I nod and he takes a deep breath as he changes places with Verona so she can speak to the doctor. The world is moving in a series of starts and stops as we walk toward the SUV, and I have to shake my head to clear it. My brain is having trouble following everything that’s happening, because too much of it is occupied by the omega in my arms.
Nico’s shoulders relax slightly as he touches Rosa’s skin, and I can feel her breathing, even though it’s shallow and stuttering. Nico and I climb into the trunk of the SUV where Riley and Pablo put down plastic sheeting to help catch any blood still sluggishly flowing.
Ciro gets into the driver seat as Verona gets into the backseat with Riley, and then we’re headed home while I have her laid across my body to keep the knives from shifting. Nico and I hold pressure on the wounds through the layers on top of her, and I continue to check her pulse while my heart pounds with anxiety.
Time moves funny once we arrive at the house, and Dr. Walsh helps us place Rosalia onto a stretcher before we’re rushing into the house. We decide to sacrifice the kitchen table that was left by the last owners and bring it into the living room, transferring Rosalia’s body onto it.
“I hope you have a better place for her to recover,” Dr. Walsh grumbles as he begins removing the layers covering her body. “It’s also too cold in here, turn up the temperature. I’m going to need you to order some equipment for Rosalia’s recovery as well and to check for any internal bleeding.”
“Give me the list,” I reply, pulling up the notes section of my phone as he rattles off what he’ll need. It’s a myriad of hospital monitoring equipment that’ll allow us to turn our home into a place where she can get better.
The old man is welcome to fuss over our girl as long as it means he helps keep her with us.
Pablo moves to do as he suggests, and Ciro and I leave the room to prepare the bedroom for Rosalia. I don’t waste my breath explaining why the house isn’t ready, or offer any platitudes. Instead, I order a bed frame for the room to arrive in the next hour, begin opening bedsheet packages to launder, and get to work.
I need something to do while Dr. Walsh and Riley irrigate wounds and stitch a woman I’ve come to love back together. I don’t have the expertise to help her, but I can order shit and wash bedsheets while Ciro sweeps and mops out the wood floor in the bedroom.
The mattress in that room is propped up in the hallway while we work, the sole item that was in there. While some would argue that we could have Rosalia rest in her nest, I don’t want to taint her space with the memories of her kidnapping and attack, nor do I want anyone to know where her nest is.
We may trust Dr. Walsh, but Rosalia deserves to have her secrets and privacy. That’s what I choose to focus on as I move around our house like a ghost, because I know Rosalia will come back to us.
It’s the only option. And while we wait, I’ll make sure she has a pack waiting for her as I take care of everyone the best I can.
Chapter Forty-One
ROSALIA
I can heara beeping sound in my mind, and I whimper, wanting it to stop. Let me die in peace. Why is it so loud in here?
“Rosa?”
“No,” I breathe, refusing to open my eyes.
“You have people waiting to see you.”
I don’t recognize the authoritative voice, but I’m not surprised since everything is fuzzy and confusing. My eyelids feel as if they’re glued to my eyeballs, and while I don’t know if that’s possible, the grit makes it so uncomfortable, I couldn’t open them if I wanted to.
“Fine. Your body needs to rest and I don’t want you to get too upset right now. Go back to sleep.”
“There’s no rest in Hell,” I croak out. “Avery will just wake me up soon enough to remind me of that.”
Whatever else the voice says is lost to me as the darkness drags me back down. This place is cold, sterile, and soulless. There’s no comfort here, and truthfully, I don’t want or deserve it.
I didn’t fight hard enough and now I’m alone and dead. I don’t deserve my pack because I let the darkness win.
* * *
“I know you’re awake.”
The words sound like glass and pull my eyes open. Curiosity has always killed the cat, and since I’m dead, what’s the harm in exploring?
I’m out of lives anyway.
It takes effort to blink my eyes, and it feels as if I’m relearning how to do such a simple thing.
Nico’s face is right up against my nose, and I squeak in terror. I don’t know what I expected to see, but it wasn’t him.
“Hi.”
