Flushed and Fraying

Flushed and Fraying
Amelia

My skin felt too hot, like I’d been walking in the sun all day. Every sound scraped against me. It was as if my senses had been sharpened to a blade’s edge.
I dragged in a breath, steadying myself, but it didn’t help. The emotions pressing against me were too loud. Now they poured into me all at once, tangled and raw. Anxiety. Fatigue. Curiosity. A sour wash of resentment. I feel all of it.
I snapped.
“Do you have to breathe so loud?”

Ruthanne’s head jerked up, her wide eyes catching mine from across the room. She hadn’t been doing anything but sitting there, a book open but untouched in her lap. Guilt hit me immediately, heavy as stone in my chest. She looked away, shoulders curling, and I hated myself for the sharpness in my voice.
I rubbed at my temples, heat pulsing under my skin. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m having some issues today.”
The door opened, and Gwendolyn slipped in with her satchel of herbs. The old healer’s face was calm, steady as ever, though her eyes sharpened when they landed on me. “You’re flushed,” she observed, voice dry. “And jumpy. When did you last eat?”
I waved her off, but she wasn’t having it. She set down her satchel and reached for the jar of oils she always carried for scar tissue.
“We’ll loosen the stiffness again,” she said. “Both of you.”
Ruthanne shifted uneasily in her chair, but didn’t protest when Gwendolyn gestured for her to move closer. The healer’s hands were efficient, practiced, smoothing the mixture over the raised, puckered flesh at Ruthanne’s arms and shoulders. The scent of rosemary and lavender filled the air, warm and earthy.

I braced myself, jaw tight, as Gwendolyn turned to me. My own scars had mostly healed, but they still ached when pressed. When her fingers traced the salve across them, I hissed involuntarily and snapped, “Careful.”
Her brow arched. “It only works if I touch the tissue.”
I bit down on my retort, shame prickling. The heat under my skin made it harder to think, harder to breathe.
Beside me, Ruthanne exhaled softly. Her shoulders eased, her face tilting just enough that I caught the flicker of relief crossing it. Gratitude.
I froze.
It was the first genuine thread of positive emotion I had felt from her since she arrived. It was quiet, fragile, but real. Without thinking, I reached for it, nudging gently, amplifying it. The gratitude swelled, warm and bright, until I almost sighed at the relief of it washing over me and her.
Then the guilt struck.
I shouldn’t have done it. Not again. Not after the speech where I bent the whole pack’s emotions, leaving me hollow with shame. Manipulating feelings wasn’t leadership. It wasn’t trust. It was cheating.
But it had felt so good, so rare, to touch something other than Ruthanne’s walls of fear and bitterness. I couldn’t help myself.
“Better,” Ruthanne murmured under her breath, touching one scarred arm gingerly. Her voice cracked on the word.

The door swung open again, and Nathan stepped in, tall and steady, his presence filling the space like it always did. He stopped short, his gaze sweeping over the room, lingering on Ruthanne’s softened expression before landing on me.
“Amelia.” His tone was careful. “You don’t look well.”
I stiffened. “I’m fine.”
“You’re pale. And flushed. That’s not fine.” He stepped closer, the concern in his eyes both irritating and touching. Nathan always noticed too much.
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. His brows rose, surprise flickering, but he didn’t move back.
“Uh-huh.” His mouth curved faintly, though there was no humor in it. “I’ll take your word for it when you don’t look like you’re about to keel over.”

The heat under my skin surged again, my gift fraying at the edges. His worry pressed against me, louder than it should have been, burrowing under my ribs until I wanted to scream.
“Go hover over someone else,” I muttered, though the words tasted bitter.
Nathan studied me for another long moment, but to his credit, he didn’t push. He only inclined his head toward Ruthanne, who watched the exchange silently, her fingers worrying the hem of her sleeve.
Then he left, his footsteps echoing down the hall. “I’ll wait for you in our room, Ruthanne.”
“My room, Nathan,” Ruthanne called down the hall to him, but he wasn’t listening.
I sagged back, breath shuddering out. My control was unraveling. Every emotion was too loud. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold it.

I pressed my hands over my face. My pulse thundered in my ears, my skin too hot, every emotion pressing against me too loud. I wanted to scream, to claw the heat out of me.
“Lia.”
The voice cut clean into my mind, deep and dark.
Kane.

“What’s happening?” he demanded. His tone wasn’t sharp with anger; it was sharp with worry.
Relief broke through my chest so suddenly that it almost hurt. The irritation, the restlessness, the snapping edge of my temper....gone, just like that. Hearing him steadied me, even if only a little.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, though I knew the bond betrayed the lie.
“You’re not. I can feel you, Lia.” The words rumbled through me, possessive, dark. “What’s wrong?”
My throat burned. “I don’t feel well,” I admitted, the words rasping out. “Something’s wrong with me. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t feel right.”
A low growl rolled down the mind-link, curling into me like smoke. “Who’s with you?”
“Ruthanne. Gwendolyn.”
“Send them away.”
“I....”
“Now, Lia.”
The command snapped like a whip in my skull, and I flinched. Not because it hurt, but because of the sheer force behind it.
His worry was heavy.

I lifted my head, blinking at the two women watching me with matching worry. My voice shook, but I managed to sound steady enough. “I need to be alone. Please.”
Gwendolyn hesitated, studying me closely, but she only nodded and began packing her satchel. Ruthanne lingered longer, her brows drawn, before she finally followed. The door clicked shut, leaving me in silence.
The relief of it almost buckled me.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” I whispered, even though I didn’t need to say it aloud. The words bled through the bond anyway. “I’m hot all the time, my skin feels like it’s burning. I can’t sort emotions anymore, everything is too loud. And I can’t...” My voice broke. “I can’t control it.”
Kane’s response was immediate, fierce. “I’m coming to you.”
My chest tightened. “You don’t need to...”
“Yes, I do.” His voice was protective, but underneath it I felt the edge of fear. “You’re mine. You don’t suffer alone. I’ll be there before you can catch your breath.”

The bond thrummed hot and heavy between us, a promise, a threat, a vow.
And for the first time all day, my body eased just enough to breathe.