Page 156 of Vow to Claim You

“The blood loss,” Kirill says quietly. “The trauma. The shock to her body.” He exhales. “I’ll confirm with a scan once she’s stable. But there’s almost no chance. I’m sorry, Aric.”

A weight forms inside my chest that feels so heavy I can’t breathe. I force myself to lift my head, to look him in the eye.

“You’re telling me my wife was carrying my child. And someone put a bullet in her. And it’s gone.”

Kirill’s gaze drops, and that’s all the confirmation I need.

I stand there, covered in my wife’s blood, staring at her unconscious face, and I can’t breathe. It feels like the ground is shifting beneath me, cracking open and engulfing the possibility of a future I didn’t even know I wanted.

A child. Our child. Gone before I knew it existed.

Taken by men with guns and reasons I don’t have yet.

But will.

Will hunt. Will find. Will destroy.

“Leave,” I say.

Kirill looks up. “Aric⁠—”

“I said leave.”

He studies me a moment, and must see something in my face, because he wisely nods. “I’ll be in the next room. If her vitals change⁠—”

“I’ll call.”

He gathers his things and walks to the door. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

The door closes. And I’m alone—with my wife, with my grief, with the rage building in my chest like a funeral pyre waiting for a match.

I sink into the chair beside the couch and grab her hand. Her fingers are cold. I wrap both of mine around them, trying to push warmth into her, trying to anchor her to a world that just got infinitely darker.

“You didn’t tell me,” I whisper. “Did you know? Did you suspect? Or were you waiting to be sure before you told me?”

Nothing. Just the beep of the monitors. Just the sound of her breathing. Just the absence of everything that might have been.

I press my forehead to her hand, and for the first time since I was a child—since my father beat the tears out of me—I cry. Silently. Without sound. The tears fall onto her skin. And in the hollow where my heart used to be, something else takes root. Something cold. Something that will not rest until every person responsible for this is in the ground.

The door opening snaps me out of my thoughts. I don’t move and don’t bother to wipe my face. I don’t care who sees.

“Aric.” Eero’s voice reaches me, quiet and careful. “The shooter. The one who got away.” He pauses for a fraction. “Tassilo found him.”

I lift my head and look at my brother.

“Where?” My voice is hoarse.

“Warehouse on the docks. He’s secured.”

I look at Ayanna one last time—at her gray face, at the gauze, at the cold hand still folded in both of mine. I set it down gently against the cushion.

And when I stand, the man who loves her stays in that chair. Someone else walks out.

“Watch her,” I say. The blood on my clothes has dried to a stiff, dark brown. Her blood. My child’s blood. “If she wakes before I’m back⁠—”

“I’ll call you.”

“If anything changes⁠—”