Page 159 of Toxic Temptation
55
VESPER
I burst through the emergency doors and slam directly into what feels like a brick wall.
Except this brick wall smells like expensive cologne and the syrup from Luka’s breakfast.
“Kovan.” Relief surges through me so fast I think I might collapse. “You’re alive.”
Those green eyes find mine, and he winks. “Takes more than a few bullets to put me down.”
His grip on my arm is firm—too firm—as he tries to steer me back toward the building. I resist, needing to look at him, needing to confirm he’s really okay.
“Did anyone ever tell you that when shots are fired, you’re supposed to run away from them?” he asks.
“Pavel called. He said you were here. I had to?—”
“You had towhat?” he snarls. “Run toward gunfire?”
I don’t have an answer for that. At least not one that makes sense.
He tries to guide us through the doors, but they won’t budge. Not even when he wraps a hand around the handle and yanks hard enough for the tendons in his forearm to bulge like tension cables.
“Lockdown protocol,” I explain. “No movement between units until the situation is contained.”
He mutters something under his breath and guides me into an empty operating room instead. “Sit down. Breathe.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I look down at my hands. He’s right. They’re trembling so badly I couldn’t hold a scalpel if I tried.
Kovan turns away and starts speaking rapid Russian into his phone. I catch Pavel’s name but nothing else. When he hangs up and faces me again, I finally notice the dark stain spreading across his white shirt.
“Oh my… God, Kovan—you’re bleeding.”
He glances down like he’s just noticing, too. “It’s nothing serious.”
“Let me see.”
“Vesper—”
“I’m a doctor!” I cry out, voice shrill in a way it never is when I’m at work. “And you’re hurt. Let me look at it.”
He sighs and shrugs off his jacket. The blood has soaked through his shirt. The sight of it sends my heart careening out of control.
“Sit on the table and take your shirt off,” I order, already moving toward the supply cabinet.
“You’re going to extreme lengths to get me undressed again,” he teases.
“Are you seriously making jokes right now?” I squeak out. “You have a bullet wound and you’re makingjokes?”
“It’s just a graze.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I return, dump my tools next to him, and start unbuttoning his shirt with hands that won’t stop shaking.
I’m still waiting for my doctor’s head to kick in. I’m waiting for the cool numbness of the job to take over so that I can do what I do best: save the people that need saving.
