by Ashley Maker
The interest in his eyes lessens at my refusal to talk about my arms—like I could even if I wanted to. Air heaves in and out of my lungs, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. My heart beats so hard it feels like it’s climbing up my throat.
He sets his jaw and takes another step.
Finally, my body kicks into gear, and I’m staggering, twisting, running. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the thud of my steps on the cobblestone, but I know he’s behind me and I’m—
A deafening crack of sound shatters the air.
I yelp and instinctively duck. A ringing echoes all around. I wait for the pain to hit. For the blood. But it doesn’t come.
Nothing does.
When I check behind me, my heart stutters and sinks. The man is face down on the ground, and the back of his head isn’t right. What I can see of his hair is dark and matted and oozing and—
He’s not the one who shot the gun.
The weapon rests in Laila’s hand on the ground. She isn’t moving. Somehow, I make it back to her and fall to my knees at her side. Her eyes are closed, and I can’t tell if she’s breathing or not. The top of her suit is unzipped past her bra. Some kind of gun holster is attached to the middle of the black lace. Splatters and splotches of red are all over her.
Acid rises up my throat. I steel my jaw against it, swallowing over and over again until I force it back down.
Pressure. I have to apply pressure.
Her blood is warm against my palms as I press them hesitantly—and then with more force—against her wound. Every part of me is trembling.
A scream for help rips from my throat so forcefully it hurts.
Laila doesn’t move, and all I can think is she saved me and now she’s probably dying. And I can’t save her. I press harder against her stomach and scream again. I scream and scream until both hands are numb and my throat is on fire, and even then I don’t stop.
I scream until someone finally comes.
29
Hands are everywhere. They’re reaching and pulling and pushing in all directions. The world spins around me, a sharp blur punctured by artificial lights and the crackle of a voice overhead.
Code blue, stat. Code blue, stat.
The rush of wheels and footsteps slamming down the hallway. Voices asking questions I can’t answer, saying words I won’t remember. An eternity of frozen time in front of and behind me. And then I’m caught in a surge of blue scrubs and white coats and even more hands that rip Laila away and place her on a gurney, her blood staining the clean white sheet.
They swarm over her, locating the pulse at her neck and pressing needles, cuffs, and thick bandages against her skin. One of the white coats shouts orders about intubation and surgery. The gurney rattles and whirs back down the hallway and through a set of double doors.
My legs shake and I sway. Lacelike darkness creeps at the edges of my vision, crawling inward like spider legs. Someone steadies me with hands on my arms. A single word breaks through the pulsing roar.
“Bambi.”
The darkness recedes a little, but the frantic look in his eyes undoes me. All the fear and worry and adrenaline coalesce, their weight suddenly swarming back, until my chest is so full a single breath could shatter me completely.
I slump against Kade’s arms.
He gathers me close, arms cradling tight. “I need some help over here.” His voice rises. “Would someone get a doctor already?”
Another rush of footsteps and wheels mix with Kade’s whispered words.
“You’re going to be fine. Just breathe. No, don’t look at them. Look at me.” A glimpse at his hazel eyes. I gasp when something sharp pushes hard into the top of my hand. “It’s just an IV. You’re fine.” The sheet of the gurney rustles under my back. He squeezes my other hand, and I wish he wouldn’t because Laila’s blood is still there, drying dark into the lines of my palm.
Dr. Miles appears above me, her familiar brown eyes roving in a quick check of my body. “What’s the problem here? Was she stabbed, too?”
“I don’t think the blood is hers,” Kade says. “But something’s wrong. She started to collapse.”
Her cool hands find my pulse. “Heart rate is too fast. We need to get her into a room.”
Sudden motion makes me cling to Kade’s hand, and my voice finally starts working again. “What’s going on? Where are they taking me?”
“They just want to make sure you’re okay. Probably do some tests, that’s all.”
My stomach clenches. “No. No tests.”
“I’ll be right there with you.”
The gurney suddenly stops outside a set of doors. Dr. Miles holds up a hand and says, “I’m sorry, but unless you’re family, you can’t go with her.”
Kade stands to his full height. “Her father isn’t available. I’m not leaving her to go through this alone.”
“She won’t be—”
“I said I’m not leaving.”
“That’s not up to you. I’m sorry, but there are procedures we have to follow.”
They stare each other down, and I can tell one of them is about to snap. But I can’t let go of Kade’s hand. He’s an anchor I can’t afford to lose.
My voice is full of tears when I say, “I want him to stay. Please.”
Dr. Miles’ face twists in exasperation. “If it’ll keep you calm and your heart rate down, I’ll allow it.” She gives Kade a sour look. “For now.”
The doors open, and the gurney rattles down another hallway. Once we’re in a room, Kade steps out so I can change into the awful hospital gown they’ve given me. Dr. Miles stays and helps me out of my suit and into the gown. “Here.” She wets some paper towels from the little sink opposite the bed I’m sitting on. “For you to clean up.”
Oh.
My hands quit their hopeless struggle to make the gown cover more than it does. I take the dampened towels from her hesitantly, careful not to look at the reminder of Laila’s blood on my skin. But I can’t help noticing the rusty smears that darken the white paper. The coppery smell of it makes me want to vomit.
I scrub harder. The paper starts to crumble, and so do I. Big fat tears splash onto my hands, mixing with the dried blood and flaking paper. This is worse than fighting with Chris, worse than Mathias chloroforming me, and even worse than scratching the fire out of my arms. Because here I am trying to wipe blood off my hands, and Laila is who knows where fighting for her life.
And that could have been me.
That man would have stabbed me if she hadn’t killed him first, and for the rest of my life, their blood will stay with me. I’ll never be able to forget. Even if the fear and adrenaline fade from my memories, the image of red will haunt me forever.
How can I hope for anything different when I can’t even get it off of my hands?
A strangled sound sticks in my throat. Dr. Miles rushes over, takes the shredded red mess away from me and says, “As soon as we’re done with the EKG, you can take a good long shower. Until then, I need you to stay as calm as possible, all right? I don’t want to have to sedate you if I can help it.”
Not sure if I can do what she wants, I suck in a deep breath and ask, “What’s an EKG?”
“It’s an electrocardiogram machine. I’ll attach electrodes—they’re painless, not to worry—to your chest, arms, and legs, and the machine will tell us what’s going on with that heart of yours.”
“Do you think something’s wrong with me?”
“It’s a little soon to say.” She frowns, and I try not to fidget under her gaze. “I don’t know what happened to you, but it’s clear you’ve had a tremendous shock. That would be hard on a healthy body, much less someone who could have tachycardia.”
Tachywhat?
The door opens before I can ask what that means, and an older woman in scrubs pushes in a cart with a small machine on top of it. She and Dr. Miles block my view, rustling about while plugging in wires.
After they’re done setting everything up, Scrubs Lad
y breaks away but stops short of leaving the room, her hand hovering over the door latch. “The young man would like to know when he can come back in.”
My heart squeezes at the mention of Kade.
“Tell him he can come in after the test.”
The woman nods and leaves, and Dr. Miles adjusts the bed so it’s completely flat. I stare at the ceiling while she begins attaching circular electrodes to the inside of my elbow, both wrists, my chest, and various places on my body. They’re cold against my skin, making me flinch every time she puts on a new one. When she’s done, she attaches a bunch of wires and positions herself in front of the machine.
She pushes a few buttons. “This won’t take long. Try not to move, and don’t talk until the test is completed.”
I close both eyes and listen to the steady, incessant beeping of the EKG and the occasional scratch of the machine feeding out more paper. My ankle twitches, and the beeps become more frequent.
“Try to relax. Breathe normally,” Dr. Miles says. “You only have a few more minutes to go.”
Yeah, right. I’d like to see her relax if she were the one on this bed. If I listen to her, I’ll start thinking about everything that happened, and that’s the absolute last thing I want right now.
Dr. Miles clears her throat. The machine is beeping faster again. Breathe in. Breathe out. This thing is taking forever. What am I supposed to do, count the tiles on the ceiling?
I get to thirty-six before the test is over.
“All done. I’ll let you know what the results indicate as soon as I know.” She unhooks the wires and peels off the electrodes. “I want you to stay overnight for observation, but you should be able to check out in the morning as long as nothing serious comes back in your test results.”
I try to process her words. A tight feeling grips my throat at the thought of going back to my room without Laila, even if it’s tomorrow instead of today.
“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re going to be fine.” With the last of the electrodes and wires packed onto the cart, she approaches the IV stand and tinkers with the bag. “This is a mild sedative. It’ll take a little bit to kick in, but it will help you sleep. Try to get some rest, all right?”
The second she opens the door, Kade pushes past her into the room, his eyes searching until they catch mine.
“Our visiting hours are over at nine,” Dr. Miles says.
Kade barely glances at her. “I saw the headmaster in the waiting room. He assured me I can stay as Clare’s bodyguard after what happened. If you don’t like that, you can take it up with him.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” she replies, voice clipped. “She needs rest, and I’m going to make sure she gets it.”
“Then we’re on the same page, Doctor.”
Dr. Miles draws in a deep breath and fixes him with a look before leaving, closing the door behind her.
Kade walks to my bedside, and my heart pounds as I adjust the rough piece of fabric they have the nerve to call a blanket over my legs. His fingertips graze across the tops of my fingers. “How are you feeling?”
Again, the look in his eyes is my unraveling.
The glint of steel, the guttural cry, the crack of gunfire—all of it and more flashes again and again in an unforgiving replay. Only this time, there’s no adrenaline to push me on. Leftover fear turns the air in my lungs to a choking sob. “I can’t stop seeing it.” Pain flares at the back of my throat. My voice splinters into a shuddering whimper. “It was so bad; it was so bad.”
Careful of the IV, Kade eases down next to me, the bed shifting under the added weight. He pulls me close, wrapping me tight in his arms, and holds on like that without saying anything. Because there’s nothing that can make this go away, and I think he knows that. He’s probably the only one who does.
He runs a hand down my hair and rests his forehead against mine. “Look at me,” he says, and when I do his eyes are so intense I have to pull back to see better. “I’ve got you. No one can hurt you.”
A tear brims over my eyelashes.
I try to duck my head, but he catches and cups my face in one hand. His thumb lingers over my cheek, erasing the tears. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Kade leans in and presses light kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. He pulls me close again, and his heart pounds a soothing rhythm next to my ear, drowning out everything else. Maybe it’s the sedative finally kicking in, but all of my senses fade to a muted thrum, until I’m only aware of Kade’s warmth and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. For that moment, I close my eyes and let myself believe that nothing and no one can get to me when he’s holding me so tight.
30
The sting of cold air on bare skin wakes me. I shiver and instinctively reach for a warmth I know was there before. My fingers brush against scratchy fabric, and find nothing but emptiness. A thick, sour taste coats my tongue, and something pinches the top of my left hand, a sharp twinge of pain pulling me closer to an awareness just out of reach. I open my eyes and blink at the tiled ceiling and white walls.
“Your timing is impeccable, Miss Palmer. I was just about to leave,” a man says, and it takes a few foggy seconds until my memory of him clicks into place.
I turn my head toward Mathias. He’s standing by the side of the bed glaring down at me, even though that makes no sense.
With the heel of my hands, I rub at my eyes to clear the grit. The skin around his flattened lips and cold eyes is still tight when I glance back up. “Where’s Kade?”
“He’s on an errand. I’m sure he’ll be back anytime.”
“Oh.” I adjust the tape over the IV in my hand until it stops pulling. Then I remember, and I strain forward, struggling to prop myself up on my elbows. “Laila. Is she okay? What happened to her?”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Should I applaud your acting skills? Are you really concerned, or are you only trying to keep your cover?”
“Trying to keep my cover?” I sink back onto the bed and peer at the door, willing it to open and Kade to walk through. “What are you talking about?”
He leans toward the bed, looming over me, making me push even farther into the mattress. “The Evergreen Compound has never been breached. Not once in over half a century. Until now. Until you came here.”
“But I didn’t—”
Mathias slaps a hand onto the plastic bed railing, and I jump. “She is fighting for her life!”
A horrible stretch of silence turns my insides into a trembling mess. His hand clenches on the railing so hard his knuckles turn white. He notices my staring and lets go, stretching out the hand while straightening to full height. I inhale a shaky breath.
He adjusts his shirt collar and stares down his nose. “The Rogue is dead, my daughter is in critical condition, and you, the only other witness, don’t even have a scratch. Would you care to explain how all of that came to be, Miss Palmer?”
The trembling has spread to my hands and arms, jittering the lines of the IV and the monitor clamped onto my index finger. “We were going back to the dorm. He was standing outside, and she didn’t recognize him. She knew something wasn’t right, and he stabbed her.” My throat aches and hot tears threaten to spill, but I rush to tell him everything, to prove I had nothing to do with it. “He came after me. He—he kept looking at my arms and wanted to know how I got my scars. I thought he was going to stab me, too, but Laila shot him before he could. She saved my life. I tried to help her, I promise I did. I—”
One of the machines next to the bed starts blaring. Sharp beeps, over and over. A few seconds later, the door flings open, and a nurse in scrubs rushes into the room. Only then do I realize how fast my heart is beating, how I can barely gasp in air because of the sobs choking my throat. Tears course down my cheeks. The nurse murmurs soothing words and checks the still beeping machine. My vision blurs, but not from crying.
For one erratic-breathing moment, I fight against the phase, desperate to keep it from happening. Then i
t’s too much, and I let go. In the blink of an eye, the room shifts into full detail. Mathias’ face appears above mine, his gold-ringed irises a stark collection of brown strands.
Dr. Miles’ voice accompanies the squeak of her shoes on the tile as she enters the room. “What is going on in here? Why are—” She catches sight of my eyes and freezes mid-step. Her lips part slightly before she draws herself to full height and points at the door. “Everybody out. Give the girl some space. Right now.”
The nurse scatters, but Mathias doesn’t move. He continues staring at me, his eyebrows reaching for each other above his straight nose. Dr. Miles grabs him by the upper arm in an obvious attempt to escort him out, but he shakes off her grip.
Her voice is nearly a growl when she points at me. “Are you trying to kill her? Unless you want her to end up like that poor Chambers girl, I suggest you put an end to whatever has upset her. Tachycardia is not a condition to mess around with.”
“She has the weakness then?”
Dr. Miles hesitates, cutting a glance in my direction, then nods. “Her results came back this morning.”
My muscles tense until they start to burn. My hands and chest and lungs feel too hot, too cramped, preventing any air from entering or leaving my throat. I gasp and grind my teeth together. Pain erupts along my hands and arms, freezing my fingers into unnatural angles that won’t straighten.
An alarm sounds, followed by the swishing noise of movement and the slapping of rushed footsteps. An array of faces swarm over me, but I can’t really see them.
A hand touches my arm, comforting and familiar. Kade’s voice pulls me back into the room. His shifted eyes swim into focus. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s hyperventilating,” Dr. Miles says, stepping back from the IV bag with a depressed syringe in hand. “It’s painful, but this will help.”
“Make it stop,” I gasp, nearly panting, my contorted hands shaking uncontrollably. “Kade. Please. It hurts.”
