Chapter Forty-Two
Max
Her heart stops twice on the way to the nearest hospital.
The first time, Cain hisses to let her die.
By the second, he’s regained some of his bearings and realizes that her death would make it much more difficult to track down Azalea.
His version of an apology for nearly killing her is to shut down the hospital we commandeer.
We go to a discreet location where Nighthawks have connections, but it’s not enough to stay completely off the radar. The nightmare that took place tonight will have a lot of cleaning up that needs to be done by Toby and the rest of our forces.
Ember’s rushed directly to surgery for a collapsed lung, and a piece of rib poking her heart.
I wait in the next room over—a sterile, empty surgery room—pacing the length of the floor. I wanted to be inside the OR where Ember is, but was categorically denied entrance, and I let it lie. I won’t do anything to hurt her chances of survival.
And, from the looks of it, her chances aren’t particularly good.
Cain goes back to the compound to coordinate cleanup and curb fallout three hours into surgery.
On the fifth hour, Greyson walks into the room.
I’m sitting on the no-longer-sterile surgery table, my head buried in my hands. There are no cameras here, which is why I chose to make camp here.
“She’s out of surgery,” he says. “Docs think she’ll be fine, but they don’t recommend transporting her.
” He lifts a shoulder. “We don’t have much of a choice.
Cain’s requesting we bring her back to the compound.
It should be fine—we’ll just have to be really, really careful about it.
Commandeer an ambulance, keep her hooked to monitors and fluids—”
I nearly fall off the table with the force of my relief. For the first time in my adult life, I actually think I might cry.
“I want to see her,” I rasp.
“You will. If you give the approval, it’s wheels out in thirty.”
“Will it hurt her?”
“Not if we’re careful.”
“Then we need her back in the compound.”
Just because Dagon’s dead doesn’t mean that all of his supporters are dead.
He had a verifiable army backing him; the fallout from this isn’t going to be small.
His generals will now be scrambling amongst each other to figure out who gets to take the throne—and Cain plans to take the throne himself, which will be a battle of its own.
The only problem is, he’s in no position for a hostile takeover while Azalea’s missing.
With all of the dominoes falling, one after another, I know that the next few days are going to be an utter shitshow.
Ember’s so pale she scarcely looks alive while we make the grueling six-hour drive back to the compound. I sit beside her, alternating between staring at her and staring at the monitors showing her vitals. Everything looks stable, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
I left her. From her perspective, I fucking abandoned her. I was only following orders—Cain’s plan—but still.
I couldn’t bring myself to even watch her after I told her about the trade, so I missed how my Viper sewed a razor blade into her skin. How she prepared to kill Dagon, and how she probably planned to die in the process.
Her bravery and conviction never cease to amaze me.
When I saw Cain cock the gun and prepare to shoot her, I nearly lost my mind altogether. I was ready to bash his brains in then, and again when he said to let her die. I forgot all about chain of command—my only focal point was Ember.
She’s so deeply ingrained inside who I am, I’m not sure I can survive without her. In fact, I’m certain I can’t.
When we finally get her back to the compound, she’s rushed straight to medical, where our team of docs immediately get to work. She doesn’t need any more surgery, thank fuck, but she does need prolonged rest to recover.
I stay by her side every second of every hour. I forget about the passage of time; my world narrows into a single point of focus. Her. And, as the seconds and minutes trickle by, I keep waiting for her eyes to open.
Only it doesn’t happen.
Greyson walks in at some point—I’m not sure how long it’s been, but he quickly informs me two days. Which means it’s been three days since I slept, washed myself, or thought about anything other than Ember.
“You smell like a goat,” Grey remarks drily. “Go take a fucking shower. I’ll stay with her.”
“No.”
“Max.” he sighs. “Go check on your dog, shower, and get some food in your system. If she wakes up, I’ll call you.”
“No.”
“You really want her to see you like this? Covered in days-old blood, dirt, and your own sweat?”
That’s what finally gets to me.
I run upstairs. Take the fastest shower in the history of mankind, feed my dog—who’s thrilled to get attention—and then make it back downstairs.
As soon as I hit the med wing, my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Greyson.
She’s stirring.
I break out into a sprint, and get into the room just in time to see Ember’s eyes fluttering, her arms and legs shifting restlessly on the bed.
“Out!” I shout at Greyson. I want to be the first person she sees when she wakes up.
Greyson leaves without comment, and I take a seat on the bed beside my Ember, urgency gripping every inch of my being. Ember’s eyes crack open—slowly, at first, but then surely, they open fully. Flick around the room, filled with confusion at first… and then, something I don’t want to name.
Flame’s eyes lock with my own. Her breath stutters, sending my heart racing, and then she parts her lips and speaks.
Her words destroy me.
“You should’ve let me die.”
That’s all she says before passing out again, and I swear to God, it feels like the world comes crashing down around me.
The next time she wakes up is another day later. The doctors tell me she’s improving—recovering even better than we could’ve hoped, thanks to the drug one of the docs formulated to speed cell regeneration—but by the looks of her, you wouldn’t be able to tell.
She’s pale. Withdrawn. Her eyes are mostly-empty.
And won’t even fucking look at me, let alone speak to me.
I am devastation incarnated.
For the first day of her being awake, I do everything in my power to get her to eat and drink. Starting with enticements, ending with threats.
The doctors end up having to feed her through a tube—and she doesn’t even fight that, which is when I truly start to worry.
The second day, I talk to her. I tell her about our youths, my memories of us. She doesn’t seem to care. If she hears me, she doesn’t acknowledge it. I suspect she’s lost very deep in her mind—I think she’s checked out from the world around her, intentionally or unintentionally.
I’ve seen people in this state before, when they endure trauma so acute it just seems to shut down their brain. They’re alive, they’re technically functional, but they’re also not fully there. Not even remotely there.
On the fourth day, I get the go-ahead to take Ember back to our room. She’s still not eating or drinking, and I pray that the change of scenery could help her.
It partially does.
She lets me feed her, finally, but she doesn’t seem coherent.
Greyson comes knocking on day five, long after I’ve lost my mind.
What the hell is wrong with her? Physically, she’s recovering; mentally, she just seems… gone. And I can’t reconcile with the idea that she might’ve chosen to recede into her mind permanently and leave me.
She has survived and endured so much in this world. Now, when her demons are slain, is when she taps out?
“How is she?” Greyson asks without preamble when I open the door.
“Physically? Fine. Improving.” Her wounds are healing at an excellent pace.
He understands the subtext. “No change otherwise?”
I shake my head. “None whatsoever. It’s like she’s just… gone.”
“Cain wants to see her,” Grey says.
My jaw clenches. “I don’t give a shit. She’s not fit to take guests.”
“And I’m not fit to hold him at bay much longer.
” A glimmer of worry passes through Greyson’s expression, there and gone so fast it’d be easy to miss for a less-observant person.
“I have never seen him like this. He’s captured, tortured, and killed five of Dagon’s men since we returned.
He doesn’t even sufficiently question them before tearing them apart, with his hands.
It’s bad, Max. He’s going to decide that Ember’s the only source of knowledge very soon, and she’ll be next in his rampage. ”
“That’s illogical.”
“He’s not being logical!” He explodes. “It’s obvious that Azalea’s the only person he cares about. She’s his weakness. To a man like Cain, weaknesses are far more dangerous than they are to us.”
I cast my gaze in the direction of the bedroom, my heart quickening beneath my breastbone. Despair has held me tightly in its clutches, but now, it’s replaced with anxiety.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” I admit quietly. “Nothing I say or do reaches her. She barely eats or drinks. She doesn’t sleep—just stares at nothing all the time. I can’t…” I trail off, trying to ignore the burning in my throat and eyes. “I can’t reach her.”
“She’s probably in shock,” Greyson speculates.
“She’s wanted two things since the amnesia, right?
To protect her sister and to kill the man threatening her.
I imagine those were her motivators to stay alive.
Now, without them…” he trails off. “What does she have to live for? I didn’t think I had anything to live for after Sam.
My purpose in life was protecting him and being on his team.
I wanted to drink myself to death. And then, Scarlett changed everything. ”
My nostrils flare. “You have Scarlett. Ember has me.”
Grey gives me a sad look. “Is that enough for her? Humans are social creatures. They need friendship, interaction, fulfilment. Look at Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.”
“We both know only the bottom two are actually needs for survival. Everything else serves as motivation.”
“Ember is the example of what happens when those needs go unfulfilled for years.”
“So, what do I do?” I ask haplessly. “She won’t speak or move. I—” I shake my head. “I’m lost.”
“Can I bring Scar up here?” he asks. “She likes Ember. She nearly clawed my eyes out when she found out we were handing her over.”
“Ember barely tolerates Scarlett.”
“They’re the only two women in a fortress filled with men who kill for a living. There’s a natural bond between them. Besides…” he trails off with a shrug. “What could it hurt?”