In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 34

Greyson groaned. He shifted, uncomfortable as a heavy weight pressed into his chest, sheets clinging to his skin. All that did however was send his muscles screaming. Spasms began in his lower back, pulsing, spreading their fingers of pain until his flesh jumped and a burning started.

His throat was dry, his mouth seeking any hint of moisture to soothe the tightness.

Hell, was he on fire?

Greyson's side sizzled, but when he inhaled, it wasn't burning flesh or charred smoke that hit his nose. It was day old sweat hidden amongst unwashed skin.

By God, but he smelled horrid.

The next thing he noticed was the beam of sunlight that struck him full in the face, even through his closed eyelids. He turned his head, raising his hand despite the spark of lightning that streamed down along his shoulder.

"Close the blinds, would you?"

The voice came from his right, but Greyson didn't have a chance to place a face with the voice as the curtains fell shut and he breathed a sigh in relief. 

Someone settled next to his shoulders, his body dipping slightly as a hand swept under his head. A gentle voice whispered soothing words as a cup landed at his lips.

"Drink," the voice said, and Greyson was too parched to ignore the command. It was tilted and Greyson gulped the cold water. It soothed his throat and he lifted himself up further, groaning to receive as much as he could.

Greyson growled as the cup was taken out of his reach. "More later," said the voice, the hand setting his head back onto the softness beneath him.

A rustle of fabric and the clink of what sounded like his glass of water placed next to him, Greyson shifted, the sting of pain making him groan.

Where was he? And why did he feel like death?

Greyson opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a familiar face above him, a halo of gleaming gold and brown shadowing his head. It took a moment for Greyson to focus on the hazel rimmed eyes above him, a smirk upon the man's lips.

Thorne.

"Oh, God," Greyson said, "I'm in hell, aren't I?"

Thorne grinned widely at him. "I see you haven't lost your charm, old man."

Greyson groaned, thinking his creator must surely despise him, if this was the first sight to greet him down below. Forget the burning rivers of fire, this was payment enough.

Greyson shifted until the shooting pain blazed through his stomach and he stilled. Much better to cease moving altogether, he decided.

"Do be still, Greyson," a soft touch landed on his brow, the touch cool against his warm skin. "You were stabbed not two days ago."

His eyes opened, and another familiar face hovered next to Thorne's. Her brunette hair was off her face, the shortened locks falling over her forehead and dancing enchantingly along her cheekbones and neck. A a series of pins held the curls in place, and she looked like a sprite come to lead him to temptation.

Lud, but hell was quite vivid, indeed. A woman he could not have and a man that would pester him into eternity.

"So unfair," he mumbled. "You shouldn't be where Thorne is."

Charlie snorted, rolling her eyes at him. "You're not in hell, Greyson. Though, you probably feel like it."

He thought he heard her mumble something about a "quack who knew nothing of medicine," but he couldn't be sure.