Page 95 of Crush

Aiko.

Savannah.

Mom and Dad.

Malcolm.

I list the names, over and over again, each time I’m about to collapse. I’m confident they’re the only reason I make it to the top on all fours, muttering nonsensical words and unable to feel any limb.

It’s dark—so dark—the moonlight seeming to shy away from the one overlook in hell I’ve decided to climb onto. I continue crawling, hoping to headbutt the goddamned torch I’m supposed to light.

“Ember.”

My name whispers out, and at first, I think it’s the wind or that I’m hallucinating my name on top of a whole host of other images that have bombarded me since I passed the point of exhaustion.

“Ember. Here.”

There’s a scuffle to my right. I shy away from it, unable to handle any more surprises, until strong arms grip my side, hauling me up to stand.

I’m about to protest, but honestly, it’s so difficult to collect enough air. Instead, I collapse against a warm chest. One that feels good. The kind I’m all too familiar with.

One that smells like my darkest fantasies.

I manage to tilt my head up.

A dim light flashes against my vision, enough to profile the boy above me.

Thorne.

36

Ember

Thorne’s features haze in and out, but I clutch at the open flaps of his jacket like that will bring me the clarity I need.

“Thorne,” I croak through numbed lips. “How…?”

He drops his phone to the ground, the flashlight app still illuminating us, but not so much that anyone could be alerted below.

“We don’t have a ton of time.”

I pull my brows in at his tone. I’m barely coherent myself, but I swear his voice is pained. Roughened.

“I … did it,” I mumble against his warm, beautiful, safe harbor of a torso. His heartbeat flutters against my ears, faster than I’m used to hearing.

Did he race up here to catch me?

Or, my better sense suggests, has he come to drag me back down to his king?

I stiffen in his arms, which only makes him hold on tighter. “Ember. Look at me.”

I shouldn’t, but of course I do.

When it comes to Thorne, I’ve never been able to resist his commands.

Remaining in his hold seems to give me strength. I’m able to balance on my own legs as I tilt my face up. My knees have other ideas, and they buckle at the weight, sending me back into Thorne’s chest.

He grunts, and when I clutch at his back for balance, he practically heaves me away from him, cursing and limping as we break apart, and I fall back on my ass.