by Emelia Blair
She stares at me, blood filling her mouth, spilling over.
For a heartbeat, I freeze.
I can’t understand what I am seeing.
Maybe seeing her delicate hand reach for me snaps me out of it and suddenly I become myself. Closing myself off to the fear, to the panic, I embrace practicality, and leaped towards her, ripping off my t-shirt and pressing it against her wound.
I hear Zayn’s sharp intake of breath, and then I hear him on the phone, barking orders.
Lorraine’s body spasms under me as she gives me a pleading look, unshed tears in her eyes.
“You’re not going to die,” I promise her, fiercely, my blood pounding between my ears. “I’m not going to let you die.”
I can feel her lifeblood pool around my knees and I grit my teeth. “Zayn, help me!”
Desperation is in my voice as I beg him to do something, anything.
Lorraine’s eyes are starting to lose their luster, but I see her clinging onto life, not ready to leave.
“I’m not leaving you, Lorraine. You hear me, sugar? I’m right here,” I tell her, forcing my voice to be calm, not knowing how I manage it.
The agony in her eyes, the bone-chilling fear.
I feel a pair of hands on mine. “Let go, Eve.”
“No.” The words are torn from me, “I can’t. Can’t you see she’s—”
“Let go,” Zayn sounds so normal, so in control, that when his hand reaches for mine, I let him guide me.
Zayn removes my hands, his face detached as he tosses away my shirt and then uses his own to tie it around the girl’s throat, who is gasping. Even as the white shirt soaks in the blood, Zayn keeps his hands pressed on it.
“Help’s nearly here,” he tells Lorraine. “But I want you to keep fighting. Okay? You’re not going to die tonight.”
Tears fall down the side of her face, and I reach out to clamp her limp hand between mine, my blood chilling at how cold it is.
I don’t look at Zayn, making sure that the young girl knows she isn’t alone.
The sirens of the ambulance jerk me out of my trance and the next few minutes are in slow motion.
Men pushing us aside.
Checking the wound.
Lorraine on the stretcher.
It is Zayn’s hands on me that wake me up from this very bad dream only for me to realize I am still here. That this actually happened.
“He didn’t hit the windpipe,” one of the emergency personnel is saying to the policeman, whom I just noticed is here.
I blink.
I am sitting in the back of another ambulance, a blanket on my shoulders, Zayn talking to the police.
A man is tending to me, offering me something to drink.
Dazed, I try to shrug off the blanket, and the movement catches Zayn’s eyes; he immediately cuts off the conversation and starts striding towards me, his eyes glinting. “Keep that on.”
“Lorraine,” I begin, my voice hoarse, reaching out with my hands, for what I have no idea.
Zayn grasps my hands, and I see the blood on them, his hands and mine.
“Lorraine’s going to live,” I hear Zayn speak, but my ears are thrumming.
A flash makes me jerk my head up and I see a round-shaped man standing at a distance from all of us, taking photographs Lorraine is being loaded into the ambulance. He angles his camera to take pictures of the blood on the ground and of us.
I freeze, not knowing what to do.
But it is the look on Zayn’s face that finally snaps me out of my shock.
The murderous fury erupting on his face.
The look is so vicious, so cruel that I find myself reaching for him with my bloodied hand, cupping his face as he pulls me into him. “Zayn, what—?”
His hand clasps the back of my neck and forces my face into his chest. “I don’t want him seeing your face.”
His voice is calm, so cold and calm that it frightens me.
One of the policemen notices the photographer and rushes towards him, citing violations, and as I peek over Zayn’s shoulder, the photographer meets my eyes and waves at me cheerfully, before running off.
“Who is that?” I want to control the tremble in my voice.
“A dead man,” Zayn murmurs so quietly that I almost don’t hear it.
My blood turns to ice in my veins.
Lorraine’s mothers meet me at the hospital.
I refused to leave her side.
They see the blood on my hands, and Dina, who is also a friend, bursts into tears and rushes into my arms.
“She’s going to be fine,” I mumble, trying to reassure her, trying to mute Lorraine’s scream inside my head where it keeps playing like a broken record, stuck in a loop. I can’t stop hearing it, can’t stop hearing the terror in it, the pain.
Zelda, Dina’s wife, has her lips pressed together, her face chalky white as she obviously tries to keep it together. “Who was it? How did this happen?”
My eyes see Zayn striding towards me, his face calm and steady. For the first time, I feel grateful that he is here, that he made sure I am not alone.
My eyes drink in his figure, the purposeful movement, his burning gaze, laced with possessiveness as his eyes rake over my figure in a way to reassure him that I am fine.
I turn my attention towards Zelda, who is still waiting for me to answer, and with my arms full of Dina, who is still sobbing, I shake my head. “I don’t know. She locked up and she was waiting for Cory at her desk and I was just cleaning up after the last class.”
A shuddering breath and Dina leans back from me, wiping her eyes. “He was inside, this monster?”
Was he inside? I wonder with growing horror. Waiting for us to be alone?
As Zayn reaches my side, I feel his hand clasp mine, and the touch steadies me. “I can’t say. I don’t know. It was ten minutes or so, I think. I heard something, and then I saw the lights were off in the hall. Whoever he was, he knew which breakers to turn off and which to keep on.”
“It was premeditated,” Zayn says, his eyes hard. “This was no break-in. Whoever he was, he knew exactly who would be in the building and where.”
I sway at his words and then automatically widen my stance to keep my feet on the ground, trying not to retch at the idea, helpless, hopeless confusion overtaking me.
“Lorraine will be out of surgery in a few minutes,” Zayn tells the two women who are holding on to each other. “I know the doctor. He’s a good surgeon. Lorraine won’t be able to talk for a while, but she’ll be okay.” He gives the Dina a kinder look. “Maybe you could look in on the young man who followed us in his car. He’s inconsolable.”
Motherly instincts taking over, Dina leaves to find Cory while Zelda stays where she is, dry-eyed and pale.
“I’m sorry, Zelda.” I really don’t know what else to say.
She nods, the movement a jerk, but I see the accusation flare to life in her eyes.
Why didn’t you protect my daughter?
11
Zayn
Eve looks exhausted, drained.
I watch her clutch the paper cup with both her hands but the foul-smelling hospital coffee sloshes as her hands shake and she lowers it to rest on her knees.
She stares blankly at the floor, not even acknowledging my presence, even though she is aware that I am here.
“Eve.” My voice is a command, one not meant to be ignored, and she looks up, a lost look on her face as if she needs me to tell her what to do now.
This look on her face scares me.
She is so fiercely independent, so strong, and to see her like this, it tears at me like someone is carving me up from the inside out. Instead of letting my feelings show, I channel it into control. She is struggling to surface from this bottomless ocean she is tossed into and if she needs me to help her out, then I will.
I crouch in front of her, my eyes steady. “Eve, you’ve done everything you can. It’s time to go. Mila will want to see you.”
We were
at Philip and Charlotte’s house with Mila. Mila insisted to stay longer and play with Agatha’s cat. When Mila insists on something is hard to let go. So I let her stay there and came to pick Eve up.
But right now, Eve needs to see Mila, to hold our daughter, be surrounded by that innocence.
The mention of Mila rouses Eve from whatever darkness hovers inside her mind.
She blinks and utters one word. “Mila.”
Philip and Charlotte were waiting for us, their faces grim.
One glance at the wan look on Eve’s face has Charlotte embracing her, offering silent comfort. And while Eve’s met Charlotte only once, she stiffens for few seconds before giving in and accepting the affection, the compassionate shoulder.
“I’ve asked Henry to take a look at this himself,” Philip tells me as Charlotte leads Eve into the bedroom where Mila is asleep. It is past eleven so I am not surprised that she was tuckered out.
I shove my hands in my pockets, composed and thoughtful. “This was targeted at someone. Either Eve or that girl.”
Philip gives me a sharp look. “Are you certain?”
My brows knit over eyes that hold lethal anger, sharp as a blade. “He could have waited till Eve and Lorraine were gone. But he didn’t. Instead, he waited till the two were alone. He didn’t even wait for Lorraine to leave. The wound in her throat wasn’t completely unsteady.”
“Your man’s had practice.” Philip sits down on the chaise, fingers steepled under his chin. He glances up at me where I stand, still as a statue.
“More than practice. He’s a hunter,” I say, my tone cold. “He scoped out the place, has been in and out, recognized the exits, the entrances, escape routes, where everything is. Bastard probably memorized the staff schedules as well.”
“Not that hard to do considering they’re up on the website,” Phillip adds. When my eyes move to him, surprised, he shrugs. “I came to the same theory. After you told me, I did some research.”
“A hunter, then,” I say, softly.
Philip makes a sound of agreement. “But who was he hunting?”
Neither of us have the answer to that, so we let the strained silence fill in the gap.
The sound of footsteps has me turning around to watch Eve carrying a sleeping Mila in her arms, our daughter’s small head nestled in the crook of Eve’s neck.
We stare at each other briefly, and the room fades around us. After such an emotionally wringing day, she is stripped of her defenses completely. Vulnerable and uncertain, she is looking to me, and my protectiveness surges.
“Let’s go.”
The car ride is silent and Eve leans her head back against the seat, staring at the roof, her eyes dry.
I send a sharp look her way wondering when she will realize just where I am taking her.
It is around the third stop sign that she blinks and looks around, dazed. “This isn’t the way home.”
The light turns green, and I change gear. “We’re going to my place.”
She opens her mouth in protest, and I cut her off. “It’s just for tonight. I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”
I can see her thoughts jumping over each other, and it pleases me that she is gathering her wits about her, enough to fight me on this. However, a niggling feeling at the back of my neck tells me that her apartment might not be the safest place for her tonight.
But I am not going to put that thought in her head right now, not with everything else going on in there.
My voice is low. “I need this. All the while in the hospital all I could think was that it could have been you in the operating room. I was this close to losing you.”
That is apparently the right thing to say because she closes her mouth and then sighs, wearily. “Okay. Just for tonight then.”
It doesn’t take us long to reach my place.
Having Eve in my house, I feel a sense of pride when she momentarily forgets her troubles and looks around in barely concealed wonder. “You live here?”
And so will she, soon, if I have anything to say about it.
However, my lips curve slightly. “I have a bedroom set up for Mila. I’ll take you there.”
Mila doesn’t even move as Eve lays her in bed and pulls up the covers. She stands by her bedside and then crouches till she is on eye level with our sleeping daughter, her hand going over to smooth back Mila’s hair.
I lean against the doorjamb, watching the scene and when Eve straightens, I see her pull back her shoulders, and I know she is still trying to pull herself out of the despair that is creeping around her and engulfing her in its darkness.
My heart soars with pride when she turns around to face me and there is some semblance of calm in her eyes. I stand back, silently, letting her pass by me, and then I close the door behind us, making sure that the night lamp is turned on.
Eve stares at her hands, which were, hours before, covered in Lorraine’s blood.
Then, she turns to look at me, her voice flat.
“I need a drink.”
Curled up on the huge armchair in the living room, I muse that the piece of furniture seems to swallow Eve up. Her face is blank as she stares into the flickering image of the flames on the screen that temporarily covers the fireplace in the summers, that she accidently turned on.
They seem to fascinate her, so I let it be.
Walking over to her, I offer her a glass of whiskey.
She tears troubled eyes away from the faux flames and meets mine before silently accepting the glass.
My own glass in my hand, I settle across from her, waiting for her to speak.
The silence for the next half hour is almost deafening in its intensity and Eve lifts the glass to her mouth a few times before lowering her hand without even tasting it.
Finally, she says, “Why is there a Cosmo magazine on the shelf?”
Startled by her odd question, I move my eyes in the direction she is looking and then shake my head. “I enjoy Cosmo. It’s entertaining. Ridiculously insightful at times.”
A short laugh which lacked humor.
And then, a sigh.
That delicate hand idly swirls the whiskey in the glass before finally saying, “I don’t know what to do.”
I raise a brow. “About what?”
She doesn’t answer my question; her brow furrows as if she forgot that I was even in the room, and her voice is soft and confused. “I always know what to do.”
When she suddenly throws back the whiskey, I don’t so much as twitch. “Another?”
“Please.”
I walk over and pour a few fingers, this time sitting adjacent to her on the long couch. “You aren’t responsible for what happened.”
Eve’s head shoots up, her tone wry. “Aren’t I?”
“No,” I said, calmly, forcing the lurking beast behind my eyes to settle down. “But I am curious as to why you didn’t call me when you sensed something was wrong. Or the police.”
With her free hand, she rubs her eyes as if they are hampering her thinking process. “I thought—I didn’t, actually—I didn’t think. All I knew was that Lorraine was in trouble and I had to help her.”
My fist clenches but I don’t let her see it.
“She’s going to be fine,” I say.
Eve’s hands go to her braid, and she curls the edge of it around her finger. “The last time I saw so much blood was—that was mine.”
I still at her absent-minded words.
“I remember thinking how could I have bled so much and still be alive,” her tone is dazed.
“When was that?” I try to keep my tone soothing, try to hide the chilling fury inside of me. What did she mean that she bled?
What is she referring to?
Eve’s breathing quickens, and she straightens up. “Sorry. I think I’m too shaken by what happened.” She glances around. “I think I should sleep. Maybe some rest will help me think clearly. I—” She looks at me, her tone faltering. “Where do I sleep?”
I want t
o shake the answers out of her, but I have to wait.
All in good time.
She carries her glass with her as I led her to the guest bedroom across from mine, before changing my mind and leading her to my room. “Here.”
I can sleep in the guest room.
I want Eve’s scent on my sheets.
I want her hair on my pillow.
I want her in my territory.
“This is pretty fancy for a guest bedroom,” she says after a few moments of studying the room. The look she gives me is suspicious, and I hide the quick grin as her biting personality peeks at me from behind the grief and weariness.
I don’t want to lie to her.
Tucking my hands in my pockets, I stand in the threshold between the hallway and bedroom. “It’s my room. You’ll be more comfortable here.”
When I see the awareness in her eyes of what this could mean, I interject smoothly. “I don’t plan to sleep here tonight. I’d feel more comfortable knowing you’re in my personal space tonight.” I tilt my head. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”
I close the door, and as I walk to the guest bedroom where I just intend to prowl about, I try not to think of the way Eve’s breath quickened when she realized this was the master bedroom and the way her pupils dilated.
If I wanted, I could have her tonight.
She is vulnerable enough not to say no, but I decided that unless she comes to me, I won’t touch her.
I want to.
God knows, I want to.
I want to kiss every inch of her body till I can identify the taste of her skin in my dreams. I want to sink my teeth into her and mark her skin, mark her as my own.
But while I am above manipulating her into my bed, I need her to trust me enough to come to me. From her reaction right now, the time isn’t too far.
I force my urges down and start thinking.
Something whispers to me in the back of my mind, a niggling thought that I can’t quite catch; it murmurs that I am missing something. Something that’s very obvious.
But what?
I know that this attack wasn’t about Eve’s receptionist.
