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My eyes spring open. Eight sets of worried faces stand, watching the doctor’s movements. Again, I search the room. She’s still not fucking here. I try to speak, but my damn mouth won’t move. Instead, I’m met with only a grunting sound.
“Take it easy,” the doctor coaxes. “You need to relax, or we’ll have to sedate you. We can’t risk you losing consciousness again.”
Where the fuck is our girl? Did they take her? Why isn’t she here? She would be here! They must’ve taken her.
I heat the rapid uptick in the monitor again.
“O, you have to calm down,” Wes instructs. My eyes shoot to where he stands. A short beard is now growing on his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years.
I try, again, to speak. Nothing. I can’t even move my facial features to display my frustrations.
“It’s going to be okay, Owen. You need to relax.” I recognize my father’s voice as he steps to my side.
I move to speak again and feel my lip quiver.
“Did his mouth move?” That was Sebastian.
“Maybe the drugs are finally out of his system,” Lev states.
I close my eyes, willing my mouth to work—fighting the muscles in my face to do what my brain is demanding. I need to know what happened to our girl. I need to know why she’s not in this room right now.
The machine’s beeping grows faster and faster, and I watch as a nurse rushes into the room. “I’m sorry we’re going to have to sedate him,” the doctor explains. The nurse steps alongside my bed, inserting the medication-filled needle into my peripheral intravenous line.
I feel the second the medication hits my bloodstream—my eyelids droop, and right before I go under, I whisper like a prayer in the wind demanding to be answered before losing my battle against the sedative, “Ariah.”
8
SEBASTIAN
“Ariah.” That was Owen’s first word before the sedative took hold, and he passed out six hours ago.
Sighing, I rub my fingers along my stubbled jaw, then stand.
“Where are you going?” Wes asks.
“I need some air,” I reply without looking back as I stride through the door. A million thoughts swirl through my mind before I cross the threshold and step outside. The two most prominent—Owen’s recovery and Ariah’s safety.
I’m frustrated with Owen for going off without anyone, but he’s never been one to wait on anyone to do anything. I want to rage at Wes for his high-handedness and unilaterally deciding to choose Sam in such a public way that hurt Ariah, but given the circumstances, what choice did he have?
Tilting my head back, I suck in a lung full of summer air and listen as the crickets keep me in the present. So much has happened since Owen was taken. What feels like months has only been weeks, and with Ariah’s absence leaving a crater-sized hole in my chest, I’m forced to confront my feelings for her. Ones I’ve spent years mastering to hide. I should’ve seen it sooner—should’ve recognized the systematic way each interaction with her chipped away at the walls surrounding my heart. It shouldn’t have taken her leaving for me to realize the profound impact she’s had on me.
Have I been so stuck in my bitterness that I missed the moment I fell for her?
Lifting my head, I rub at the tension building in my neck as my thoughts continue to spiral.
Has my vitriol toward one woman cost me the love of another?
I thought Vivian ruined me—thought I would forever be too jaded to trust, much less love, another woman again. It’s why I agreed without hesitation when my uncle approached me to be part of the Selection. I fully intended to marry whoever became our Chosen and impregnate her, but I would never love her. Love wasn’t supposed to be on the table. I was never supposed to love again. I shut my eyes in hopes of blocking out my intrusive thoughts.
Is it too late?
“Fuck!” my shout momentarily pauses the chirping before it resumes.
“Finally seeing it?”
“Seeing what?” I mumble at Wyatt, knowing the little shit is keenly aware of the reason for my sudden outburst.
He steps from the shadows. His wild fiery hair is illuminated by the moonlight as he climbs the stairs and stands beside me. I’m not sure when he left Owen’s hospital room. In all the chaos, he must’ve slipped out. “How important she is,” he responds. His gaze lifts to the starlit sky and continues. “You finally understand what I’ve been saying to you all—she’s it for us. Anyone else, and this all will turn to shit. Especially if that anyone is Samantha fucking Davenport.” The sound of her name rolls off his tongue like the poison she is.
