Before my cursed trip to Tajikistan, she had been slowly getting over Beth’s death, her nightmares becoming less frequent as the months wore on. Now, however, the bad dreams are back—and Nora is worse off than before, judging by the panic attack she had during sex yesterday.

I want to kill Peter for this—and I might, if he ever crosses my path again. The Russian saved my life, but he endangered Nora’s in the process, and that’s not something I will ever forgive. And his fucking list of names? Forget it. There is no way I’m going to reward him for betraying me like this, no matter what Nora promised him.

“Come on, baby, wake up,” I urge her again, using my right arm to lower myself back down on the bed. My ribs ache at the movement, but less fiercely this time. I carefully shift closer to Nora, pressing my body against hers from the back. “You’re okay. It’s all over, I promise.”

She draws in a deep, hiccuping breath, and I feel the tension within her easing as she realizes where she is. “Julian?” she whispers, turning around to face me, and I see that she’s been crying after all, her cheeks coated with moisture from her tears.

“Yes. You’re safe now. Everything is fine.” I reach over with my right hand and trail my fingers over her jaw, marveling at the fragile beauty of her facial structure. My hand looks huge and rough against her delicate face, my nails ragged and bruised from the needles Majid used on me. The contrast between us is glaring—though Nora is not entirely unscathed either. The purity of her golden skin is marred by a bruise on the left side of her face, where those Al-Quadar motherfuckers hit her to knock her out.

If they weren’t already dead, I would’ve ripped them apart with my bare hands for hurting her.

“What did you dream about?” I ask softly. “Was it Beth?”

“No.” She shakes her head, and I see that her breathing is beginning to return to normal. Her voice, however, still holds echoes of horror as she says hoarsely, “It was you this time. Majid was cutting out your eyes, and I couldn’t stop him.”

I try not to react, but it’s impossible. Her words hurl me back to that cold, windowless room, to the nauseating sensations I’ve been trying to forget for the past several days. My head begins to throb with remembered agony, my half-healed eye socket burning with emptiness once again. I feel blood and other fluids dripping down my face, and my stomach heaves at the recollection. I’m no stranger to pain, or even to torture—my father believed that his son should be able to withstand anything—but losing my eye had been by far the most excruciating experience of my life.

Physically, at least.

Emotionally, Nora’s appearance in that room probably holds that honor.

It takes all of my willpower to wrench my thoughts back to the present, away from the mind-numbing terror of seeing her dragged in by Majid’s men.