Page 39 of Conquer
“Four stab wounds. Fifty-two stitches in total,” he confesses, his tone blunt. “Spanning from your left shoulder down to your hip. They are deep, but all avoided any vital organs, thank God. Still, you will need to take care to ensure you heal without any complications. An infection could be difficult to recover from, and the surgeon warned that, given that the injuries to your shoulder sliced through muscle, you will be in pain.”
I wince. “That sounds about right.”
“Should I get the nurse?”
Grunting with the effort, I shake my head. “No. I’ll live…” Though a part of me shudders at the realization that Irina didn’t intend as much by accident. Shedeliberatelyavoided killing me. Why?
One look at the man across from me, and I can guess the answer—this was merely a warning, to him alone.
“Where is Magda?” I ask, alarmed when I don’t see her.
The hint of a smile sneaks into the corner of his mouth, so beautiful and unexpected that my physical pain is all but forgotten. “Charming your nurses into giving her more crayons, I suspect. She already has them wrapped around her finger.” His gaze softens a fraction, and I sense a part of him takes pride in his socially adept offspring. Like father like daughter.
Or could such skill stem from her mother?
I suck in a breath as my brain finally dares to connect the dots of the pain searing through my left side to the vague images circling my scattered memories. Fifty-two stitches. That beats my previous record—stemming from a drunken yacht accident—by double digits.
“Irina,” I croak, and Vadim stiffens, his gaze unreadable. But this time, he isn’t hiding behind his wall. “Sheattacked me—”
“I don’t know how she got in,” he swears, leaning forward to grip my hand, unconsciously pressing my fingers against his chest, near his heart. He’s seated beside me, his rumpled dress shirt betraying at least a few hours of vigil by my bedside—and something inside me heats and melts. At least in the brief second wherein I forget his psycho ex-partner in crime.
A horrible, sobering thought makes me slip my hand from his and utilize what little energy I have to brush his cheek, seeking out the contours of his haggard expression. “She doesn’t want Magda,” I tell him softly, a relief within itself. And, in so many ways, a tragedy for a child who, some might say, was abandoned by both parents at some point. “She wantsyou.”
His eyes blaze, his throat constricting around a hard swallow. And… I think, deep down, he already knew that.
He was afraid of that very reality.
“I don’t know how she got past Ena,” he says hoarsely. “He didn’t even see her. He was beside himself…” He sighs and runs the fingers of his free hand through his already mussed hair. “I hired ten more guards to cycle out at random intervals. I’m selling the house. Our new location is somewhere unlisted, impossible to trace. She won’t come near you again.”
I sink against my pillows, overwhelmed by the raw note of possession in his voice. The conviction with which he swears something so assuredly. Its power.
“Did Magda see…”
“No. I heard your warning.” He takes my hand again, bringing it to his mouth, running his lips over my knuckles. “I entered the house first and distracted her before she saw anything. As far as she knows, you opened a cupboard of glass dishes with a faulty shelf, fell over and cut yourself—but she is intelligent,” he admits, sadness crossing his features. “Too intelligent. Your parents, however, received the same story. I believe they accepted it, for what it’s worth.”
“Thank you…” The thought of him reaching out to my parents, given his lack of familial ties, means more to me than I would have expected.
But my relief is countered by concern for Magda. My heart aches for her—and pounds ferociously in the same breath. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a desire to protect another so strongly before. Every time I think of her in danger…my blood boils.
“Irina doesn’t want her,” I reiterate, my voice cold. “She said she was…flawed—”
“She won’t ever touch her.” Vadim stands, turning his back to me, both hands in his hair, his posture rigid. Slowly, he starts to pace the length of the room, and my pulse flutters the more I watch him. Gone is the pain—replacing it is steely, terrifying anger. “Never. I will kill her before I let that happen—”
“You knew.” Gingerly, I shift around, groaning as fire shoots through my side. It’s intense—I can feel each, individual puncture wound. Four, he said? Their placement makes it hard to find a comfortable position without being reminded of my injuries every time I take a breath. Intentionally, I suspect. And if Vadim really grew up with Irina as he claimed, then he most likely is well aware of her capabilities. “That’swhy you really tried to push me away. Not only for Magda.”
In his own, twisted, broken logic—he wanted me to run. But in me, the master manipulator met his match.
His hands fall as he turns to face me, his eyes scanning my battered frame. “How do you feel?” he asks, a deliberate change in subject.
I wince and twist my hips into a slightly more comfortable position. “Not dead, at least.” I force a laugh that he doesn’t return. “What happened? When you found me.”
He crosses over to a single window betraying a view of the darkening sky. “Magda raced me back to the house, but I started inside before she did. I saw the blood first,” he confesses. “I sent her back to the stable to fetch something. Called Ena. I held you down to apply pressure to your wounds while he raced us to the hospital.”
“And Magda? Don’t tell me you left her there alone.”
He cocks his head, his frown deepening. Layers enhance the tormented expression, creating a grimace shaped by both pain and…confusion. “Not quite—”
“Tiffany!” Magda waltzes into the room as if on cue, armed with a massive box of crayons and a stack of printer paper. I’m not sure how much time I’ve lost being stuck in this bed already—a day, maybe longer? Someone, however, took up my hair brushing duties in my absence, as well as dressed her in a lilac dress—though it clashes with her trusty fanny pack—complete with matching hair ribbons. The only detail glaringly out of place is a massive amount of glittery, unicorn stickers climbing up the length of her left arm.
