Flu is the only thing I can think of. That’s what this is. It has to be.
My mind isn’t racing, and I’m not fighting memories or panic, so it can’t be a panic attack. But, there is that nagging thought in the back of my head. The reason I woke up in the middle of the night looking at my calendar app.
The dates fit. And so do some of the symptoms. I don’t want to say it out loud. Incase it’s not real. That it’s not something we deserve.
I blink slowly, forcing my eyes to focus, and that’s when I see him. Drago is standing at the end of the bed, topless, already dressed from the waist down, pulling on black pants. The morning light slants through the curtains and spills across his bare torso, catching the hard lines of muscle, the shadows of his tattoos, and the scars that are slashed along his side.
My stomach flips. Which is ridiculous, considering I feel like I might throw up. But my body doesn’t care about logic where he’s concerned.
He glances over his shoulder and catches me staring.
A wicked smile touches his mouth. “Morning, baby,” he murmurs.
My voice comes out rough, like my throat hates me. “Morning.”
He takes a step closer, and my eyes track every inch of him. The flex of his shoulders. The way the tattoos over his scars shift when he moves. He reaches the bed and leans down, pressing the back of his fingers to my cheek.
His smile disappears instantly. “You’re burning up,” he mutters.
I swallow. “I feel like crap.”
It feels like I’m lying to him by keeping this thought to myself. He needs to keep his head on his mission. Not worrying about me and the baby I may or may not be carrying.
His hand slides to my forehead, then down my neck, checking me like he can count my heartbeat through my pulse. His gaze drags over my face, taking in everything. As if he just qualified as a doctor.
And the worry that crosses his expression is so raw it almost hurts. “What do you need?” he asks quietly. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”
Never leave me is what I want to say.
My chest tightens at the softness in his voice, at how helpless it sounds coming from a man built for war.
I blink slowly, trying to find words through the fog. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just… I feel weak. Water and some painkillers?”
He leans closer, lips brushing my forehead.
“Okay,” he murmurs, like it’s a promise. “I’ve got you.”
He cups my cheek, thumb stroking under my eye. Wait.
“No. No painkillers. Just water,” I blurt out.
He frowns, assessing my face. I keep my lips tightly shut. It’s like this secret is going to spill out whether I like it or not.
I have no idea what I can and can’t take. I need a pregnancy test before I do anything.
“You know what today is, right? You know the rules,” he says. As if he didn’t run through them in extreme detail last night.
He showed me the panic room again, now linked to my thumbprint, too. He showed me how to use the monitors. He told me what was happening at the church. The necklace. I am upset that I’m losing the necklace itself—even if we have the information, it was really pretty and a present from my dad. But, if it saves the life of the man I love, it’s gone. I don’t care.
“No one in or out of this house today. Decadence is on complete lockdown,” he says firmly. “You’re staying here. You don’t answer the door. You don’t go near the gates. You don’t leave your bedroom unless Lev is with you. Understood?”
My stomach twists.
My dad is staying behind to protect me.
That fact should soothe me, but it presses down heavier instead, because it means today is exactly as dangerous aseveryone has been pretending it isn’t. And if my dad is here, who is protecting Drago?
I nod, throat tight. “Yes.”
