Chapter 38 Zaria
ZARIA
The beeping is the first thing I hear.
It's steady and rhythmic, and it pulls me into consciousness even though my mind is foggy.
I try to move, and a stinging sensation wraps my entire shoulder, radiating down my arm and across my chest like fire crawling beneath my skin.
A groan escapes me before I can stop it.
My fingers twitch against a thick blanket.
My eyes flutter open, and the room swims into focus in fragments, my brain slowly processing light and shapes.
The ceiling is white with soft fluorescent lights. I can smell antiseptic mixed with something floral.
I'm in a hospital.
"Zaria?"
The voice reaches me before my vision clears completely. Deep and rough and familiar in a way that makes my chest ache with relief.
Even without seeing him, I know that voice.
"Callum," I say, though it's hard to get out with my dry throat. I shake my head, trying to clear the haze.
"Yes, baby. God, thank fuck you're awake."
I blink a few more times, and the blur shifts, sharpens, and finally my vision comes back to me.
Callum stands beside the bed, in one of his crisp black suits, perfectly tailored.
His left arm is tucked into a sling, dark blue against the crisp white of his shirt.
His jaw is shadowed with stubble, more than I've ever seen on him, and there are bruises fading along his cheekbone.
He wobbles slightly, like he's favoring one leg.
My heart clenches instantly.
"You're okay," I say, my voice raspy and dry, like I've been swallowing sand.
He lets out a short laugh.
"Yeah, bullet broke my foot. I have to wear this walking cast thing for a few weeks," he says, gesturing down at his leg with his good hand. "How are you?"
I smile. Only Callum would be so dismissive, like shattered bones and being shot are nothing more than minor inconveniences.
"I feel like I was hit by a truck." I try to push myself up and immediately regret it. Pain flares through my shoulder, and I fall back against the pillows with a groan.
"Don't move so much," Callum says, stepping closer, his good hand reaching out as if to steady me even though he's not touching me yet. "The doctors said the wound needs time to heal. The blade tore some muscles, nicked some important stuff. They had to go in and repair it."
I close my eyes for a moment, breathing through the throbbing. "How long was I out for?"
"Four days."
My eyes shoot open. "Four days?"
"Yeah," he says, his jaw muscles flexing. "The knife Cormac used was contaminated with something. Some kind of bacteria, so you got a pretty bad infection."
Callum reaches out and grabs my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine. They're warm and solid, and he gives me a gentle squeeze.
"You almost died."
I stare at him, trying to process what he's saying, but it's like he's telling me about someone else. I was unconscious, so it's like falling asleep and waking up to someone telling you some crazy things happened to you. It almost doesn't seem real.
"Really?" I ask, the word floating out of me in a confused whisper.
"Yeah," he sighs and drops his voice low. "I told the doctor if you did, so would he."
A small laugh comes up from somewhere deep in my chest, surprising me. It hurts, but I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face. Callum's mouth curves in response, that rare, devastating smile that transforms his sharp features into something almost soft.
"Anyhow," he continues, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand, "I had you placed in this private suite. What do you think?" he asks, looking around. "Almost one thousand square feet of luxury, if hospitals can have such a thing."
For the first time, I actually look around the room.
It's enormous. The bed I'm lying in is positioned near floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook what looks like a garden, green and peaceful in the afternoon light. There's a sitting area with a leather couch and two armchairs with a throw blanket draped over each one.
There's also a flat-screen television mounted on the wall and a small dining table. Fresh flowers sit in a crystal vase on the nightstand, their colorful petals making me smile.
"I didn't know hospital rooms could be this big," I say, still taking it in.
"Money buys a lot of things," Callum says. "Privacy included."
I turn my attention back to him, and everything starts coming back, and my smile fades from my face.
"I'm sorry I left." The words come out quiet, heavy with guilt. "I was..."
"I know," he says, cutting me off gently.
He shifts, easing himself down onto the edge of the hospital bed beside me. The mattress dips under his weight. "I know you went thinking you would save my mother. You have nothing to feel sorry for."
He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is so tender, so unexpected, that my throat tightens. This is a side of him I was only beginning to see before everything went to hell, the man beneath the Don, the heart beneath the armor.
"You're safe now, though," he says against my skin. "That's the only thing I care about."
He lets go of my hand and leans over, rubbing my cheek. I lean into the touch without thinking, starved for contact from him.
"What you were willing to do for me," he says, his green eyes holding mine, "for my family. I can never repay it."
I shake my head, as much as the pillow allows, and give a small smile. "You'll never have to."
He leans over and kisses me softly on the lips, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise, like a breath shared between two people who almost lost each other.
When he pulls back and kisses my forehead, I feel his breath warm against my skin.
"My promise to you," he says, his voice low and fierce. "I will destroy the world before I let anyone touch you again."
My heart stutters in my chest. "Promise?"
"Promise," he says, and leans back slightly, holding my hand again.
"Cormac is dead," he says. "The reign of the Morrígans is over."
The words hit me like a wave, and it all comes flooding back into my mind.
I watched him burn. I watched the flames consume him, heard his screams fade into the roar of the fire.
And now, finally, it's over, and I am free from him and the Order.
The tears come before I can stop them, sliding down my cheeks in hot streaks. Not from sadness, but from relief so profound it feels like my chest might crack open from the force of it.
Callum doesn't say anything. He just moves carefully until he's lying beside me in the narrow hospital bed. His good arm wraps over me, pulling me against him. I bury my face in the fabric of his suit jacket and let myself cry.
"It's over," he says against my hair. "You're free."
I don't know how long we stay like that, tangled together in the bed, but eventually the tears slow and my breathing evens out.
I pull back slightly, wiping at my face, and let out a watery laugh.
"So," I say, changing the subject because I don't know what else to do with all the emotions swirling inside me, "I take it your mom is okay?"
"Yes, she's fine," Callum says, and there's a hint of amusement in his tone now. "So are Keira and Declan."
I laugh again and nod.
"Do you think you'll ever tell them about me?"
The question slips out before I can second-guess it. Callum's siblings don't know I exist, at least, they didn't. I was his secret, his source, his prisoner turned something more. The daughter of the man who murdered their father.
I watch his face carefully, searching for any sign of hesitation.
"Yeah," he says, and something in his tone makes my stomach drop. "About that..."
Before he can finish, there's a knock at the door.