89. Henri
Chapter 89
Henri
Everything hurts.
I try to sit up, but my muscles don’t behave. I don’t understand.
My wolf isn’t there. I look for her, but even squeezing my eyes shut to try and find her hurts.
“Henri.” Deacon’s voice soothes me. “You’re okay. The sedation has your wolf nice and cozy inside you. You’ll probably feel a little hollow, but it’s okay.”
I open my eyes, and only a faint glow illuminates the room around me. The dark outline of someone sitting in a chair is to my left.
“Deacon?” My voice spikes with panic that I can’t push away.
The figure in the dark comes closer. I smell him, that distinctive whiskey and cedar.
He puts his hand in mine and squeezes so softly, like he’s afraid I’m going to break. With how much I hurt, I just might.
“What happened? There’s so much darkness I don’t remember. I know I went in the hallway.” I try to piece it together.
I’m panicking, and it hurts to breathe. It hurts to fucking breathe.
Deacon doesn’t answer right away. He brushes his thumb against mine. “You stepped out in the hallway at the meeting to take a call. Nathan and one of his goons attacked you and your security detail.”
He tries to answer flatly, but I know that gravel in his voice. It’s the disdain that’s always there when he talks about Nathan. It’s sharper now, though, more of a cutting edge.
“They killed the guard and dragged you to a different event space. Nathan—” Deacon’s voice cracks. “It’s all my fault, Henri. I should have just stayed up when I got home, and this wouldn’t have happened.”
Slowly the memory of being on the ground and Nathan’s shoe connecting with my stomach comes back. The way he spit cruel words, the violence of them and the attack.
Tears well in my eyes, the memory of the pain drawing more to the surface, making me aware of every inch of my body.
“No.” I bite my lips together, stopping more of my assumptions from coming to the surface. I know what Deacon is going to say even if I don’t want it to be true.
Deacon growls, “What he did—” He huffs out a breath. “Henri, he kicked you repeatedly and then nearly gutted you with his knife. You’re lucky to be alive. A hotel employee was giving a tour and spooked him off.”
He looks away from me, but in the low light of whatever room I’m in, moisture glints in his eyes.
“The...” I stop myself, not sure why I’m bothering to ask. I need him to say it to be sure.
“I’m sorry,” Deacon whispers and wipes the tears from under his eyes. “Dinah says that it’s—” He cups my face. “It’s possible that you’ll miscarry.”
I nuzzle into his touch. I’m sleepy, and I know what he’s telling me is bad, but I’m so tired.
Deacon whispers, “I’m so sorry, Hen.”
Just a little more sleep, I beg my body, but I’m afraid it won’t come.
“Hold me?” I barely get the words out. It’s more like breathing than speaking.
“Let me know if I hurt you when I move you. We’ll go slow.”
True to his word, Deacon takes care to move me slowly. Even with how gently he shifts me, some movements hurt, and I yelp in pain.
Deacon settles into the hospital bed next to me, and it eases my mind.
There are thoughts I need to have. I know there are because there are so many crowding at the edge of my brain. But sleep spreads like the warmth of Deacon’s body next to me, pushing me off the precipice into the darkness. I’m only faintly aware of Deacon’s erratic breathing and the wetness of his tears against my neck.