She sighed. “All right. But at least keep them off while we’re sleeping, please? I’ll feel guilty if you waste fuel on me.”
“We can do that.”
“What about food?”
Again, he hesitated. “We will get by.”
“How bad is it?”
“Well, I am thoroughly tired of soup.”
“Ha, me too.”
“The first sprouts are coming up. I can start mixing some mung beans into our food within the next day or two. That will help make it last. And we have kept the hothouse warm enough that the seeds have germinated. Things will be a lot less uncertain once the first plants are ready to harvest, and that will be as close as four weeks away.”
“Maybe we should ration our food.” Clare bit her lip. “We can live on half serves for a few days.”
Dorran’s expression flattened. “No.”
“But—”
“Your body is trying to regenerate blood and cope with poisoning. It needs all of the fuel it can get.”
She blinked as pieces of the puzzle slid into place. She’d only seen Dorran eat one meal that day. When she’d asked him why he wasn’t joining her for dinner, he’d laughed and said he’d already eaten. “You’ve been rationing your food, haven’t you?”
“That’s not relevant to this discussion.”
“Like hell it’s not.” She scowled. “I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been doing all of the work lately. No wonder you’re starting to look gaunt.” She ran a hand over her face, feeling sick. “How long have you been skipping meals?”
He placed his cup on the coffee table with a harsh snap. “I am managing my own affairs, and I would appreciate it if you ceased trying to meddle.”
They glared at each other. Clare felt emotions choking her and blinked furiously to fight back tears. Then she took a short, sharp breath. “Here’s the deal. From now on, I’m not eating unless you eat with me.”
He stood, muttered something she couldn’t make out, then began pacing. “You are not in a position to give me ultimatums.”
“So help me, Dorran, you need food. I eat when you eat. If that means we both starve, so be it.”
He glowered down at her, his face full of unforgiving lines and sharp eyebrows. Then his expression softened. He lowered himself to the floor and laid his hands on her chair’s armrest so that she was looking down at him instead. “Clare, I am not being reckless or endangering myself. I am trying to keep us both alive.”
She couldn’t stop the tears any longer. They rolled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “Either we both eat, or neither of us eat.”
“Stubborn, infuriating woman.” The words were said half laughingly. “I have yet to win a battle against you.”
“I let you keep the lights on.” She rubbed the back of her hand over her nose. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. I know I’m a mess—”
He settled beside her in the chair and pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. He held her with one hand and stroked her hair with the other. Warm breath ghosted over her ear.
“We will be all right,” he said. “I will find a way. Everything will be all right.”
They both slept on the bed that night. Dorran lay on top of the blankets, close enough that he was always within easy reach when the nightmares woke Clare. She didn’t know how much rest he’d gotten the night before, but he slept deeply.
She woke sometime in the early morning when the fire had almost burnt itself out. She could make out Dorran’s features in the snow-muted moonlight. Long eyelashes. High cheekbones. Deeply set eyes. Heavy brows. She’d never seen anyone as handsome.
She carefully, hesitatingly reached out and ran a finger over his cheek. He murmured something in his throat and adjusted his position. Clare pulled her hand back and smiled as he continued to sleep.
A hinge groaned. Clare’s heart faltered. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the noise. It was a windy night. There was no reason the sound had to be malevolent.
A floorboard creaked. The noise came from inside the room. Clare’s eyes shot open. She sat up, clutching her blankets as though they might protect her.
The bedroom’s main door was still closed. She let her eyes drift to the side, towards the bathroom door. Dorran had shut it before they’d gone to bed. It leaked too much of their warmth otherwise. But now it hung open. And the woman stood in front of it.
Chapter Eighteen
Moonlight glossed over the grey figure in strange ways, creating shadows where they didn’t belong and refracting off the skin in ways that made it seem to glow. The woman’s hair had fallen out in chunks. Her back was badly twisted. She hunched over, pelvis forwards and hands dangling behind her knees. White ribs jutted out of the hole in her side, fanning out like spikes. Saliva dripped from the open mouth onto the tattered, grimy white dress.
A scream caught in Clare’s throat. She blindly felt for the man beside her. “Dorran!”
The creature threw its head back, eyes narrowed, lips parting just far enough to release a hiss.
Dorran stirred. Clare yanked on his arm, trying to get him up, to face the creature, to see it. He lifted his head, squinting. The woman was gone, vanished into the shadowed doorway.
“She was there.” Clare knew she sounded half-wild. “The woman. Watching us sleep. She was there!”
He blinked furiously as he tried to shake away tiredness. “What? You are certain?”
“Yes!” She clutched his arm. “She… her… her ribs were poking through her skin. She’s right there. In the bathroom.”
Dorran’s gaze moved from the open door to Clare, and she was horrified to see doubt in his eyes. She knew how she must sound, raving about a woman with ribs jutting out of her chest. She swallowed. “I know. I know it sounds insane. I can’t explain it. I just know what I saw.”
“I will search.” He slid out of bed and crossed the room in four long strides. He didn’t take a weapon this time as he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light. A moment later, she heard another door open and another light switch as he moved into the second bedroom then the hallway.
Dorran was gone for close to twenty minutes. Clare stayed huddled in bed, her knees pulled up under her chin. She heard doors opening throughout the house. A sense of nauseating dread rose through her the longer the search went on. It was becoming an all-too-familiar pattern. He would find nothing.
Finally, the doors began closing rather than opening. Dorran reentered the way he’d left, through the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. His head was bowed. His expression was tense.
Clare couldn’t stop shaking. Part of it came from the shock. But most of it was the fear of what Dorran’s return implied. If he can’t find the stranger, what does that say about me?
“I don’t know where she goes.” Clare crawled across the quilt towards him, pleading. “But she is real.”
He sat on the bed, shuffled close to her, and took both of her hands in his. His voice was gentle. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He rubbed her hands, his gaze imploring. “Know that I would not lie to you. There are no strangers in this house tormenting you. There are no phantoms hiding around the corners. You have to fight these fears. Don’t give them any power. Don’t let them drag you under.”
Her hands were still shaking, and they wouldn’t stop. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. She looked towards the bathroom doorway. I can’t be crazy. Not here. Not now. I’m already so much of a burden.