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“It’s one of the major vessels beneath the clavicle,” the doctor adds, clinical and detached. “There was significant blood loss. We were able to stabilize him temporarily, but the scan showed damage that requires us to go back in.”
My gaze drops to Timothy’s chest. To the bandaging. To the place just below his shoulder where everything went wrong, where the blood spread across his shirt, dark red, matching my dress.
“We need to repair the artery properly. Possibly graft the damaged section.” The words slide over me at first, meaningless, until he adds, “He’ll be fully sedated, unconscious for the procedure and a while after.”
I look at Hunter, then Damon, then Graves, their expressions hardening. They understand something I don’t. The doctor keeps speaking—risks, timelines, consent—but it fades into the background, a dull hum beneath the pounding in my ears.
He’s fully sedated–as if he isn’t already gone enough. As if there’s somewhere further he can slip away from this world–from me.
“When?” DK asks.
“As soon as a surgical room opens up.” The doctor gives a tight nod and leaves as quickly as he came.
The silence he leaves behind is heavier than the noise. No one speaks at first. I watch the way Damon paces once, then stops. The way Hunter’s gaze flicks to Timothy and then away again. Graves doesn’t move at all.
It’s him who finally breaks the silence.
“This changes things,” Graves says evenly. “The Barons are without a leader.”
I frown, trying to understand.
Without–
My grip on my husband’s hand tightens.
“He’s right here,” I say softly, almost confused, lifting our joined hands slightly as if that proves it. “He’s still here.”
Graves’s gaze flicks to me, not unkind, but firm. “A day or two out of commission is one thing,” he continues, “but full-on anaesthesia as well as invasive surgery and a prolonged recovery time…” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out, not to me, but to them. “There’s a meeting. With the other Kings.”
A beat.
“Tonight.”
Hunter takes the note, and Damon looks over his shoulder at it, the tattoo over his eyebrow lifting as his eyes scan the page.
“We’ve been summoned.” Damon thrusts a hand into his dark hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Fuck.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, looking back at Timothy.
“There are protocols set up in Forsyth. Each territory must have a leader, and if the former one is unable to fulfill the role, for any reason, someone has to take his place.”
“I’m assuming that means one of us,” Hunter says, “since we have no idea if any of the other members have been compromised.”
The muscle in Damon’s jaw tenses. “The truth will come out about that soon enough.”
“That assumption that it’s one of you makes sense,” Graves says, voice cautious, “except there are two legacies out there who have every right to challenge you.”
“Remy and Whitaker?” Damon asks, then huffs out a laugh. “No fucking way. For either of them.”
Hunter’s furrowed brow tells me he’s not convinced, but a moment later, he says as much. “The King believes in bloodlines and legacy. How do we know Remy taking over isn’t what he wants?”
There’s a long beat where no one speaks. Just the steady beep of machines and the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my mind.
I stare at the man lying in the hospital bed and feel my chest tighten with a confusing storm of emotions. I try to remember when things changed between us. I think about our wedding night, how he made my first time special, showing me a side of himself when the world wasn’t watching. Or when he showed me his face. Trusted me with the truth of who he really was.
But the moment that truly locked my heart to his was down in that tunnel.
When everything was falling apart and I was seconds away from death, he came for me. He risked everything. And in that dark, terrifying place, he finally pulled off the mask and let everyone see him–his allies and enemies–as he saved my life.
