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The next few minutes are a blur of movement and pain. Elijah cradles me against his chest as he walks us out of the destroyed church. I can’t allow myself to process the fact that this is where my parents were married, or the fact that my wedding day will always be associated with the day I was shot, or even that whoever is coming for us is clearly a lot more connected than we gave them credit for. We were cocky. We thought there was no way whoever this is could have more firepower than we have between us. But we were wrong. God, we were so wrong.
“Just place her down on the gurney,” the paramedic says, stopping it in front of Elijah.
“No,” he replies, quickly dodging it and striding toward the ambulance without missing a step.
“Uh, sir. You need to allow us to do our job.”
“And I will. But you’ll be doing it with my wife in my lap.” There’s no room for argument in Elijah’s tone, and he carefully steps up into the ambulance, barely jostling me in the process.
“That’s not… that’s…”
“That’s how it’s going to be.”
“Elijah,” I whisper. “Please let them do their job.”
His eyes meet mine and soften immediately. If I didn’t already know how deep his feelings for me run, this look is all I would need to tell me everything I need to know. When it comes to me, Elijah doesn’t care if the rest of the world sees he’s not the unfeeling monster he’s always portrayed himself to be. All he cares about is making sure I’m safe and happy. He gives me a small nod and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
The paramedic watches us for a moment before taking a breath. “What about if you sit on the gurney with her on your lap?” His eyes move down to where blood seeps through the lace of my dress, drenching the snowflakes in dark crimson. “Sir, have you been shot as well?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elijah rumbles. “All your focus needs to be on my wife. I’ll get seen to as soon as she’s okay.”
I sigh and close my eyes. The pain is excruciating, and the nausea continues to crash into me in waves. This isn’t how my wedding day should have been. I should have had my dad to walk me down the aisle, and my mom to give me some last-minute pieces of advice. I should have walked toward my almost-husband without a gun strapped to my thigh, and I should have married him without a gunfight breaking out in the church. I should have celebrated our union with our friends and family, and when that was done, I should have had Elijah take me home and ravish me through the night.
But all I’ve managed to get out of today is a new last name and a gunshot wound.
“Elijah,” I say quietly. “You need to let them look at you. At least to pack the wound so you don’t lose too much blood.”
“Fine, but not until you’re taken care of.”
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes the moment the doors slam shut and Elijah settles us on the gurney. Everything hurts. My arms, my legs, my head. Every single inch of me aches like the bullet exploded inside me and pieces have spread throughout me. “Are Wynter and Emerson safe?” I ask quietly, afraid my voice will break under the weight of the emotions pressing down on my chest.
“Yes. Rayne was able to get them to safety before the back door was seized. They’re at his penthouse in the panic room until Rayne and Everett can return to them.”
I let out a breath, but instead of feeling relief, the confirmation is an invitation for the emotions to slam into me all at once. A heavy sob breaks through my chest, and I turn my face into Elijah’s chest, desperately seeking out his warmth. I’ve never needed another human being like I need him. Hell, I’ve never needed anything like I do Elijah. Not air or water or food. It’s like my heart doesn’t know how to beat without him anymore.
“I’ve got you, little Snowflake. Let it all out, give me all your pain,” Elijah murmurs into my ear.
The paramedic watches us with interest, but there’s fear in his eyes. He knows who we are, and even if some of the rumors about our families are true, he knows one wrong move could end badly for him. “I’m going to start a central line so I can administer some painkillers,” he explains, his eyes flicking between us to assess our reactions.
“Do whatever you need to do,” I tell him between sniffles. “And don’t worry about my husband. His bark is worse than his bite.” The joke falls flat and I find myself nestling farther into Elijah’s warmth.
“I like hearing that word on your lips, Snowflake.”
“What word?”
“Husband.”
56
Elijah
“Where is she?” Wynter looks around frantically the moment she steps out of the elevator.
I’ve been pacing up and down the hallway for the last two hours, each step I take hurts, but the pain reminds me of everything I could have lost today. I could have lost my entire reason for existing, and I deserve to feel the pain because I allowed this to happen.
I should have protected her. I should have made sure she got out when Wynter and Emerson did. But I didn’t, and I deserve every ounce of pain on this earth for that. My gunshot wound was only a graze and didn’t hit any major organs or arteries. But Snow is a whole other story entirely.
“She’s in surgery,” I tell her, not stopping my pace. If I stop, I have to deal with the fact my woman is hurt, and I can’t fix it. There’s nothing I can do for her, and I have to put her care in the hands of strangers. Well, not all strangers, I suppose.
