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“She slept here,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. Clinical, like he used to be at any scene. “Blankets are here with her scent and slick.”
My stomach churns. “I’m so sorry we didn’t find you sooner,” I whisper to her.
The room is a mess. It’s musty, the air thick with grime and sour fluids. Food wrappers and empty water bottles surround the spoiled mattress, and dirty bowls litter the room.
It’s like he barely tried to keep her alive.
River’s shouts echo from the other room.
“We found an apron from the café on his other property,” Vincent says, as if explaining River’s outburst. “It’s not Skylar’s. River assumes it belongs to April.”
My eyes widen. “He might know where she is,” I add.
“So far, Briggs has denied everything. His story now is that Skylar wanted to be here and that she was an O addict.”
A growl sounds in my throat. “Of course,” I spit. “What a surprise.”
River storms into the room, and his eyes widen when he sees Skylar. “Oh fuck,” he murmurs, dropping to his knees beside her. “Oh, fuck.”
He brings a shaky hand to her forehead. “I…I need to hold her,” he says quietly, unable to look at me. “I have to.”
It takes everything in me to not argue. I don’t want to let Skylar go. I’m purring for her. It’s my Alpha instincts that she needs.
But River matters to her, too, and we have a truce.
So, as painful as it is, I clear my throat and allow River to take her into his arms.
Vincent watches us from the corner of the room, a hint of longing on his face.
Just as quickly, it leaves his eyes, and he’s back to his stoic, emotionless self.
14
SKYLAR
I dream of strong arms lifting me. I dream of words spoken in deep timbres, encouraging me to hold on.
I float through the air, delicious scents enveloping me as I struggle to stay asleep.
My body aches, but if I don’t wake up, if I can just stay in this half state of consciousness, I’ll be okay.
But slowly, I stir.
My fingers twitch as I run them over a smooth, soft material.
I’m not in the damp, smelly blankets anymore.
I’m wrapped in comfort.
Everything is clean, and the faintest scent of cleaning supplies fills my nostrils.
Beep. Beep.
I open my eyes, and it takes me a moment to register where I am.
I shift in the reclined hospital bed, groaning as a pang in my side flares.
“Skylar?” a gentle feminine voice asks as a hand runs through my hair. “Honey?”
