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DAMIEN
There was a knife stabbed through my hand. Panic and urgency made my heart race, pain driving through my shoulder and down my chest. My head was stuffed full of cotton wool, my eyes crusted with sleep. I needed to get the knife outnow!
“Oh, no, you don’t,” a whip-sharp female voice chided me, catching my hand and smoothing it onto the bed.
I moaned, a lot less threatening than I intended. “Get the knife out.”
“It’s an IV, andno.You were shot and stabbed and lost most of the blood in your body, so the IV stays in.”
I blinked hard and fast, trying to clear my vision so I could see the woman touching me, to be certain the hoarse voice belonged to my wife. “Vasya?”
“I’m here,” she promised, the sharp edge leaving her until she sounded exhausted. “I’m right here, you’re okay. You’re in hospital, but the whole family is here.”
“Finch?” I asked, lifting the hand not speared with the IV to scrub the sleep from my eyes so I could properly see her. My heart rate—and the annoying beeping of a machine beside me—settled when my eyes focused on my wife, even if her eyes were circled with shadows, exhaustion in the lines around her drooping mouth.
“Dead,” she replied, getting out of the chair to perch on the hospital bed. I hated hospitals; the knowledge that I was unlikely to leave this one for a while itched under my skin. “I shot him, and Jonathan checked; he’s definitely dead. Vincent texted an hour ago to say his body’s been taken care of.”
My brow furrowed.“Vincenttexted you?”
“Not me. Jonathan. He didn’t give me details.”
“Good,” I muttered. “I don’t want you knowing them.”
I leveraged myself into a sitting position, hiding a wince at the sudden flash of pain my body rewarded me with, and held open my arm for Vasilisa. When she gave me a stern look and stayed where she was, I widened my eyes, silently pleading.
“You were shot, and yourstomachwas ripped open,” she growled, tiredness making her voice husky.
“Exactly,” I agreed, not taking my desperate eyes off her. “I need a hug.”
Vasilisa narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t make me beg, Vasya.”
Her eyes softened, more exhaustion breaking through her stern exterior along with a rush of relief. She rose, and a soft sound of complaint left my lips when she walked around the bed.
“Don’t be sulky,” she laughed, “I just don’t want to hug the side where you were shot.”
“A hundred and twelve,” I murmured to myself, a knot unwinding in my chest at her tired laugh.
“What?” Her brow furrowed as she sat beside me and wrapped her arm around my side, holding me too tentatively tocount as a real hug. And yet the comfort that hit was significant. I let out a long breath, relaxing into the cushions as I wrapped my arms around my wife.
“That’s how many times you’ve laughed since we met. A hundred and twelve.”
She lifted her head to look at me, so beautiful that my stomach squirmed. “You counted them?”
“I counted them,” I agreed, and kissed her before she could tell me not to. I wasn’t prepared for her breathing to hitch at the first brush of our lips or for a sob to cut her chest. “I’m so sorry I scared you, Vasya.”
The door opened with a creak, and I snapped my head up, glaring at Dad. “Get the fuck out.”
His grin was completely disproportionate for the way I snarled at him. “It’s damn good to see you awake, Damien.” His gaze travelled over me and Vasya, and the way we clung to each other. “You’ve got five minutes before I tell the nurse you’re awake.”
“Thank you.”
He ducked back out the door with a lingering glance that told me I’d scared the shit out of him, too.
The second the door closed, I curved my hand around the back of Vasya’s head and wrapped my arm tighter around her, breath leaving me in a rush of relief when she hugged me fiercely, not holding back.
Her chest jumped, breathing erratic. I turned my face to press a lingering kiss to the side of her head.
