Page 121 of Late Harvest

“I—I think we need to get her to the hospital.”

“I don’t think so. We’ll be able to help her without that. Do you know how to take a pulse?”

He’d also learned that as part of that same doctor role from years ago, but how much of his brain was truly on-line to make it matter? “I—I think so?”

“Put your index and middle finger on her wrist like this”—Grayton demonstrated—“and count the beats until I tell you to stop.”

Bash closed his eyes and counted, stating the number aloud on Grayton’s cue.

“High nineties. Not great, but not horrible. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Grayton texted a message. “Keep her calm and try to encourage her to take deep breaths. We’ll be there soon.”

Time stood still and flew by.

Minutes and hours later, they pulled into the underground garage of the old factory, now converted to condos. This was where Honor had lived with Brinder until their home had been built.

The back door opened to admit a stream of LED light from the garage’s canopy fixtures. “Dr. Remington, I’m going to carry you, ok?” Grayton’s voice was soft and calm as he reached for Arabella, but Bash tightened his hold on her legs, his other hand laced with her clammy one.

“I’ll do it.” No fucking way was anyone carrying his queen but her liege man.

Following more instructions from the agent, Bash moved them toward the service elevator, careful not to jostle her. In moments, they were in the condo and Arabella was stretched out on the king bed of what was clearly the primary bedroom. She was still deathly pale and sweat-dampened tendrils of hair coiled at her temples.

Minutes later, Brinder came rushing in, followed by Honor holding little Jude, her large brown eyes even wider with worry. Before Bash could even sort himself mentally, Brinder had checked Arabella’s vitals, then pressed Bash into a chair he’d pulled up next to the bed.

“Remy, have you ever had an anxiety or panic attack before?” Brinder scanned her, concern lining his body.

“It’s been a while,” she mumbled.

“I have a prescription for you for a benzodiazepine with me. Any allergies to meds? May I give it to you?”

“No.” Once again, her lips barely moved.

“No allergies?” Brinder clarified.

“No benzos,” she said, sounding faint but firm. “No. This will pass. Just need to breathe through it.”

Brinder shot Bash a glance, nodding. “Ok, Remy. Just rest for a bit. Keep focusing on deep, steady breaths. Do you know how to do a grounding exercise?” Remy nodded, her eyes drifting closed. “Bash is right next to you.”

Her hand slid out from under the blanket, seeking. Bash twined their fingers gently, his heart so damn full of love for this woman. He wished he had a magic wand to take away her pain. And a time machine to go back and build a fortress around her.

Arabella lay quietly, her breathing easier than earlier. Which was good, right? The room was painfully silent. Bash darted looks between Arabella and his watch, while Honor and Brinder stood at the bottom of the bed—moral support he realized he needed and deeply appreciated. About ten minutes into keeping vigil, Arabella seemed to rouse, her eyes fluttering but remaining closed. Her color had returned from the ghostly gray and her lips pinked to their natural color.

Bash exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Fuck. He’d done the one thing he’d vowed to never do.

He’d hurt his queen.

Chapter Sixty-Four

You are capable of hard things.

—From Remy’s Affirmations for a Badass

Remy

Slowly, Remy came back to herself. She kept her eyes closed, fighting a brief wave of vertigo. The murmur of low voices filled the room. Sebastian was holding her hand. She knew the feel of that beautiful sensation by heart. By a heart the charismatic, funny, irrepressible devil had stolen—almost from the start and despite her every instinct otherwise.

Remy did a self-assessment. Her heart rate had lowered back to its normal beats per minute and, other than that fleeting moment of dizziness, the vertigo and nausea had faded. Her ears also had stopped buzzing.