Page 142 of His Prince

When we make it outside, it’s overcast but still, my eyes ache from the brightness.

“Yes, inhale that fresh air,” Diablo says as I lean against him, my head on his shoulder.

“It hurts to breathe,” I whisper, and he pulls me closer.

“I know, but you have to keep going. This is unacceptable.”

“I just want to be with him. I should go back.”

“No, you need to stay out here for at least five minutes. You need a break from that stuffy room.”

“It’s not stuffy. It’s perfect.”

Diablo sighs and then helps me forward. “Let’s go to your garden. You haven’t checked on it.”

“Jake is here,” I explain, but Diablo insists. So we make our way to the garden, my eyes on fire from the sunlight peering from behind the clouds. But just as we approach, a shout has me lurching upright.

“Angel!” Casey yells, and I nearly stumble over my feet rushing back to the house. My dad and Tatum are running up the stairs just ahead of me, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest, and the first thing I notice as I approach the bedroom is the lack of beeping.

There’s no heartbeat.

I gasp, trying to make myself face this. Oh god, I can’t face this. My eyes close, tears tracking down my cheeks, my entire body caving in, folding in on itself.

But Diablo pulls me further into the room, and I fall into his arms as I’m forced to come face to face with reality.

He’s dead.

He didn’t make it. And I wasn’t there in his final moments—wasn’t there to whisper that I love him, that he can take my heart with him when he goes.

“Look, Angel. He’s awake,” Tatum says, and my eyes flick to Mikhail, who is blinking up at me.

Relieved sobs wrack my body as I stumble toward him, seeing the cords removed from his body, George hovering over him, checking his vitals.

“Angel,” he rasps.

The most beautiful sound—my name on his lips.

“Mikhail,” I gasp as I crawl up toward him, my hands landing on his cheeks, careful not to disturb the healing bruises on his face. But he’s never been more beautiful to me.

And alive.

Oh fuck, he’s alive.

“Why are you crying?” Mikhail murmurs, his hand moving up to brush at my cheek.

I lean into his touch, unable to stem the flow of tears.

“I thought I lost you.”

“Never. I’m here, little Angel. Don’t cry.”

It only makes me blubber more, leaning down to run my lips against his.

“You came back to me. You came back,” I whisper against his mouth as his hands cradle me gently.

“Always.”

“Angel, please. I need to check him out,” George says softly as Nina appears in the room with a small cup of water. But I don’t let her take over. I insist on being the one to help him sip it. I’m going to nurse the fuck out of him. He’s going to be even better than he was before.

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