Page 100 of Lethal Devotion
For a moment, I think I must be hallucinating. She's exactly as I remember—strawberry-blonde hair falling in waves around her face, soft green eyes, the gentle curve of her mouth. But there are differences too. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen from crying, her face pale with exhaustion. She looks like she's been through hell.
Those eyes lock onto mine, and she looks like she comes alive.
"Damian? Can you hear me?"
Her voice is soft, tentative, like she's afraid I might disappear if she speaks too loudly. I try to answer, but my throat feels like sandpaper. All that comes out is a rough croak that might be her name.
"Sienna?" I manage, finally, the word barely a whisper.
Relief floods her features, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "I'm here. I'm right here."
I try to sit up, needing to see her better, to make sure she's real, but fire shoots through my chest, and I can't suppress the grunt of pain. Immediately, her hands are on me, gentle but firm, pushing me back down.
"Don't move," she says. "You were shot. You're in the hospital."
Shot.Right. The safe house, Giovanni, the too-young man with the gun who managed to sneak up on us. It all comes flooding back—the mission, the confrontation, the bullet tearing through my chest like liquid fire. And my last thought before the darkness claimed me…
Her. Always her.
"Giovanni—" I start, because all I can think is that she should know that she’s safe, that I protected her. That she doesn’t have to be afraid any longer.
"Dead. Konstantin told me." Her hand squeezes mine, anchoring me. "It's over, Damian. It's all over."
“Sal… wasn’t there. The one who was at the warehouse with us, when we were taken. He’s run, I think. We can go after him, but?—”
“You’re not going anywhere right now,” she says reprovingly. “You’re staying right here and getting better. And then we’re going to talk.”
I stare at her, still not entirely believing she’s real. She's here. After everything I said to her, after the way I walked away, she's here.
"You're here," I murmur, and it's not a question. It's wonder, disbelief—maybe even fear. Because I don't deserve this. I don't deserve her.
"Of course I'm here." She looks at me reproachfully, like I should have ever thought anything else. But that makes no sense.
"But I..." I frown, trying to collect my thoughts through the fog in my head. "I walked away from you. I said those things. I told you?—"
"You told me you weren't good enough for me," she interrupts, her voice gentle but unwavering. "You told me our marriage was temporary. You told me I deserved better."
The words hit me like physical blows, each one a reminder of my cowardice. I can see the hurt in her eyes, the pain I caused with my inability to accept what she was offering me.
"I did.” The admission burns like acid in my throat. “So why are you here? Why aren't you?—"
"Because you're my husband," she says firmly, and the certainty in her voice makes my chest tight in a way that has nothing to do with my injuries. "You're my husband, Damian, and I was always going to be here when you woke up. Always."
Her husband.The words should feel foreign, temporary. Instead, they settle into my mind and heart like they belong there. Like they were always meant to be there.
"Sienna, you don't understand. What I said to you, the way I?—"
"The way you tried to protect me from yourself? You’restilldoing it." She leans closer, and I can see the steel in her green eyes. "The way you convinced yourself that pushing me away was somehow noble? The way you decided what was best for me without actually asking me what I wanted?"
I want to argue, want to explain that everything I did was for her protection, but the words stick in my throat. Because she's right. I was protecting myself as much as her.
"I was trying to?—"
"You were trying to run," she says, and I flinch at the accuracy of it. "You were scared, so you ran."
"I don't run." The words come out defensive, automatic, but even as I say them, I know they're a lie. I’ve never run from a fight, but love is something I haven’t faced before. And the possibility of someonetrusting me, loving me, and failing them in the end was more terrifying than any enemy or weapon has ever been.
"Don't you?" Her eyebrow arches, and I can tell that she sees right through my bullshit. "Then what was tonight? What was walking away from me, from us, right before you went on what could have been a suicide mission?"
