into my touch as I could. I will press the button on my bracelet if he's too much. I swallowed hard and brushed the hair out of his eyes.