I slept for a day and a half.
At least, that's what Marta told me when I finally woke again. The sun was streaming through the window, golden and warm, and I felt like I'd been beaten with stones. Every muscle ached. My head throbbed. But I was alive.
"Damon?" I tried to sit up, and this time Marta let me, propping pillows behind my back.
"He's been here the whole time," Marta said, something soft in her usually brisk voice. "Wouldn't leave. Finally passed out in that chair around dawn." She nodded toward the corner, and there he was—Damon, slumped in a wooden chair, his head tipped back, his face slack with exhaustion.
My heart clenched.
"He carried you back himself, you know," Marta continued quietly. "Wouldn't let anyone else touch you. Walked the whole way with you in his arms, an
