Page 113 of Deviant Need

I blink until my vision steadies enough to see shapes. Two people in white coats lean over me, their mouths moving, talking to each other or maybe to me. Their words sound muffled and far away, meaningless noise that doesn’t reach me through the fog.

Where’s Danya?

The thought cuts through everything else, and panic floods my system before my brain catches up.

Lurching upright, I ignore the way my arm and stomach scream in protest and start ripping at everything attached to me. Every line stuck in my chest, every tube threaded into my arms, I tear them free without hesitation. Alarms start blaring, and hands grab at me, but I shove them off.

“Mr, Avrorin, stop! You lost a lot of blood.”

My blood sprays across white sheets, but I don’t feel anything. Monitors shriek all around me, alarms blaring so loud they should hurt, but they’re just background noise competing with the panic in my head. The doctors are yelling at me now, hands reaching to stop me, but I’m already swinging my legs off the bed. My bare feet hit cold tile, and my legs shake so badly I almost go down.

I catch myself on the nearest doctor, close my hand around his throat, and slam him backward into the wall. His head cracks against it hard enough that I feel the impact through my palm. Plaster crumbles and rains down on him.

“Daniil Avrorin. Where the fuck is he? Is he dead?” The words come out like gravel, like I’m choking on them.

“He’s—he’s alive, sir. Right next door in the ICU. Please, you need to lie back down, you’ve lost so much blood. We extracted two bullets from your shoulder, and you were stabbed⁠—”

I release him, and he drops. Agony rips through my shoulder, and I glance down to see bright red blood spreading rapidly through the bandages.

I wrap my hand around the IV still stuck in my arm and rip it straight out. Blood spurts from the hole, splashing the floor, running hot down my forearm. I press my palm over it and force myself forward, pushing through the pain that’s trying to drag me back down.

They’re screaming after me, but I ignore them completely, lurching into the hallway. I look desperately in both directions, disoriented, trying to figure out where the hell I am and which way to go. Then Yulian emerges from the room directly next to mine, and his face goes white when he sees me standing there covered in blood.

“Mik, what are you⁠—”

Rushing toward him, I slam my elbow into his ribs hard enough to knock him sideways. He stumbles back, and I push past him into the room.

Then I see Daniil, and everything stops.

I feel like I’m floating as I move closer, don’t know how my legs are working or what’s keeping me upright. He’s so pale, his lips and face and arms completely washed out.

Tubes run everywhere, wires connecting him to machines that beep and click with sounds I don’t understand. My hands find the rail, and I grip it, my legs about to give out beneath me.

Something shatters inside me, and the sound that tears out is broken, doesn’t sound like it came from me at all. My knees buckle, and I grip the rail harder, using it to stay standing while my whole body shakes. I can’t stop sobbing, can’t breathe through the tightness choking my throat, can’t see anything except him lying there so still and colorless.

Someone moves behind me. Hands rest on my back, arms wrapping around my shoulders.

“Breathe,” Yulian says, voice low and steady. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

My legs give out completely, and I drop the rest of the way, knees cracking against the floor. He sinks down with me, his arms still around me while I turn into him and press my face against his shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. Everything hurts, feels like someone’s got their fist wrapped around my heart and won’t let go.

Through blurred vision I see doctors lingering anxiously in the doorway. Yulian gestures them away with one hand, and they retreat, pulling the door closed behind them.

“He lost too much blood during the shooting. They pulled six bullets out of him and put him in a medically induced coma. The doctors are watching him, but they said it’s just a waiting game now. His body has to heal on its own.”

I can’t lose him like this. The words echo in my head, but they don’t feel real. My brain feels sluggish, like I’m trying to process everything through thick fog. Six bullets. A coma.

He has to wake up. I need him to wake up because I can’t do this without him.

“What happened with the plan? Why was Mateo there and why were you talking to him like that?” I manage to ask.

Yulian goes completely still against me. “I don’t have answers for you right now. I’ll tell you about it later. And he wasn’t lying when he said Daniil is Adrian Nozares. I found out myself the same day as the event.”

Nothing about this makes any sense.

“I went digging through Father’s private files trying to understand what was happening. I need you to keep quiet about what you heard for now. I will explain everything to you. I promise, just not right now,” he says, then clears his throat.

I have too many questions, but the blood loss turns everything gray and hazy.