"Praying for the devil?"
Josiah stood in the doorway, his great bulk filling the space and his head slightly bent as he watched me with those cool white eyes that saw far too much.
The hard wood floor was unforgiving under my knees where I knelt at Harper's bedside, my hands clasped tightly together.
Had I been praying?
Pleading, maybe. Begging, definitely.
Not that it seemed to do me any good to do either of those things. It had been a week since we had arrived at Josiah's door and still Harper hadn't regained consciousness. Ironically enough, I'd never been one for prayer, but right then I would have done just about anything to see his emerald eyes again. I would have done anything just to see that trademark Cain scowl he was so fond of sporting. A scowl or a smile seemed on equal par when I hadn't been party to either for seven agonising days.