Dr. Tulio and Ms. Poitier become my escorts. The crowd in the foyer disperses as my men move to follow Matteo for their next set of marching orders, and I’m taken to Tulio’s office. Nevaeh doesn’t follow…
For the rest of the night, I’m in Tulio’s care. He cleans my wounds and stitches me up wherever needed. He checks my vitals and serves me medications. He lectures me about my condition and how it’s deteriorating at an even faster rate when I’m injured like this. My immune system is too fragile and weak to withstand much.
“You’re lucky you’ve survived even this, Caelian,” he says, flicking at his syringe to chase away bubbles. “You can’t go bursting into situations and being beaten to a pulp like this. You won’t last much longer.”
“That’s what you say about my drinking.”
“And you still do it,” he says with a solemn shake of his head.
I’m in and out for the next few hours. My dreams feel blank, like I’m so unconscious my mind fails to conjure anything up. It’s a welcomed change from the last vivid dream I’d had—Nevaeh dancing for me again as danger loomed.
I wake in my bed, warm and clean from the bloodied, swollen savage that had turned up on the doorstep in the middle of the night. Then my eyes pan to the rest of my huge bedroom and I almost growl in surprise. I’m not as alone as I initially assumed.
Nevaeh is tucked into a corner, perched on the windowsill like a small cat would be.
How the hell did she get in here?
I explicitly forbade any visitors! I told my men to allow no one inside. I ordered Ms. P to keep a close eye on mia bella ballerina.
Yet here she is like nothing, like she’s permitted.
She senses I’m awake and drops her legs from where they’re folded up into her chest. Hopping onto her feet like the agile, fluid dancer she is, she’s at my side within the blink of an eye. She floats toward me resembling an angel—luminous dark skin against the soft white cotton of her nightgown. The thinner fabric teases the petite curves I’ve devoured underneath.
I’m caught between the instant heat of anger and arousal.
Two conflicting reactions, though two reactions that often work seamlessly together.
Tension works the muscles in my jaw. “Get out.”
“Caelian, I was just trying to keep an eye on you.”
“Get out.”
“I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”
“The door is over there.”
“Please, can’t you just?—”
“THE DOOR!” I bellow at her, jerking a finger toward it.
She clamps her mouth shut from whatever it is she was about to say then blinks at me, long and slow as if too startled to utter another word. In the past, the taken aback look would’ve stirred something inside me. Possibly to reassure her I didn’t mean to be cruel or rough.
It was my natural instinct, but I also know I can’t treat her like I do others.
After recent events, I no longer find myself caring. Even if she is startled, I’m not about to assuage her feelings. That’s a perk she has given up.
She takes a moment to process my dismissive treatment then makes a decision I don’t expect. Rather than head for the door and leave as I’ve requested, she does the opposite. She steps toward the bed I’m lying in with the expression of someone facing their fear.
“I won’t go,” she says, her tone as fucking sad as her eyes. “I want to be by your side when you’re unwell.”
“You had your chance to be by my side.”
“What do I have to do, Cael? How can I prove I didn’t mean it?” she pleads, rushing over. The next thing I know, she’s sliding onto the bed, straddling me with her soft, toned thighs, clutching her small hands to my rugged face as if about to kiss me. “I didn’t leave to hurt you. I left to protect you.”
“You’ll have to come up with a better lie than that, Nevaeh. Get off.” I wrench her hands away from my face and nudge her off my lap. I’m not trying hard and yet even slight forcefulness from me tips her over sideways.
Nevaeh quickly recovers, pushing herself up, a flash of determination in her dark eyes. She’s not even close to giving up. Even as I shun her and turn her away.
