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Wincing, he threw up a hand to block it, gut churning. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, making his shirt and tattered jeans cling to his body in an itchy and uncomfortable way.
“He’s awake, but he’s not responding.” The words echoed, the volume of them far too loud.
He flinched and turned his face into something cool and soft. A leather cushion, he realized. A couch?
“Darien, I’m here.” This voice, he would recognize anywhere. It could wake him from the dead, he was certain. Maybe he was dead. But if this was death, if she was here, then it wasn’t so bad. That sweet, gentle voice kept speaking, and he felt a hand glide through his hair. “You’re home, Darien. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
Home? That explained the couch. He tried to open his eyes again, but the room—what he assumed was the sitting room at Hell’s Gate—spun and spun and spun and spun and—
Fuck.
He must’ve cursed out loud, because those delicate fingers were threading through his hair again.
Finally, he was able to look up at the face staring at him in concern, able to take in his bearings without feeling like he was ensnared inside a spinning top.
Those eyes were the color of the bluest ocean. And that splash of freckles on her nose…damn, were they cute.
“Darien.” Golden hair wreathed the angel’s pretty face like a halo. As she turned to look at someone else in the room, that hair swung, draping across his wrist with a touch that tickled. “Doctor Atlas?” The murmur of other voices quieted down. “Doctor Atlas, he’s awake.”
Footsteps that were too loud had him shrinking into the couch cushions, teeth grinding hard.
And then a voice said, “Step aside for a moment, Loren.”
Darien’s hand closed around the angel’s wrist. “She stays,” he slurred around a clumsy tongue. His throat was dry as a desert, voice raspy. With a heavy swallow, he repeated, “She stays.”
Loren shifted about a foot away, but stayed seated beside him, her wrist still in his grip, her other hand resting on his stomach. Darien was vaguely aware of a bright light being shone in his eyes, and then his temperature was being taken. Somewhere along the way, he shut his eyes and began to drift into unconsciousness…
He only came to when the couch shifted with someone’s departure—
“I’m still here,” Loren said. Indeed, her wrist was still in his hand—the hand that had tightened the moment he’d thought she was leaving. Was he squeezing too hard? The cushions dipped again as she shuffled closer, moving her free hand to press it flat against his forehead. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
“I’m alive,” he managed. “Unfortunately.”
He sensed Loren frowning. “What do you mean unfortunately?”
“Life’s hard, sweetheart. Especially when you’re not around.” He peeked up at her. When the room spun again, he closed his eyes, hating that his dizziness was keeping him from looking at her. He’d longed to have her beside him again for…fuck, what seemed like a lifetime. But in reality, not even two weeks had passed. How could he ever handle a longer length of time without her? Darien swallowed. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to die, but some days I don’t really enjoy being alive either.” He wasn’t sure where this was coming from, but something told him he should be keeping these thoughts to himself, instead of burdening Loren with them.
“Don’t talk like that,” Loren scolded mildly, her hand cupping his jaw. “Don’t ever talk like that.”
“You’re the light in my dark,” he said thickly. “My reason for living.”
Her fingers lightly moved across his jaw. “You’re mine too.”
“I guess fainting is the key to getting your attention now,” Darien joked with a smirk. This time, when he opened his eyes, that pretty face stayed still. He drank in the sight of those doe-like eyes, that full mouth, those rosy cheeks. “I’ll have to remember that.”
When Loren’s mouth wobbled, the space between her brows scrunching up, Darien’s smile faded.
He gave her hand the best squeeze he could manage in this state, his fingers so weak he could barely move them. “I’m just teasing, baby.”
“Look, Darien…” She fidgeted, her fingers trembling faintly on his jaw. He wanted to take them into his hand and kiss every single one, but it felt like he didn’t have full control of his body. “About what happened at the hospital—”
“You don’t need to explain yourself. You’re allowed to have friends.”
“That’s not what it was about, Darien. He’s not…he’s not even my friend.” Darien wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but he wasn’t about to let himself think about it.
“I said you don’t need to explain yourself.”
“But I want—” She seemed to choke on her words. Her throat bobbed, and her eyes gleamed.
