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Fuck. Me.
He pulls back until our eyes lock, and I’m powerless to look away. “I will keep you safe. And help you heal. You can count on that.”
Why do I want to believe this man when I don’t know him from Adam? Is it the pretty face? The nice guy charm must be working magic on me after more than a decade of putting up with Demon’s shit. Whatever it is, it’s making it hard to think straight. “Until you get orders to put a bullet in my head,” I reply, my voice weaker than I’d like.
“There won’t be any orders, Maggie. Not like that.” There’s conviction in his voice that I want to believe. But trusting him means letting my guard down, and I can’t afford to do that. Not now. Not here.
Nova takes a step back but keeps his gaze locked on mine. “You’re staying here, Maggie. End of discussion.”
“It’s not the end of anything,” I shoot back, yawning as he removes my shoes and tugs a blanket over me.
“Get some rest,” he says, completely ignoring my words. “I’ll be back to check on you soon. I promise.”
I roll my eyes at the promise he tosses over his shoulder. “Promises? From you? Cute, Doc.”
“Nova.” He turns, his expression serious. “Call me Nova.”
Nova. What the fuck kind of name is Nova? Sounds like a shooting star that’s about to blow up.
Story of my life.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Nova
From a corner of the room, I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. There’s an air of quiet, but it’s the restless kind. She’s sprawled across the bed, exhaustion finally winning over her stubbornness. But even in sleep, Maggie doesn’t find peace.
Damn, she’s a riddle. Tough as they come, with a mouth that could make a sailor blush. But behind those eyes, there’s a story filled with pain. Demon, the bastard, must’ve been a big part of that chapter.
After a few more minutes watching her, I check her vitals and bandages and leave her to rest.
I return the next day, and she’s sleeping again, the plate of food on the nightstand still untouched. That worries me. I make a mental note to bring her something she likes. If I can figure out what that is.
Today, I’m determined to get in and out, not soak in her beauty while she’s asleep, vulnerable, and quiet. Her pulse is strong, and the stitches are healing exactly as they should. It’s progress, and when I finish changing her bandages, I pack everything up and head toward the door.
A guttural moan escapes her. I stiffen. I’ve heard that sound before—in the dirt-covered battlefields halfway across the world. “No, stop!” she cries out. It’s raw, full of anguish.
Every instinct I’ve got screams to help her, to pull her out of the dream she’s trapped in. I cross the room and kneel beside her. “Maggie, it’s just a bad dream,” I whisper, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe here.”
But the nightmare’s got a tight grip. She’s sobbing now, tears wetting the pillow. “Asshole,” she mutters. Probably thinking of Demon. Bastard’s gone, but his memory lingers.
“No, stop!” She cries out once again, sitting up with her eyes closed. One hand covers her eyes and the other her mouth as if she can’t bear to see to whatever is haunting her dreams. “Stop, stop, please,” she whimpers and falls back against the bed.
“Maggie,” I whisper, more to myself than to her because she’s lost in her memories.
The shouts and cries become real tears. I understand what she’s going through, but I wonder what exactly is haunting her. Is it the day she lost Demon or waking up to find that all the family she had in the world had turned against her? Is it the trauma of the beating she took?
I don’t know, but eventually, she settles back into a deep sleep, and I leave her, heading home to eat and shower and fight my own demons.
The next day, I return to The Chamber, bringing Maggie food she never eats and water she never drinks. She’s healing well, and that’s all I can ask for.
The nightmares persist. On the fourth day, they return with a fever. The moment I walk inside The Chamber, she’s already thrashing around on the bed as if she’s fighting for her life, shouting and crying in anger. In pain. I lunge forward to stop her from toppling off the bed, and instantly, my hands touch silky soft skin.
She’s almost naked. All except for a skimpy tank top and a pair of low-cut panties that show off her slender waist, a belly button ring, tattoos, and a protruding hip bone.
“Fuck.” I have to swallow hard, pushing away thoughts I shouldn’t have. This ain’t about that. It’s about helping her.
“No!” One arm slices through the air and smacks my face.
