Page 57 of Monsters Wear Crowns
The doctor sighed. “Fine. But if you hover, Iwillsedate you.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
The next few minutes were a blur of pain and pressure as the doctor worked. Rafe stayed at my side, his hand locked with mine, his eyes never leaving my face.
“You’re going to be fine,” the doctor said eventually, pulling off her gloves. “The bullet grazed her–nasty, but not life-threatening. I’ll clean it up, stitch it, and she’ll be sore, but she’ll live.”
Rafe’s exhale was shaky. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” the doctor muttered. “She’s going to need rest. And knowingyou, that’s going to be a problem.”
“She’ll rest,” Rafe said darkly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I raised a brow. “You think you canmakeme do anything?”
He leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “IknowI can.”
Heat flashed through me, but it was quickly overridden by exhaustion.
“Stitches first,” the doctor interrupted, clearly unimpressed by our dynamic. “Then you two can resume your foreplay. You seem to be a good match for him. No one has ever had him in this much of a tizzy.”
Rafe chuckled, but the sound was strained.
I squeezed his hand, ignoring how my heart swelled at that. “I’m okay,” I whispered.
He dipped his sharp chin toward me. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again.”
“No promises,” I teased, though my voice was weak.
He didn’t smile. “I’m serious, Adela. You’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
I wanted to respond, but exhaustion pulled me under before I could form the words. The last thing I felt was Rafe’s lips brushingmy temple.
And the last thing I heard was his whispered promise. “I’m never fucking letting you go.”
Chapter 12
I woke slowly, the world swimming into focus. The sheets beneath me were soft, and the air smelled like cedar and gunsmoke.
Rafe.
The memories slammed into me all at once, the gunfire, the blood, his arms around me, his fear. I shifted, wincing as pain lanced through my side.
“Don’t move.”
His voice came from the corner of the room, rough and low, and I turned my head to find him. He was sitting in a chair, elbows on his knees, watching me with that steady, unreadable gaze. But something was different now simmering beneath the surface.
“You’ve been out for hours,” he said, his voice softer this time. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got shot,” I muttered, trying to push myself up on one elbow.
He was on his feet instantly, crossing the room in a few long strides. Before I could protest, his hands were gentle but firm, easing me back against the pillows. “Don’t,” he warned. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I glared up at him, but it lacked heat. “I’m fine.”
“You’renotfine,” he snapped, his voice suddenly sharp. “You could’ve been killed, Adela.”
The intensity in his eyes stole my breath. He wasn’t just angry, he wasshaken. And that was something I hadn’t expected.
