Chapter 16
DIANA
Isurface slowly from sleep, like swimming up through dark water.
Everything hurts. My back, my shoulders, my legs—all of it throbs with a dull, persistent ache that tells me I'm alive, even if my body isn't thrilled about it. There's something soft beneath me, like a bed. I blink my eyes open.
The metal ceiling above is unfamiliar, with brass fixtures and gently swaying lanterns casting warm pools of light. Still on the Mirage, it seems.
Fuck, my back feels like… well, like a massive animal clawed it—
Him.
That deep alpha musk that’s uniquely Judge, is wrapped in this room like a second blanket so my body relaxes into it instinctively, traitorously.
I turn my head, and there he is.
Judge is sitting in a chair beside the bed, close enough that his knee is just above my line of sight, so I have to look up to gauge his face. He's leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. His eyes are fixed on my face like he's been staring for hours.
He looks wrecked.
The shadow of stubble across his jaw is thicker, and the skin beneath his echo eyes is darker than usual, a depth to his gaze that speaks of sleepless vigilance. Fresh bandages are wrapped around his hands, with no blood seeping through.
He does heal quickly.
"How long have you been sitting there?" My voice comes out hoarse, barely a whisper.
"A while." He doesn't elaborate as he hands me some water. The bond tells me everything—the fear that's been gnawing at him, the needed respite from actively hunting me, now flooding through like a dam breaking.
"Have you slept?" I ask, taking the cup with a grimace as it hurts to move my arm, pulling the skin on my back.
"No."
"Eaten?" I raise my eyes back to him as I drink.
His eyes slightly soften. “No."
I want to scold him, but I don't have the energy. Instead, I just stare at him, at this man who ripped a warrog's jaw off with his bare hands and then apparently sat vigil at my bedside like a guard dog who forgot he was supposed to take breaks.
"You look terrible," I manage.
Something flickers across his face, almost a smile, but not quite. "You almost died, Diana. I'll sleep when I know you're okay."
"I am okay." I try to sit up, and I breathe sharply. A massive hand extends forward, and I take it to try to sit up. “Okay, I’m a little beaten up. But I’ll live.”
"You're awake," he corrects. "That's not the same thing. The Witch Doctor says she has a salve for you that she stewed during the night. It should help regenerate your healing.”
“I bet that’s expensive.”
“Its rarity means you usually have to make deals instead of pay.”
I glare at him. “You made another deal?”
Also, why does staring at him from down here, with his massive frame and damaged expression, hit at something in me that I really didn’t think Judge would ever touch?
It’s like I feel so entirely safe, and even a bit of feeling enamored that he went through so much just to care for me, despite knowing how much he owes me still.
“That’s not for you to worry about—”
There's a sharp knock at the door.
Judge's entire demeanor changes in an instant. His spine straightens, his muscles coil, and a low growl rumbles from his chest, a sound so primal it makes the hair on my arms stand up. He's on his feet and between me and the door before I can blink, and it’s as if the man doesn’t care that he hasn’t properly rested.
“What is it?” he barks.
"It's—it's Marta, sir." The voice on the other side doesn’t sound very confident. "I have the salve and some food. The Witch Doctor has ordered her to eat this and drink the soup. Especially the soup.”
"Leave it at the door.”
"Yes, sir, leaving now, very sorry—"
Footsteps scramble away down the corridor, practically running.
I stare at Judge's back, at the rigid line of his shoulders visible from underneath his shirt, at the way his hands are curl in and out of fists.
"Was that really necessary?" I ask, my voice still rough. "She’s just delivering stuff.”
He turns back to me, his hand on the doorknob. "I don't know who's on this machine. I don't know who Selene talked to, who else might have made deals. Until we leave, no one comes near you but me.”
The possessiveness in his voice should probably alarm me. Instead, it makes something warm curl in my chest, like the inner omega is utterly pleased with his behavior. The more I can smell that his musk is his, too, and not from a shirt, the worse it all gets. Or better.
Maybe better.
If I put my nurse cap back on, I have to accept that there’s something comforting about the way he's positioned himself between me and the door.
That he is my alpha, and my body will always respond with pleasure that he is taking care of me, like his body is just naturally meant to be between me and anything that might hurt me.
Chill out, girl. One moment at a time. I need to heal my back first. I still don’t even know if he’s fully earned my trust back or not.
For all I know, when we get back, I’m getting shackles on my ankles and permanently moving into the attic.
Just because he offered for me to get the scent gland removed doesn’t mean he meant it…
Well, there’s a thought. What if I tell him I want to, and stop the witch right before she pulls it out of me?
"Let me check your bandages," Judge says, getting the perishables from the door before locking it again. The tone suggests it was not a request.
“You should eat—”
"Diana."
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."
“Do you want to eat first or put the salve on?”
“Let’s get rid of this pain. I can barely focus.”
He moves to the edge of the bed, his touch surprisingly gentle as he helps me shift so my back is to him.
Every minute movement induces some kind of agony, and I do my best to contain any groaning.
I feel his fingers at my back, carefully peeling away the bandages to examine what's underneath.
The air is cool against the wounds, and I hiss at every sting.
"It's healing," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. "No infection. Whatever she gave you worked.”
His fingers ghost over the uninjured skin beside the claw marks, and I shiver, but not from cold.
“Are you okay, Judge?” I ask, trying to treat him like a patient. What if I viewed his whole mentality from a place of I’m trying to help him? Instead of just acting out of survival? Then maybe I can analyze him better…
“When I found you on the floor with that thing standing over you…” he trails off, the bond pulsing with something dark and violent. "You were dying, and I almost didn't get there in time."
“But you did,” I reassure. “Can’t worry about what might have happened.”
Instead of answering, the bastard purrs as he continues to put the salve on me, my nervous system shifting back down to rest in an almost instantaneous reaction. “Whatever that is, it smells awful, but my god, it’s like magic. Along with the purring. Keep doing it.”
That gets me a small chuckle from him. “It’s got torchwater in it. I don’t know how the hell she works, but she can alter it in a way that allows someone like you to use it. It’ll heal quickly.”
It becomes rhythmic as he slowly wraps the bandages around my chest, and I know I need to center myself.
I need to accept that no matter what, I’m safe in here.
At least, from everyone that’s not Judge, and right now, that counts for something.
I know him better than any stranger on this massive contraption, at least.
When he pulls away, I slightly turn with a lot more ease than earlier and catch his wrist without thinking.
We both freeze.
His eyes drop to where my fingers are wrapped around his forearm, then lift back to my face. I don’t think I’ve actually just reached out to touch him like this before. Not if I wasn’t knotted, or lying in bed.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For finding me. Or else I would have died.”
Even though I welcomed death at that moment, I know I wasn’t ready. I’m just so fucking exhausted from betrayal, but now that I’ve nearly shattered, it feels like there’s only up from here.
And I do owe Judge at least one ‘thank you’.
Something shifts in his expression. The hard edges soften, like that may have surprised him, or maybe he’s just unsure what to do with that. "I'll always find you, Diana. That's not something you need to thank me for.”
I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. I just hold his gaze until the moment stretches too long, and now I’m feeling as awkward as when I first treated him. It’s like he’s legitimately taking care of me, and he looks so worn down.
"Rest," he says after pulling away, settling back into his chair. "We'll leave when you're strong enough."
Well, now I’m a little annoyed he just pulled back like that.
The hell is he playing at? He’s not going to threaten me with a good knotting, or cover me in his cum to claim me?
Not even because I’m up for that right now, but just surprised since that’s always been his M.O. “And you'll just... sit there?"
"Yes."
"The whole time?"
"Yes."
I should argue. Should tell him to get some sleep, to eat something, to stop hovering like an overprotective shadow with anger issues. But I’m so lost on what I feel right now. I’m so confused about how, somehow, almost dying and losing it all makes me feel better?
Like I purged out every fear I’ve been carrying since I got my first heat…
“Please, get some rest,” I say to him, feeling the exhaustion close my eyes as I lie back down. I won’t say no to healing and rest, because I’m still relying on myself in this world. And if I get a chance to not watch my back, I’m taking it.
Time is blending as I drift in and out of rest, and I swear I watch him tend to what has to be Beast’s hawk a few times, maybe even writing a letter. But all I do is sleep. Then comes one wake window where I sit up as if I’m fully healed, only to stretch and be so terribly humbled with the pain.