Page 2 of Bound

“Surgeon Sevyal is already standing by at the infirmary,” stated the man opposite her, with a tag reading Alyx. Not that Jayd noticed it after his assertion.

“Sevyal?” she exclaimed. “Surgery? Why?” Damn it, she would command the information out of them if she had to, though Lyza already seemed to perceive that and cut her off with a raised hand. It did not escape Jayd’s attention that the woman’s white latex glove was stained with a lot of bright-red blood.

“The bullet in his shoulder is in the joint,” she said. “And that could lead to lethal migration, as well as a lot of pain.”

“Shit.” The virulent sound gushed from the pit of her throat. No. From the bile that lurked even deeper. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Highness.” It was Requiemme this time, crouching protectively next to her. “He is going to be all right. Lyza and Alyx know what they are doing. But the more you remain here and fret, the less their ability to do their jobs.”

“She’s right.”

Once more, neither of the medics spoke it. Jayd gasped, consumed by joy, when recognizing the beautiful baritone emanating from Brickham’s chest. A torso for which she was now feeling peevishly protective, since the medics had to slice open the front of his Henley and one leg of his jeans for access to his wounds.

“L-L-Listen to them, Pixie,” he said with shocking pronunciation. “They know th-th-this fire d-d-drill.”

Jayd swooped her face back over his in an earnest rush. Just a few seconds. She begged it of the Creator, despite grasping the selfishness of her action. But after this, they were taking him away from her. Into surgery. If the everlasting decided it wanted him now, then his last memory of her would be the smile she forced across her lips.

And then the tender kiss she pressed across his.

She ignored Emme’s reacting gasp. She also cared not about the startled hums exchanged by the medics.

What she could not toss off so easily, especially as Alyx and Lyza transferred Brick to a stretcher and carried him to the waiting gurney on the tarmac, was the man they passed on their way out. A male who pivoted back into place and then damn near filled the aperture of the plane’s door.

A warrior who looked not a speck pleased about what he’d just witnessed.

“Bon sabah, brother.”

At least she thought it was morning, with the sky behind Samsyn’s head glowing with soft peach light. The breeze smelled right too, aromatic with brisk sea wind and morning glories. But the scents soured in her stomach once Syn fully boarded the plane, having to duck down to get all the way in.

“Well, it was good.” Nothing missed the scrutiny of his sweeping glower, from the dings in the plane’s bulkhead to the dirt and blood splotches across the floor. “Creator’s filthy balls, Jayd.”

She rocked back with her arms folded. “Well, mince no words on my account.”

Her snark, which usually had her brother smirking, brought her only his darker grimace. “No time for mincing at the moment, since you have deemed it necessary to bring chaos to our front door.”

Nothing sealed the deal on a girl’s messy morning more than even more mess, especially when brought on by her own brother. No. Not her brother anymore. That was the absolute truth now, was it not? The revelation that had made her flee Arcadia in the first place. That has sent her on the wild quest to find the man who had truly sired her.

The mission that had brought them to this painful mess.

And turned Samsyn into a stranger.

It mattered not that Evrest, their eldest sibling, had assured her nothing would ever change as far as he, Shiraz, and Samsyn were concerned. Because it seemingly had. Maybe Syn really gazed upon her now and saw not his little sister, but a half-blood pretender.

She shook her head, refusing to believe it. Samsyn was a warrior who led warriors, not an imbezak who led fools. More than anyone, he should understand that truths were not always what they appeared, even when security camera footage and global headlines declared otherwise.

“He has a name, and it is not Chaos.” She accessed the dredges of her strength to plant hands on her hips. If Syn was in the mood for a brawl, she would be happy to give him at least a verbal version. “This is Maximillian Brickh—”

“I know who he is, damn it,” he growled. “Just like everyone else who has seen the European news feeds for the last hour, wondering why one of their most beloved princesses has made off with a man who stalked her across Paris and then murdered a poor old man before her eyes.”

“None of that is true!”

He grimaced, dropping his nose between two fingers. “I am not the enemy here, Jayd.”

“Really? Could have fooled me.” But her confident fire fizzled fast. “Samsyn? Rerda? Do you not remember talking to me last night? You do not believe any of those allegations for a second, do you?”

As he raised his head, she already knew he had barely slept in the last couple of days. Perhaps the last week. “I know you believe differently, sister. And yes, I also know that you were there for all of it. But the camera footage they have released everywhere…is damning at best, fembla.”

“And at worst?” she retorted. “Samsyn?”