For the first time in years, I’m terrified. Not of Serrano. Not of death.
Of losing her.
13
KATANA
The world swims back in pieces. First it’s the low hum of voices, then the antiseptic bite in the air. The sheets are stiff, but the pillow under my head carries a familiar scent. My lashes drag open slowly, every blink scraping like sand, while my ribs throb with each shallow breath.
Instinct claws up before memory. My hand twitches for a blade that isn’t there. Something pulls tight across my waist when I try to sit, and a curse dies in my throat.
Then Quinn’s voice cuts through, steady and low, pulling me back from the edge.
“You scared the shit out of us.”
My eyes focus. She’s perched at the edge of my bed, her blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
The memory floods back fast; the cage, Alicia’s cry, Serrano’s knife, Dante holding me upright, my blood everywhere.
I touch the ache in my side and wince at the bandages.
“How long was I out?” My voice is rough, my throat dry as sandpaper.
“Two days.” Her eyes gloss, her voice cracking. “A few inches higher and we’d be planning a funeral.”
“I’m too damn stubborn to die.” My laugh comes out broken.
“Stop trying to prove it.” Her smile is weak, but it’s real.
She brushes a hand over my blanket like she’s tucking me in, then glances past me. I follow her gaze. Dante’s slumped in a chair a foot from my bed, arms crossed, chin tipped forward, hair falling into his face. Even asleep, he looks dangerous. His shoulders rigid, his whole body wound tight like the fight never left him.
Quinn’s tone softens. “He hasn’t left your side once.”
Something twists hard in my chest. I should bury it under the steel I always carry, but the sight of him, blood still staining his shirt where he pressed against me, cuts deeper than I want to admit.
Before I can say anything, Quinn squeezes my hand. “I’ll give you two some time.”
She moves for the door, then pauses, her smirk wicked as she smacks the back of his head.
Dante jerks awake with a growl, cursing under his breath, one hand flying instinctively toward his hip. His eyes snap open, sharp and alert, scanning the room like he’s ready to tear through it.
Despite the fire ripping through my ribs, a ghost of a smile threatens.
“Relax, tough guy,” Quinn says, smirking from the doorway. “She’s yours now, but don’t make me have to dig a new grave.”
The tension drains out of him. Relief crashes over his face, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t look at Quinn, only at me. Our eyes lock, and something unspoken sparks, burning hotter than the ache in my ribs.
He drags the chair closer, the scrape of its legs loud in the quiet room.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he mutters, his voice rough, like it hasn’t been used in days.
I manage a crooked smile. “Some guard dog you are. Sleeping on the job.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.” His mouth twitches, not quite a smile but almost. “Just blinked too long.”
Heat crawls under my skin. I shake my head, trying to smother it with sarcasm. “You didn’t have to stay.”
