Page 115 of Playing With Danger

The steel of his eyes a desolate, dull blue.

“What happened?”

With his jaw clenched, he leaned forward. The mattress under my shoulders depressed. Then all I could see was Valentine.

Bits and pieces flooded in. Khloe. The wheelchair.

Move.

I surged up needing to move, but I didn’t get anywhere before a strong, warm hand gently stayed my effort.

“Relax, Soph. The nurse will be right in to give you something for the pain.”

“Khloe,” I whispered.

Valentine’s stubbled jaw flexed.

“You’re safe, baby.”

I was safe.

“Can I move?”

“No, baby, you have to stay in bed.”

“My legs? Can I move them?”

A sinister look passed over his features, so dark and dangerous it penetrated through the pain. Without warning he stood and yanked the blanket from the foot of the bed.

Cool air hit my feet.

“Your legs are fine, Soph.”

He didn’t understand.

“I couldn’t move them.”

More menacing vibes rolled off him.

“Lift your leg, baby,” he demanded, staring at my feet.

I hesitated, too afraid of what would happen if my brain told the extremity to move and nothing happened. I opted to roll my ankle.

“Did my foot move?”

“Yes.”

If there’s a stronger word for relief, that’s what I felt.

“Good afternoon,” a sweet voice singsonged.

My gaze swung to the door. Pain ricocheted in my head, forcing me to close my eyes against the nausea that crept up.

How was it possible to hurt so badly?

“She woke up in pain,” Valentine informed the woman.

“We’ll fix that right up for you, young lady.”

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