Page 149 of Captive Audience
But she’d made it. She’d survived.
Now, I sat beside her bed, staring at the tubes and wires that kept her alive. Asha lay pale and motionless. The beeping machines never let me forget that I’d almost lost her.
I should’ve been happy. All I felt was guilt clawing through my chest.
“You’re a fighter, Wildfire.” I brushed a strand of red hair off her brow. “Even in the face of death, you’re still the most beautiful and stubborn thing I’ve ever met.”
Asha didn’t stir. Those stitched-up slashes on her cheeks were a constant reminder of the agony Baranov had put her through.
Christ, she looked frail. Breakable in a way I’d never seen.
And it was all my fault.
“I thought I’d lost you.” My voice quavered, and I dragged a shaking hand down my jaw. “I swore if the doctor told me you were gone, I was going to follow you to the afterlife and trade my soul for yours. I’d wreak havoc in the underworld until I pissed off death so much that he’d give me what I wanted.”
I leaned closer and rested my forehead against the back of her hand. “I love you,” I whispered. “God help me, I love you more than my own life.”
Which made everything so clear.
I knew what I needed to do.
57
ASHA
Beeping. Steady, insistent. It dragged me up from the dark.
And spat me out into a world of agony. The heavy throbbing deep in my abdomen pulsed with every shallow breath. It hurt too much to move, too much to think.
My eyelids felt like lead, but I forced them open. Bright lights made me flinch, and the slight twitch of my face set off another blaze of pain. A sharp sting that pulled tight along my cheeks.
The Soul Collector. The knife.
The beeping in the room grew faster.
“Wildfire?”
Rook.
He was already leaning over me, his hand clamped around mine so tightly I could feel the tremor in his grip. His blue eyes were bloodshot and hollow with exhaustion. Beard, rougher; hair, unkempt. Gone were the tactical vest and weapons, but he still wore the black fatigues from when he’d rescued me. He looked like he hadn’t left that chair in…however long I’d been lying here.
“You’re awake,” he breathed as if he didn’t dare believe it. “You scared the shite out of me.”
I tried to swallow against my dry throat. “Water, please.”
Rook poured a cup and raised the straw to my mouth. I took a few sips that tasted of pure heaven.
“How long have I been out?” I asked.
“Two days.” His voice was raw, like maybe he’d been yelling a lot. “They had to operate. Twice. You lost a lot of blood.” His jaw flexed. “You’ll heal, but it won’t be easy.”
Two days? No wonder I felt as though I’d been hit by a truck. I reached for my face, but Rook caught my hand before I touched it.
“Don’t,” he said.
“How bad is it?”
For the first time since I opened my eyes, he looked away. His jaw locked, throat working as if the words hurt.
