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“-hate when it comes to that, but what else are we supposed to do p>
Chloe said tiredly.
“It’s a shitty situation all around,” another female voice responded, “You did the right thing, girl. Don’t beat yourself up about it p>
“I’m already over it,” Chloe said with a tired laugh. “So, you’re off tomorrow and Wednesday? Got any good plans p>
“Ha, for once, I actually do p>
The sound of the women’s footsteps carried them away from the hospice, towards the train station. Amos couldn’t help but look towards them, hoping for a sight of Chloe. But the light was too blinding for him now. Grimacing, he turned away from it. Crossing the roof, he slipped silently down the side of the building and landed lightly on the pavement. The shadow cast by the building spared him the burn of the rising sun, but it only lasted for a second. He had to step into the open light to cross the street.
Hissing in pain, Amos tried to hunch deeper inside his jacket, but it did him no good. Blistering heat washed over him as smoke curled faintly off his skin. He moved as quickly as he could, keeping to the shadows of trees and houses. He moved unevenly, overwhelmed by the dizzying nausea of fighting his daysleep. Block by excruciating block, he finally made it back to his house. He staggered over the threshold, falling to his knees inside the front entryway. Holding himself up by the doorknob, he shut the door and struggled to lock it.
The skin on his hands was scorched red and raw from the sun. His burning face was likely just as bad, if not worse. With his stomach in his throat, body wracked with tremors, Amos crawled on hands and knees towards the stairs, trying to reach his light–proofed bedroom. He stumbled up the stairs like an arthritic dog. His vision swam in
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and out. He paused on the landing, retching painfully. His arms gave out and he crashed face–first against the floorboards.
Groaning, he tried to right himself, but he could hardly tell up from down and his muscles refused to participate in the efforts. Amos couldn’t fight it any longer. He curled in on himself and surrendered to the daysleep.
Monday evening, Chloe was practically vibrating with anticipation
as she rode the train towards Amos’s neighborhood. When she reached her stop, the platform was mostly empty except for one guy leaning against a post, jacket hood pulled over his face, hands stuffed into his pockets. As soon as Chloe stepped off the train, he peeled away from the post, coming towards her.
She instinctively recoiled, preparing herself to run for the steps.
“Chloe.” The voice that emerged was raw and ragged, but she recognized the deep rumble.
“Amos? What are you doing here p>
“It’s dark,” he said hoarsely. “I wanted to walk with you p>
Chloe considered him for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Are you guarding me p>
“Yes,” he answered baldly. “I’ll explain why when we’re back at the
house.” Despite the tension radiating off of him, his big shoulders
sagged with exhaustion.
“Are you okay?” She tried to peer beneath his hood, but he turned
away from her.
“I will be,” he answered tiredly. His voice was so rough, Chloe almost winced to hear it. She fell into step beside him and they walked the
few blocks to his home in silence. The streets were dark, empty, and
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totally quiet. Even so, Amos’s head was rigid with alertness. Even with his face hidden beneath his hood, it was obvious that he was carefully scanning their surroundings.
At the top of his front steps, Amos positioned Chloe so that she stood in front of him while he reached around her to unlock the front door. It was like he was shielding her from something, and it made her pulse accelerate with unpleasant nervousness. Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief as Amos shut the door and locked it. She toed her shoes off and slid them against the wall. When she turned to face Amos, she found him leaning against the door, head hanging.
“Amos?” she asked, more worried than she’d been on the street. “Amos, what’s wrong p>
“I’m alright,” he said gruffly. He tried to push away from the door, but fell back against it with a grunt.
Chloe planted herself in front of him. She wasn’t going to take
another deflection from him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said,
reaching for his hood. He stiffened, but didn’t resist. As she pushed
his hood back, a gasp escaped her. “Jesus, Amos p>
His face was covered in partial thickness burns–likely deep thickness in some places. She couldn’t say for sure in the dim light. His skin was red and raw, peeling away from wet sores on his cheeks and nose and chin. Small blisters covered the left side of his
face from chin to brow. He stared back at her, his pupils blown wide–hunger, pain? She didn’t know.
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Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.