The bunker had collapsed and so had the ground above it, taking the men with it into the concaved earth. Thierry laid in the rubble and coughed, wiping the layer of soot and grime from himself.
“Nix,” he called out desperately as he rolled over and got up from the shambled cement and dirt ground.
Thierry had grown up knowing he would one day turn to lifeless stone if he did not meet his mate in time.
And yet, not knowing if Nix was okay—alive—in that moment, Thierry had never experienced worse dread.
I would gladly turn to stone if it means my mate breathes.
He heard the other men twitch and readjust to their new underground surroundings as Thierry stumbled around the giant slabs of broken cement, looking for Nix.
He followed her scent, nearly made imperceptible by the smell of smoke.
When he saw her, Thierry froze.
His breath left his lungs. Would it ever return? Would he even need it?
Slabs of cement crushed her, and he lifted andthrewthem off of her. A loud crashing sound occurred, and a familiar male voice shouted, “Shit!” But Thierry did not waste time apologizing for unseeingly throwing the slab onto one of the others.As long as it’s not on her.
Her eyes were closed. Her body was so still. Too still. Lifeless?
Lurching forward, Thierry slammed onto his knees and knelt over her as he grabbed Nix’s wrist to feel for a pulse.
Please, do not leave me.
Fuck, it was all his fault. She told him not to leave her there. She fucking told him. And what? He thought he “knew better.” Because he was “older?” Because he was a “professor?”
Fuck me. She was right. In the end, he had been so fuckingdumb.
A gut-wrenching sound escaped Thierry’s throat as he begged, “Nix, open your eyes. Wake up,mon cœur.”My heart.
Without her, Thierry’s heart would stop within days, and his body would turn to stone.Good. Without her, he would welcome it.
His grip on her wrist was interrupted by the weakest pulse of a heartbeat.
Yes. Come back to me.
Hope planted and blossomed in his chest. Would the hope stay and grow?
So often, hope bloomed in Thierry’s chest only to wither and die. The gargoyle shifter was not “hope’s” natural habitat. He had no experience watering it. He had no experience letting sunshine in to help it sprout.
But here she was, with the faintest of heartbeats.
“Yes, yes,” he cooed to his limp mate. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” Anything less than okay was unacceptable.
Her naked body was covered in soot and ash and…blood.
Fuck.
Thierry gently cupped the back of her head and lifted it to see the large gash there. Surely, the cement slabs that had landed on her when the bunker and ground above it collapsed would have caused injuries such as internal bleeding as well.
Heal her.
For the first time in his life, Thierry swallowed his pride and yelled to the men, “Help! I need help.”
Persius, covered in dirt, staggered over to them. Ryker coughed in the dust and hobbled over on a broken leg that would heal in an hour or so.
“Is she…”
