I caressed her forehead gently, monitoring her pulse with my other hand. Her heartbeat was too fast, erratic. Her temperature was too high, and her breathing had gone shallow. We were running out of time.
Isabella’s fingers suddenly grasped my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong given her condition. “Ivan,” she whispered, her eyes clearing momentarily. “Truth serum…muscle relaxant…brain enhancer.”
I froze, understanding the significance of what she’d just told me. She’d been aware enough during her ordeal to identify the compounds Grey had used on her. The combination was dangerous—the muscle relaxant could slow herbreathing to dangerous levels while the brain enhancer—which was still in its trial stages—would accelerate her heart rate. So she could be experiencing those side effects but what was with her high temperature?
Fuck, wait. They’d tranqued her just a couple of days ago. Could there be a cross-reaction with the tranquilizer she’d been given? Was that why her body was overreacting?
“Shh,” I soothed, pressing my lips to her forehead again, no longer caring who might witness this display of affection. “I got you. We’ll fix this.”
Anton swore under his breath. “The brain enhancer is still in trials. He shouldn’t have mixed them.”
I nodded but maintained my composure, years of training allowing me to compartmentalize the rage I felt toward Grey. “Get Mila. She’ll know which antidote will work best for this combination.”
Mila might not have been a doctor, but she’s been studying, and over the years, she’d gotten enough experience treating all of us.
Anton disappeared immediately, leaving me alone with Isabella and her family, who had maintained a watchful presence just inside the doorway.
Isabella drifted back into semi-consciousness, her breathing growing more labored. I sat beside her on the bed, my one hand holding hers and the other checking her pulse regularly. Each beat against my fingertips was a reassurance—she was still fighting.
“Stay with me, Shorty,” I murmured, my thumb tracing circles on her palm. “Just hold on for a little while.”
My other hand moved to my weapon, checking it instinctively. If Grey appeared now, I wouldn’t hesitate. The man had crossed a line I couldn’t forgive. Using experimental drugs on Isabella, risking her life for his own agenda—it was madness and unforgivable.
And I bet it wasn’t something the Paraskia Syndicate would let fly.
I felt Vince’s eyes on me, assessing, calculating. When I looked up, our gazes locked across the room. Something passed between us—a silent understanding. He nodded once, his expression grave.
“I’ll go check on my wife,” he said quietly. “Bella seems to be in competent hands.”
The statement was loaded with meaning—an acknowledgment of my commitment to his sister’s well-being, a temporary trust extended despite our adversarial positions.
I nodded in return, accepting both the responsibility and the implied warning should I fail to protect and save her.
As the door closed behind them, I allowed myself a moment of complete honesty. This woman had changed everything. Had wormed herself into my life, into my heart and mind. My carefully constructed walls, my professional detachment, my unwavering loyalty to the organization that had saved me—all of it had changed because of her.
Isabella’s fingers twitched in mine, and I tightened my grip, a silent promise that I wouldn’t let go. I’d chosen my side, and it was with her, whatever that meant, whatever the cost.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered again, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “And I’m not letting go.”
19
ISABELLA
Iopened my eyes, and light sliced through my lashes like shards of glass. I flinched away from it and turned my head to escape the pain, but the movement sent the room spinning wildly around me, and my stomach lurched in protest.
Where was I? The ceiling above me was unfamiliar—a light grey rather than the pristine white of my guest room. The sheets beneath me felt different, too—softer, higher thread count, with a scent that was different, as well. Something masculine and clean with notes of sandalwood.
I tried to piece together what had happened. Grey’s villa. The needle in my neck. Truth serum. Something about my mother, Iset, and a request from him to hack into a database. Did I succeed? Then darkness and fragments—being carried, voices arguing, someone saying my name with urgency.
Ivan.
The memory of his face, tight with concern as he lifted me from Grey’s guards, floated through my hazy consciousness. Had he brought me here? To this room?
I inhaled again. Yes, the sheets smelled like him.
I shifted slightly, tested my limbs. Everything felt heavy, disconnected, as if my body was responding a second too late to my brain’s commands. The drugs were probably still in my system. But at least I made it out alive.
Through half-lidded eyes, I scanned what I could see of the room without moving my throbbing head too much. Sparse furnishings, no personal items. A table near the window where a man sat hunched over, studying something. He was surrounded by what looked like stacks of files and a laptop.
