Chapter 38
Bright white light bleeds through my eyelids. The sterile sting of antiseptic burns my nose. Machines beep beside—each one counting out another second I shouldn’t still have.
Am I alive?
The thought barely forms before a dull weight on my chest pulls me back down. Not heavy. Just…grounding.
I force my eyes open. Ceiling tiles blur overhead. IV lines tug at my skin. My body feels like it’s been ripped apart and stitched back with glass.
And then I see her.
Asleep on me, her small body curled next to me. Her hands fisted into my gown over my heart. Her hair’s a tangled mess, smelling faintly of smoke and blood and her. She’s alive. She’s here.
My fingers twitch. The urge to touch her is so intense it’s a physical ache in my chest.
“She told a nurse she’d gut them if they tried to make her leave.” I don’t have to look to know the voice. Arsen. His voice coming from a chair in the corner. “I intervened before they sedated her.”
I finally manage to turn my head toward him. His arms are crossed over his chest, face covered in cuts and bruises.
“You’re alive. Against all fucking odds.”
My gaze drifts back to Arlo on my chest, to the dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes.
“Guess I found something worth living for.”
Arsen is silent for a long moment. The only sounds are the beep of the machines and the faint rustle of the sheets as Arlo shifts in her sleep.
I drag in a breath, tasting blood at the back of my throat. “Where are we?”
“Vault. Medical wing.”
“Didn’t think they’d take me back.”
“You have Sterling’s blood on your hands. That buys you a lot of forgiveness, Priest.”
I shift my weight slightly, and a fresh wave of agony washes over me. My back, my shoulder, my fucking ribs.
“You killed him,” I mutter. “Not me. I was a little busy dying.”
“Not according to the official report I submitted. You killed Sterling and the North High Chancellor.”
He stands, steps closer to the bed. “The East and West already spoke to the Council. They’re backing you. It’s done.”
I blink up at him, vision still half-blurred from the painkillers.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You are the new High Chancellor of the South.”
I laugh. Or try to. It’s more of a wheeze, followed by a sharp stab in my side.
“You’re kidding.”
“I don’t joke about politics. You know that.”
“I’m not fit for that.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. It’s done.”
“What do you mean it’s done?”
“I mean East and West have already backed you. The Council’s voting was ceremonial at best. Sterling’s dead, the South needs a leader, and you just bled out on the goddamn altar for it.”
He pauses, letting the weight of it settle.
“You’ll have to be sworn in. Get your little coronation and all that ceremonial bullshit. But the seat’s yours, Priest. You’re it.”
I stare at the ceiling.
A High Chancellor. Me. The fucking disappointment.
“I don’t want to lead.”
“You don’t get to want anymore. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be better than him. And Priest—”
He looks at me.
“You already are.”
The words lodge somewhere I can’t reach. Somewhere I’ve kept sealed off too long.
“Fuck.” I sigh, leaning my head back against the pillows. The motion sends a fresh wave of pain through my back, but I don’t let it show.
“Why do you care so much if I’m in charge?”
Arsen’s silent for a long time before he answers.
“Because this is all I have left.”
I glance at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I gave everything to the Sovereign,” he continues. “Before that…I wasn’t the kind of man who got second chances.” A faint scoff leaves his mouth. “Wasn’t the kind who deserved them.”
He doesn’t talk about the years before the Sovereign beyond the basics, FSB and Russian Black ops. But I’ve seen enough.
“That’s why you want me to lead? Because you’re scared—”
“No. Because it’s already rotting. And if you don’t take it, someone worse will. Someone who didn’t bleed on that fucking marble.”
I want to argue. Tell him he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. But I don’t. Because deep down, there’s a small, fucked part of me that wants it. Not for glory. Not even for revenge. But for control. For the chance to build something out of the wreckage.
“Alistair survived,” he mutters, checking his phone. “He’ll serve as one of your Commanders. Make sure you don’t lose your shit too fast.”
Before I can tell him to fuck off, his phone vibrates again.
“I need to take this.”
He turns and slips out the door, and for a moment, I’m left in silence—
“Prince Charming better be awake in there, because I did not drag my half-dead ass through three wings of this goddamn hospital just to be ignored.”
The door pushes open and he stumbles in, barely standing, leaning on a cane, one arm in a sling, face stitched up like some Frankenstein shit.
“Arsen said you cried like a little pussy when you thought I was dead.”
“You—You fucking motherfucker.” I smile, an actual fucking smile. “If I cried, it was because I was happy to be rid of you.”
Raze snorts, lowering himself into the chair Arsen just vacated with a pained groan.
“How in the fuck are you still alive?”
“I could ask your sorry ass the same.” He points the cane at me. “Look at you. Hooked up to every machine in existence. Pathetic. Knew you were going soft.”
He leans back, shifting with a grimace.
“After I fell through that goddamn floor, Axe’s team hauled my bleeding ass out of the fire.
I was unconscious for a bit, but, you know—” He taps his chest. “Too stubborn to die. Though I gotta say, I’m pissed I missed your big theatrical moment.
Heard you made quite the spectacle. All chained up, bleeding out.
Even got the girl to throw herself on top of you.
” He smirks. “Never pegged you as a romantic, Priest.”
I look down at Arlo, her small body curled against mine, fingers still fisted in my gown. Raze notices before he clears his throat.
“Oh—by the way.” He points to his arm, where a thick bandage wraps around the crook of his elbow. “Our blood types match. They took three pints off me to keep your dramatic ass from dying. Guess that makes us blood bitches now.”
My head falls back into the pillow, a rough exhale leaving me.
“I owe you one.”
His usual smirk drops.
“You don’t owe me shit. I’d do it again. Even if it means I gotta listen to your emotional bullshit love confessions for the rest of my life.”
He jerks his chin toward Arlo.
“You told her, huh?”
Heat crawls up my neck. Pain, probably.
“Yeah.”
He blows out a long breath. “Fuck. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I don’t respond. Because there’s nothing to say.
Me. Unhinged, violent, half-fucking-feral. The one who kills without blinking, who never wanted to be saved. Falling in love. Saying it out loud. It’s the most human thing I’ve ever done—and the most terrifying.
He drums his fingers on the cane.
“So,” he says, “Arsen told me about your promotion, High Chancellor.”
I glare. “Don’t.”
“No choice. They picked you. They’re backing you. The South belongs to you now.”
“I can’t fucking lead, Raze. I don’t know how.” The truth rips out of me before I can cage it. “I’m not a fucking leader, not like that.”
He studies me with unsettling seriousness.
“It’s in your blood, Priest.”
“I don’t want his blood.”
“Well,” Raze shrugs, “now you’ve got mine too. So maybe you’ll turn out a little less psychotic.”
I huff, the breath rattling in my chest. “Doubtful.”
Silence passes before I break it.
“You ever think about commanding?” He lifts a brow. “A Commander spot is open. If you want it.”
He barks out a laugh—and immediately winces, clutching his ribs. “Shit. Don’t make me laugh, I think something inside me just gave up. The council will never let you promote a nobody bastard like me.”
“I won’t give them a choice.”
His grin slips—replaced by something quieter. A real fucking smile.
Since when the fuck do we smile?
“You know I’m not what they want. I was never supposed to make it this far. Some fucked street trash with too much anger. Foreign Legion didn’t want me. Sovereign barely did either.” He lets out a heavy sigh and pauses. “We’re going to burn this whole thing down, aren’t we?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And rebuild it?”
“Maybe.”
He nods. “Good. Because the Sovereign took everything from us. Only fitting we take everything back.”
A nurse appears in the doorway, pale and horrified.
“Sir, you cannot—you absolutely cannot be out of bed—”
“Oh, shove a thermometer up your ass,” Raze mutters, pushing himself upright with a wince. “I’m leaving.”
And just like that, the room shrinks again. The machines beep. The lights hum. And the only warmth I can feel is her curled against me.
She stirs.
Her lashes flutter, brows pinching as the world rushes back in. There’s a second—just one—where she looks lost. Then her gaze finds mine and everything shatters.
“Priest.”
“Hi, kitten.”
Her eyes fill instantly. She blinks hard, as if seeing me hurts.
“I thought I was going to lose yo—” Her voice breaks. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”
“Can’t make any promises,” I rasp, trying to move my fingers, trying to reach for her. They barely twitch.
She shifts higher, her hands still fisted in my gown over my chest. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”
I manage something that might be a smile. Or a wince. “I love you too.”
That does it. A sob punches out of her, and she buries her face against my chest. The pressure lights up every nerve ending in my body, but I don’t move. I don’t flinch.
Let her stay. Let her hurt me. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve done to her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The words taste like glass. “For all of it.”
She goes still.
I stare at the ceiling because I don’t deserve to see her face when I say this.
“I’m fucked up, Arlo. I’m not pretending I’m not. There’s something broken in me—I know it. I don’t feel things like normal people. And when I do, it’s too much. It burns. And I take it out the only way I know how. Violently.”
My throat thickens. I force the rest out anyway.
“I’m sorry for hurting you. For using you when you deserved comfort. For every time I scared you. Every time I made you think you were just another possession. You weren’t.”
She lifts her head slowly. Her eyes are glassy with tears.
“You’re not just a possession,” I say again, voice shaking now. “You’re my fucking addiction. And I’m terrified, Arlo. I’m terrified I’ve already destroyed the only good thing I ever touched.”
She doesn’t speak. Just presses her palm against my cheek. I lean into it.
“I’ll always be too much. Too cruel. Too angry. Too obsessed. But I swear to you—I will spend every fucking day trying to be something you can survive. Even if I can’t be good. Even if I can’t be right.” Her fingers tremble. “You’re mine…but I’m yours, too. Every sick, violent, broken part of me.”
She swallows hard, blinking fast.
“You think I don’t know that?” she whispers. “You think I didn’t choose you anyway?” My eyes burn. “I’d rather bleed beside you than breathe without you. So if you’re going to ruin me, then ruin me. But don’t you dare fucking leave me.”
“Never. Never again.”
A real smile breaks across her face, and she softly laughs.
That sound.
Her laugh.
It knocks the air from my lungs.
I’ve heard her cry. Scream. Cuss me out with every bone in her body. But this? This is different. This is light. Pure. Unfiltered joy from the one person I never thought I’d deserve. I want to hear it every goddamn day.
It’s prettier than her scream. And fuck, I love her scream.
I let the sound bury itself somewhere deep—past the broken parts. Past the pain. Somewhere I can keep it. Forever.
“Guess I’ll have to live long enough to ruin you properly.”
She leans in, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Deal.”
And just like that, for the first time in my fucked-up, bloodstained life—I believe her. I believe in us.
Even if we’re monsters.
We’re still alive. And we’re still ours.