Page 12 of Conquer
Chapter Four
Iwake up, blinking at a partially darkened ceiling, though I’m not sure why. Closing my eyes, I’m already drifting back off when I hear it—a voice low with concern.
“Magda?” Vadim murmurs. I turn to find him rolling upright, dragging part of the sheet over his body. Magda stands on his end of the bed, her eyes half-closed, lips pursed. Seemingly in a daze, she tugs on his hand until he faces her.
“What is it,ma chérie?” Vadim questions, stroking her hair. But something makes him frown and press his palm to her forehead. “Shit! You’re burning up.” He lurches to his feet, snatching his pants from the floor. Once dressed, he lifts Magda into his arms, racing into the hall. “Ena!” I hear him shout. “Bring the car around! Now!”
“Vadim?” Shrugging off my exhaustion, I scramble to my feet and hunt for my discarded nightgown. By the time I make it downstairs, Vadim is already carrying Magda through the front entrance. Beyond them, a stern-faced Ena is waiting beside the compact gray car, opening the door to the backseat.
“Get her a change of clothes,” Vadim commands, cutting his gaze to me. The raw, frantic desperation in his eyes takes my breath away, and I run off, anxious to help. Panting, I tear into Magda’s room and find her gray suitcase under her bed. I snatch a change of clothing from her closet, along with pajamas and her toothbrush. Last but not least, I grab It and Biphany, still tucked beneath her blankets.
“I’ve got it!” I call as I peel down the stairs. But the front door is closed. When I wrench it open in confusion, I find the driveway empty.
And it’s nearly a solid minute of staring before the truth sinks in.
They’re gone.
And I’ve been left behind.
* * *
I spendall of five minutes searching the house for a phone before I realize that I don’t even know Vadim’s cell phone number should I find one. Or Ena’s. Hell, I don’t even know where the car keys are kept. A trip to the garage reveals nothing but mocking, empty vehicles I have no way of driving.
“Damn it!” I’m crying, I realize, as my hoarse sobs echo back to me. I’m not even hurt, not really. My overriding thought is that Magda needs her teddy bear. She needs her pajamas and a ribbon for her hair. She needs me to tuck her in—and God forbid she’s sick enough to need intensive care…
I should be there.
Ineedto be there.
That driving thought has me running from the house on a whim, cutting through the woods that shroud the west side of the property. At the back of my mind, I try to imagine the picture I make—I’m barefoot, wearing only a thin nightgown, clutching a tiny suitcase to my chest. Only God knows how I appear to the older man approaching the edge of Maxim’s property to meet me.
Lucius. He’s wearing a suit, murmuring into an earpiece. “Stand down,” he says to someone on the other end of the device before turning his attention to me. “Are you alright—”
“Please help me! I need to get to the hospital. Please. I need to be there. I don’t know how. I don’t…”
Lucius’ expression shifts into one of stoic concern. As I shiver in anticipation of his reaction, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over me. Within minutes I’m being ushered into the back of a black car as he takes the wheel.
I barely even know what I’m saying. Just that Magda needs her bear. Her pajamas. Me.
“Do you know what hospital?” he asks gently.
I think I try to say something, but all I wind up doing is sobbing. Openly. Loudly. I don’t even know why I’m upset. Maybe by the implicit understanding that this is it—my worst fear coming true. When hell breaks loose, I’m left behind, forced to scramble on my own. He didn’t even think to wait for me, so used to forging ahead.
What kind of marriage would this be?
By the time we finally make it to the hospital, I’m resolved. Gritting my teeth, I swipe the tears from my face and school my expression into one of calm. I start to scramble from the backseat on my own, thanking Lucius profusely.
“Wait just a moment.” He exits the car, but rather than open the door for me, he enters the hospital directly, leaving me to squirm and contemplate running in anyway. I deflate with relief, however, when he returns and presents me with not only a change of clothes—a sweater and pants with the price tags still on—but a sturdy pair of decent shoes and a visitor’s badge with my name on it.
“She’s in room 2207,” he says after I quickly change in the backseat. How he knows as much is far too unsettling to question at the moment.
I’m more grateful than alarmed.
“Thank you,” I tell him, grasping his hand. “Thank you so much!”
Inside, a woman at the front desk directs me to a set of elevators that bring me to the second floor. The moment I see the sign over the archway leading to the section of rooms Magda’s belongs to, my heart sinks—Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.
When I gather the nerve to step over the threshold, I’m faced with yet another woman at the desk.
