The walls.
The sterile light.
There is a wrongness here, a stench that stays on my skin and seeps into my lungs, and I can’t escape it.
I sit beside her hospital bed, my hand wrapped around hers, holding on as if letting go would make her disappear. She looks impossibly small beneath the white gown, swallowed by machines and wires. Tubes trail from her arms, monitors crowding in around her.
I hate it.
I grit my teeth but I don’t look away.
I can’t.
I watch every rise of her chest, every shallow breath.
There is no world in which she leaves me.
If she does, I will follow.
After I burn the ones responsible to the ground.
But she will not leave. She is my gorgeous girl, my queen, my spitfire, strong and stubborn.
She will come back to me, because she has to.
She was flown to London by helicopter, as the extent of her injuries was much too severe for the academy hospital to manage.
She has four fractured ribs, a broken wrist, and a severe concussion, accompanied by cerebral oedema that is currently mild not to require surgical intervention.
The doctors believe the swelling should resolve on its own with careful monitoring, however, if it doesn’t, they may have to operate.
I have been counting every second since we arrived here.
Twenty two hours, thirty two minutes, and fifty seven seconds have passed, and that is how long I have been waiting for her to open those beautiful green eyes.
They tell me this is normal, that her body needs rest, but I need to see her wake, because in the state she is in—fuck—I need to hear her speak and know that she is really here with me.
No one tried to stop me from staying at her side, and no one would have succeeded if they had. I was prepared to rip this place apart if it came to that, and it helped that Arlo bought this hospital when Ophelia was hurt, all those weeks ago.
I haven’t moved, and I don’t intend to, even though every part of me burns to hunt down the bastard who did this to her and end him.
My woman matters more than anything else, and there is no force in this world capable of tearing me away from her.
Adriano is searching, her men are searching, and my own people are everywhere, because enough is enough.
What sits wrong with me is that I was under the impression they meant to abduct her, yet now it appears they tried to kill her instead. That uncertainty is driving me mad, because I need answers, and I need them now.
The anger becomes unbearable, and I reach for my blade… her blade, and drag it across my palm in a single line. Blood spills onto the sterile floor, and only then does the fury ease its grip on my body.
I am no longer sane, because once someone touches what is mine, make her bleed, there is no control left in me.
I will carve them apart piece by fucking piece, and I will make them beg for an end I have no intention of granting.
I am not human anymore.
The door bursts open, dragging me back into the room, and I slide the blade into my pocket, glancing up to see who it is.
When I recognise Luigi Bellanti, my lip curls before I can stop it.
