Chapter Twenty-Six Monika
Chapter Twenty-Six
Monika
“You stubborn idiot, wake up.” The voice is familiar to me, but I’m not sure who it is. I have a feeling I know them, but I can’t quite make the link to their name in my mind. Then my eyes blink open, and I see the prettiest face I’ve ever seen, one belonging to my arch nemesis.
I frown. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you.” Cynthia sits below the edge of my hospital bed, and she’s shifting back and forth in a way I don’t understand. As my mind clears of fuzzies, I realize she’s sitting in a wheelchair.
“Oh . . . shit. How are your legs?” I cough. There’s air flying into my nostrils through little tubes. I’ve been treated for work-related injuries before, but only minor scrapes and bruises. I’ve been to the hospital, but I’ve never been hospitalized before.
Cynthia’s face gets all pink. “Fine. I mean, I’m hardly healed at all, yet here you come, stealing my spotlight again.”
I chuckle and then groan. “Sorry. I mean this with my whole heart when I say this—I definitely did not intend to.”
She laughs a little at that. “I just, um . . . You came to check on me, so I thought I’d return the favor.”
“Thank you.”
She runs a hand through her hair and then holds it out to me. “Truce?”
I grin. “Truce.” I use all my strength to lift my right hand and clutch hers.
Cynthia glances across my body, and my gaze swivels to follow hers to find whatever she’s looking at.
“Ow,” I hiss. There’s a shooting pain in the back of my neck when I try to turn.
Ugh. Feels terrible. Actually, my whole body feels terrible.
I try to move my arms, but they feel weighted even though they’re lying at my sides atop a plush blanket, untethered.
Huh. This doesn’t look like a hospital blanket, and I know for damn sure that no truce in the world would have convinced Cynthia to bring it. That’s one step too far.
I carefully look up to see the person—being—standing at my other side. Darius has his arms crossed, his clawed feet stamped apart on the tiled floor, a completely blank look on his face.
I flinch. “Oh shit. You’re here.”
When he exhales, his already wide nostrils flare even wider and his horns crackle with blue light. He doesn’t speak. My mouth opens to say something to defuse what looks like an imminent eruption, but I can’t get anything out. He’s pissed. Is he . . . gonna kill me?
“What happened, Monika?” Cynthia’s voice severs the tension, which is ascending to dangerous heights. “It wasn’t . . . because I gave you that phone, was it?”
I tense. “I . . .”
I try to think back to what happened, remembering the lower floor of the dockyard collapsing into the sea, running up the ramp, being dragged, a female hanging from the ceiling, shooting darts at me, the burn of the acid up the backs of my calves, the sound of bullet casings hitting the asphalt, the wind whipping shards of an SUV through the air, the squelching sound when larger pieces connected with skin, and then .
. . the Wyvern asking me to come with him, me telling him no, and then . . . running. So much running . . .
“Answer the question,” a dark voice growls.
I flinch a second time and try to offer Cynthia a small smile. “It wasn’t . . . you . . . You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, settling for that.
She exhales. “So what was it, then? Where did you go?”
“Well, we did go down to the docks.” I watch her face pale, either in guilt or because she’s remembering her own abduction—I can’t be sure.
“I can tell you that the COE was going on a mission to uncover . . . something. They already had info on the docks, so your lead wasn’t what .
. . it wasn’t . . . your fault. I promise.
” I squeeze Cynthia’s hand. “And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
It was a trap. The COE forces—we—were ambushed, and even though there were so many of us, it wasn’t enough. ”
“Even with the Wyvern there?”
I nod. “He was doing all that he could, but there were too many of them—”
“Who is ‘them’?”
“Villains. Led by the Marduk. They had incredible powers. The COE forces didn’t stand a chance. Even the Wyvern was badly injured by them.”
“They say he’s just down the hall. Please tell me it’s your last mission. At least for the sake of my spotlight,” she smirks, trying to lighten the mood and succeeding.
I smirk, closing my eyes as I remember the feeling of taking off around the edge of that brick building, sprinting through an old warehouse, the door clattering open at my back, the feeling of heat tearing through the skin on the tops of my thighs, ignoring that, the wind cooling the blood on my face as I keep on running, just .
. . running until eventually a piercing darkness is followed by scattered blue light.
My smile falls. “I can’t promise it’s my last one, but—”
“It’s your last one without me,” the dark voice booms again.
I glance over at Darius and wither beneath his stare.
“That’s, um . . . good. I guess. I’ll, uh, give you two some privacy,” she says, wheeling herself toward the door. “I’ll come by and see you later. There was an infection in one of my legs, so I’m still in and out. Do you want me to call your mom?”
Surprise makes me forget about Darius’s brooding rage for a moment. “That would be great. Tell her I’ll call her in an hour or so, after I talk to the doctors.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.”
Cynthia just shakes her head while offering me a smile more genuine than any she’s ever given me. “You’re lucky to be here. As my eomma would say, God must see you out of the corner of his eye.” Then she wheels herself out of the room.
“Well, how about that,” I croak, trying a smile as I turn toward the room’s only other occupant.
He doesn’t so much as flinch. He simply steps forward, muscles in the L’s of his jaw flaring and pulsing like he’s chewing on his words before he speaks.
“I know you’re mad,” I blurt out, but my gaze takes that opportunity to drop to his outfit and widen my eyes at the sight of it. He’s wearing a ruined white T-shirt and distressed jeans, both of which are covered in stains that look like blood.
“What happened to you?” I ask without thinking.
If I had, I might have avoided the scathing look that crosses his face as he stomps over to the side of my bed, places both palms flat on the mattress on either side of my head, and crackles electricity at me.
It just passes along his horns, but it feels very directed.
Distantly, I can hear whatever monitors I’m hooked up to start to beep louder.
“What happened to me?” he hisses. His breath smells like bad coffee.
I don’t know why that makes my chest feel cluttered.
It seems like such a human thing. It also lets me know that maybe, just maybe, he’s been hanging around here for a while.
“I was by myself, in my office, shopping for hideous rugs to decorate my apartment with to your liking when I was accosted by a giant pink idiot who kindly informed me that you were not, in fact, taking nauseatingly romantic pictures of him and his partner eating fucking cake, but that you were part of a supersecret mission to uncover a VNA base and that, in the process, were ambushed by the Marduk and at least ten of his minions whose powers are terrible and unfamiliar and that forty-five of fifty COE officers were killed and that the only other survivors of the entire ordeal, besides that handful of officers, were the nearly-impossible-to-kill monster with power over fire, and you. The war photographer.
“I was understandably upset,” he says, pulling back and snatching a bottle of water off the side table next to my bed.
He upends it into his mouth, and as I watch his throat work, I lick my lips and whisper, “Upset because you were worried about me or because I lied to you?”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
He throws the half-drunk water bottle across the room.
I jump and try to sit up, but he looms back over me, the sudden scent wafting from him reminding me of the winter.
A steaming cup of coffee in front of a window overlooking a forest covered in snow.
His eyes blaze purple, but seem to clear the longer he stares, mellowing back into blue.
“Upset, because when I went to go look for you, I had no fucking idea where exactly you were—if you were even alive, if the Marduk had taken you. You didn’t tell me shit.”
He suddenly closes the distance between us, his mouth moving to the crook of my neck. He’s so warm. I gasp as that warmth moves through my entire body, settling between my hips.
He nibbles on my throat, careful not to move the cord carting oxygen to my nose, making me feel even more lightheaded than I should.
His hand moves to my opposite shoulder, and he gently traces his claws down the outside of my arm.
“And when I finally found you, you looked like you’d been mauled by a pack of rabid hyenas. ”
“Where . . . where was I?” I ask him, truly unable to remember.
He pulls back, staring between my eyes. “Wandering the streets. Three homeless men had hidden you successfully enough to keep whoever had been chasing you from finding you—”
“Oh shit! I remember them! Are they—”
“They will be well taken care of.” He closes the distance between us and presses his lips passionlessly to mine, like the movement was automatic more than intentional. Like he just needed to kiss me. I need him too.
He stands up and rubs his hand down his face, walks to the end of my bed, where he presses some kind of button that causes the whole bed to whir and sit me a little more upright. I stutter, “D-does that mean you’re going to kill them or like . . . give them a reward?”
He’s still glaring at me, his eyes swirling with purple and white, indecision made visible.
“I hope it’s the latter,” I whisper. “They were really brave, helping me like they did.”
“They were.”
“So . . . you didn’t kill them?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s cool.”
“You know what isn’t cool?”
I could list a thousand things. Instead of playing dumb, I try, “Me spying on you?”
“Try again.”
“Me . . . telling Mr. Singkham about your weapon? I saw it in your office.”
Surprise lights in his eyes before he narrows them. “Try again.”
“Me . . . meeting up with the Marduk after Cynthia got hurt?”
“One more time, little girl.”
I wince at the condescension, still not knowing what he wants to hear from me. I shake my head.
He growls mean and low. “I’m upset because you told me you were going to try to trust me. Because you told me that you knew Darius wouldn’t let you fall. What happened to that? Or did it mean nothing at all?”
I shrink into myself, a sad little turtle.
He’s right and I’m wrong. I don’t like being wrong.
And it makes me realize just how fragile my trust truly is.
I gave it to him with strings attached when I’d meant it as a gift.
Most days, I feel pretty tough, but maybe I’m only strong when adrenaline laces my blood.
Maybe when it comes to everything else, I’m a coward.
He said it once—we’re both alone, we have that much in common.
But maybe where he’s alone because he hates everyone, I’m alone because I suck at trust. But I want to trust Darius.
“I’m so sorry, Darius,” I whisper. “I should have told you. I was just scared.”
“The fact that you think I would hurt you pisses me the fuck off—”
“Not physically,” I say, cutting him off. “I just . . . putting my trust in you, only for you to turn around and tell the Marduk . . . I couldn’t risk it.”
“So your plan was to lie to me so I couldn’t lie to you first?”
“No. I couldn’t risk giving you my trust and having you break my heart.”
His face falls. Everything stills except for my medical machines, which frantically continue to beep.
He steps up to the bed and places his hand on my cheek. I look up at him, gnawing on my lower lip. When he says nothing, simply stares between my eyes, I blurt out, “I’m not any good at this, Darius.”
He inhales, then inhales even more deeply.
His stained and tattered shirt stretches over his muscles, and he looks like he’s about to burst .
. . until his eyes close and he arches over my body, blocking out the awful white hospital lights behind him.
He kisses the top of my head and just breathes for a second while I cling to his wrist, hoping against all hope that this isn’t it . . . that he doesn’t leave . . .
He withdraws and his stare is hard again.
Hard and mean. I worry about what to say, what to do, what paltry promises I can offer to convince him that this time when I tell him I’m going to try to trust him, the words are actually true.
But before I can get a word off, he pulls a phone out of his pocket.
An old Nokia brick. “I take it you have one of these somewhere in your possession?”
I nod and whisper, “The Marduk wanted to meet with me after he hurt Cynthia. He backed off when he realized I was your key.”
Darius hisses, “We had a recent confrontation ourselves. He must have changed his mind about granting you clemency.”
I swallow hard.
“I’m not going to be mad that you and I have been double-crossing each other’s double-crosses. I wanted to be, but I’m struggling to be angry with you in general when you look so fucking pathetic in this hospital bed and when I’m so deeply in love with you.”
I clench up and then bubbles burst through me. “L-love?”
He nods.
I try to smile, though it’s hard to grin against the grim expression he gives me in return. “I love—”
“No. No . . . Don’t say it. You can say it after I fix this.”
“After you fix what?”
He rounds the bed, his massive blue body crackling with lightning as his eyes bleed a color I’ve never seen them before—blood red. He grabs the back of my head and then kisses the bandages over my forehead. “Everything.”