Page 169 of The Devil's Thorn
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Nikolai snapped from behind, voice low and hard. “Stop pretending. You’re lucky you’re still walking.”
“I don’t need luck.”
“No,” Yuri muttered, eyes still on me, “you need stitches, blood, and probably someone to smack the pride out of you.”
I didn’t answer. Just rolled my shoulders, forcing my legs back into motion. One foot. Then the next. The pain was white-hot now. Each step like fire licking across my skin. But it kept me awake. Kept me sharp. And I needed sharp.
We reached the gate of the resort, and I nodded to the guards before they could open their mouths. One glance at the blood on my shirt was enough. No one stopped me.
“Where are you going?” Nikolai asked as I turned toward the back villas. My breathing was shallow, but controlled. I didn’t slow.
“To show her,” I said, my voice low. Rough. “What this life really looks like.”
Yuri snorted. “By bleeding all over her doorstep?”
“She signed up for this.”
“She didn’t sign up to be your nurse.”
“She won’t let me die.”
That shut them up.
Yuri tilted his head, like he wasn’t sure if he was amused or annoyed. “You’re serious.”
“I wouldn’t be walking if I wasn’t.”
Nikolai stepped forward, jaw tight. “Let us take you to the medic, Rafael. Just ten minutes. Then go brood at her window.”
“I’m not changing my mind.” My voice cracked like a whip. “I’ll update you. Stay close.”
Yuri gave me a long look. “If she screams, we’re kicking down the door.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered, turning away from them.
I started walking again. Each step felt heavier. The world narrowed into a single corridor. My breath was shallow now. Controlled, but just barely. My arm throbbed in time with my pulse, and I could feel the blood soaking into my waistband.
I thought about what she’d say. If she’d slam the door. If she’d roll her eyes. Or if she’d finally see the truth— That this life doesn’t wait for comfort or pretty words.
It demands blood. And I was here tobleed.
Her door came into view. I reached the frame, my left hand pressing against the wood to brace myself as the wound in my right screamed. I forced the knock out anyway—sharp, precise.
Three raps. Then silence.
I straightened up the best I could, breathing through the dizziness, my fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe.
Let her see it,I thought.
All of it.
CHAPTER 13
ISABELLA
Theglow from my phone screen painted the ceiling above me in soft, shifting light as I lay sprawled on the bed, one leg bent, the other lazily draped over the edge. The fan spun lazily overhead, moving the thick Cartagena heat around but not doing much else. My voice was quiet, not because I was tired, but because there was a heavy stillness inside me tonight. One I couldn’t shake.
