Page 54 of Deadmen's Queen

“Go to hell, you fucking creep,” I snapped.

His hand shot out, grabbing my throat and slamming me against the wall. Any trace of lust had vanished and the coldness in his eyes had my stomach clenching fear.

“If you would like to complete your year as Persephone with my son, I would suggest keeping your mouth shut. You have such pretty limbs, it would be a shame if you lost all of them.”

My eyes widened, but he released me and stalked off, Trevelyan at his side. I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking, leaning against the wall so I didn’t fall down. I couldn’t tell the guys. I didn’t even know what they’d do. They’d be so angry he’d touched me. Would they go after him? Like with the security guard? Carver was powerful though, and clearly dangerous. What if they got hurt? I couldn’t take the risk.

I swallowed, pushing off the wall and standing alone. I reached up, pressing my palm against my damp cheeks. My makeup would look awful. I needed to find somewhere to clean myself up, and then I needed to lock this away somewhere I never thought about it again.

I continued down the hall, one hand trailing against the wall in case my shaky legs gave way. Two more bedrooms, neither with ensuites. Another door. My hand wrapped around the cool bronze handle and I turned it, pushing the door open. This room was completely dark, but from the slight glimmer of moonlight from outside, I could make out that it was much bigger than the last two. It might have a bathroom.

I stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind me, but I’d only take two steps, when I heard a shaky breath. I froze. There was another, and I turned to the right, just about making out the large outline of a person sitting on the floor in the corner.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here,” I said, backing away towards the door.

“Paige?” It was Nate, but his voice sounded strange. Higher than normal, and shaky.

“Nate?”

“Yes. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” The pain in his voice tore at my heart, and quickly I locked the door, and moved towards him.

“Is everything ok?” I asked. Great. What a stupid fucking question, Paige. Obviously he’s not ok.

“No,” he choked. I crouched beside him, reaching my hand out to touch his shoulder but he flinched away.

“Don't touch me.” His voice was brittle.

“Why not?” I asked softly, retracting my hand but still seated beside him. His breathing was heavy and shaky, each breath as if it pained him to take.

“It's... it's too much,” he whispered, sounding lost and broken. “Everything is just too much.”

He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs, almost like a child, but his fingers raked up and down his trouser legs, a gesture I recognised all too well, and realisation crept over me.

“Nate, are you having a panic attack?”

He jerked his head once, not quite a nod. I took a deep breath.

“Ok, you need to relax and breathe,” I said. “Nate, I’m going to turn a light on, ok? I’m not leaving, but I need to see you.”

I got up, feeling my way around till I found a lamp on the bedside table and flicked it on. It was warm, and not too bright, but Nate flinched, and I wondered how long he’d been sitting here. Since he’d left the party? Oh god, he’d been on his own for ages, dealing with this alone.

I sat down next to him, my back against the wall. I kept my hands in my lap, but I sat close enough that our upper arms were pressed together. He’d taken his jacket off, I could see where he’d dropped it on the floor, and undone his bowtie. Two shirt buttons were undone and I saw him swallow. He stared straight ahead, and his body moved with tiny rocking movements, though by his tense muscles, I could tell he was trying not to.

“Nate, baby, listen to me. Focus on my voice. Breathe with me.” I slowed my breathing, making them deeper so he could hear me. It actually helped calm me too, and we sat there together. After a few minutes, I heard his breath pull in with mine, and then a second one.

“That’s good,” I murmured. “Keep going, baby, you’re doing so well.”

He took another shaky breath, and another, and slowly his breaths began to even out and he seemed to become calmer. He stopped dragging his fingers over his leg, and I felt the muscles in his arms relax.

“What happened?” I asked, keeping my voice low and soothing. “What set you off?”

“Noth- nothing.”

His insistence was weak and unconvincing. He was hurting. Pain radiated off of him from whatever it was he kept locked so deep inside him.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “but I’m here if you want to let something out.”

Another jerky nod. We fell quiet for a few more minutes.