Page 143 of A Sweet Destruction

Soren punched me again, drawing out a string of creatively worded expletives.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to be such a motherfucker if you would stop yelling at people,” Soren barked me, making me realize that my throat was, in fact, hoarse.

“Is she…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. In addition to the hoarse voice, I also realized there was water—tears—dripping down my face.

“She’s stable,” Soren said, voice low. Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I imagined there was a for now that he kept quiet.

“Why isn’t she—” Damnit, my throat was closing up, choking the life out of the words. My body knew what I was trying to ask, what I was trying to say, and it just wouldn’t let me.

Soren, bless his stupid shaved head, knew what I was trying to ask.

“I don’t know why she’s not healing faster,” he said, speaking very carefully as if he was scared his words had the power to slice my skin. It sure felt like they did. “Can you try to tell me what happened? When, I mean.”

I breathed in, fighting against an assault of memories of Elijah with a knife at Esme’s throat. “Elijah just walked up behind her and…”

I couldn’t get it out. Probably never would.

Soren nodded, as if I’d said something crystal clear instead of trailing off with a broken sob. “The Bond kicks in when you get injured protecting your paranima. You heal faster, generally. It’s probably the only reason she’s—”

He was damn lucky he cut himself off when he did. If he’d finished that sentence, he might have ended up with my gun to his temple.

“If Elijah hurt her while she was tied up, it might not have been enough to trigger the advanced speed of healing.”

He was likely right, but I wasn’t in the headspace to process logic right now. Not when Esme was lying on a table while people sewed up her throat.

My spirit crumbled, then my body followed and my knees hit the floor. “I don’t know how you got through this.”

Soren laughed, completely void of humor. “I was knocked out for most of it. Esme was like this when she had to do this for you. I can give you some drugs if that would help.”

“What would help is letting me into surgery with her.”

“So you can ask the doctors what they’re doing every two seconds?” Soren scoffed right in my face. “Hell no.”

He realized that I was planning on running him over at the last possible second, tackling me to the floor. “I was going to say,” he said, right as I put him in a headlock. “That I can take you to a viewing room.”

I had to wait a full minute for Soren to stop coughing, then grabbed the back of my head in pain when he slapped me upside the head in retribution. “Now that I have your attention,” he said, “I will take you there after you let a doctor look over you and take a shower.”

He cut me off before I could protest. He was lucky I wasn’t letting the Bond’s take on this matter out, or he’d think the earlier string of insults was a poem. “You really, really do not want to see the early stages of that surgery, trust me. You’ll never get the image out of your head.”

An idea sprouted. “You…”

Soren gagged, his face going a little ashen. “I saw your entire eyeball before they stitched you back together, man. Not a good look. Let them get started on Esme and make sure you’re in a good place so that she has someone healthy to wake up to.”

I clapped my hands over his back in a tight hug, tears sprouting again. The Bond fled, finally realizing that we were out of immediate danger, and all that it left behind was full body relief that we were okay—for now.

“It’s going to be okay,” Soren said, patiently waiting until I could get myself together and stop the tears from actively flowing. When I finally stepped away, his own eyes were a little bloodshot. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find a doctor still willing to treat you after all that yelling.”

Chapter 30

Esme

The first thing I felt was pain. Not the sharp, stinging prick of a knife, but a duller ache—like an overworked muscle.

Then came the thirst, far worse than the aftereffects of any night of drinking I could remember. I opened my mouth to ask for water, but was cut off by a voice that chased away that first clench of pain immediately.

“No, don’t try to speak. It’s okay. I know what you need.”

I couldn’t see, not yet. My vision was still sparking white, shying away from the light. A straw was eased into my mouth and that voice told me to take small, slow sips.