Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
NATASHA
N ote to self… Avoid getting gut-shot.
Or if a gut-shot happens again, have a Master who can successfully order you to live.
Still wasn’t sure how that came about. It wasn’t even a thing except in fairy tales, and I sure as fuck wasn’t Sleeping Beauty or Snow White.
But I’d begged Lachlan to stay alive in what I thought were my last few moments—at least mentally. I had no idea if I said it out loud.
I remembered fading, then getting loaded on a stretcher as someone slid a needle into my arm and pressed something hard on my belly that made me give up the struggle for consciousness.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up after surgery, screaming mad because I couldn’t find Lachlan. By the time they got me restrained and sedated, I’d torn open most of the surgeon’s meticulous work.
Because yeah. Drugged out of her gourd and enraged Natasha was one crazy bitch. Who knew?
When I woke from a second surgery to fix the damage, I was sharing a room with my husband, who was in worse shape than I was. I legit wanted to kill Ronan again for that.
Thankfully, Ronan’s captives were safe and recuperating in one of Ella’s safe houses. They got the rescue they’d probably been praying for while I was busy bleeding out in his sitting room. I’d never begrudge them that. They were part of the reason I went after Ronan in the first place.
I also had Dante and Angel sharing a cushy memory foam bed under the window on the other side of the room.
Although I loved having him with me, I didn’t need him to be my anchor keeping me from either killing someone or hiding in the closet with yet another PTSD episode.
He could finally just be a beloved lap warmer.
Well, maybe someone else’s lap. Mine barely fit his head, much less the rest of him—not that he didn’t try it on occasion.
I focused on moving my hand to the controls for my hospital bed and pressed the button to lower my torso. Finding a comfortable position wasn’t easy, but I managed it. Gotta love the good drugs that kept me stoned as fuck and feeling very little pain.
Proving all—well, most—was right in my universe, Lachlan was in the bed next to me and had a cannula feeding oxygen into his nose. I wished I had the strength to reach across the scant few feet separating us and touch him.
I’d gotten off lucky. The gunshot had done some soft tissue damage that almost bled me out, but I’d heal. The blood in my mouth that made everyone think I was bleeding internally was from where I accidentally bit down on one of my tongue piercings.
Ronan’s knife cost Lachlan his spleen.
And I’d been too slow to stop it. Also, clearly too stupid to suspect Ronan had a weapon in the first place. Some bodyguard I was. I should have known better, but Lachlan and I both assumed he relied too heavily on his guards to bother arming himself.
But my Master would live, albeit with some dietary restrictions. Not gonna lie, I was kind of looking forward to controlling his diet as much as he’d controlled mine back in the day, but I wouldn’t make him eat unseasoned ground chicken.
Because no.
Actually, there probably would be ground chicken or turkey, but I’d make it taste good. My turkey meatloaf wrapped in bacon was fantastic and I could adjust the recipe to better fit his dietary requirements.
“You’re awake,” he slurred, his words muddled with the same drugs coursing through my body. “Wish you were in bed with me.”
I did too. More than anything.
“Yeah, not happening right now, lover.” I started to laugh, then winced when the hole in my belly complained. “Because too much owie, but maybe the nurse will push our beds together if we ask nicely.”
To my shock, he sat up, then swung his legs over the edge of his hospital bed. Clutching his own wound, he staggered to me.
“Lachlan! What are you?—”
“Move over, slave,” he ordered, his voice thick with pain. He gripped the edge of my bed, and his knuckles whitened with strain as he struggled to hold himself up.
Hurriedly, and with some difficulty, I turned to my uninjured side and held my blanket open for him. His pained groan hurt my heart as he settled himself next to me.
“Better?” I asked, spooning him as he’d so often done for me. The narrow bed was a tight fit for two people, but it seemed Lachlan intended to stay all up in my space anyway.
Not that I was complaining.
“The best.” He laced his fingers with mine. “How could lying next to my wife be anything but perfect?”
Christ. The things he said sometimes…
“Sleep, baby.” I kissed the back of his head, ignoring the throb of warning from my gunshot wound.
“You sleep too, slave. I love you.”
“Love you more.”
“Impossible.” His breathing steadied and slowed as he drifted off.
I couldn’t—wouldn’t—take back what I’d said when I believed I was dying.
Despite everything he’d done to me, I did love him.
I loved his accented, death-by-sex voice, his kindness to all the unwanted pets I’d sent his way, and his determination to keep me bundled up and safe.
I loved the way he kissed me before ordering me to my knees.
Yeah, I was head over heels for the husband I’d been desperate to escape and never wanted in the first place. And I forgave him too—something I should have done ages ago but hadn’t because of the malignant bitterness darkening my soul.
But coming this close to being an ex-Natasha taught me something.
Forgiveness isn’t for the recipient. It’s for the giver. It’s for clearing the slate, soothing the wounds of the past, and letting go of the hurt before it festers. Maybe the pain I’d inflicted on Lachlan didn’t measure up to what he did to me, but he stopped the minute my father was dead.
I hadn’t.
Instead of moving on with my life—including the therapy I desperately needed, I let that ball of spite grow and poison my heart. I didn’t much like the past me who wanted to see Lachlan hurting. Having been on the receiving end of such cruelty, it sucked ass.
Laughing inwardly, I wondered if Marmite’s and Ogre’s opinions of me would change now that the tumor of my hate was gone. Animals could be sensitive that way. Hell, for all I knew, that was why Saoirse refused to be in the same room with me.
I was in no hurry to offer the same courtesy to my sperm donor though. Some things were unforgivable. Maybe the rage would fade someday, but until then, I’d channel the emotion into my new career as an assassin.
Most of all, I wanted to be someone my soon-to-be-born sibling admired—not someone too bitter and angry to embrace them and love them unconditionally.
I’d be their big sister, but I wanted to be more like the fun auntie who hopped them up on sugar, toys, and cuddles before sending them back to their mother.
Or was that a grandparent’s job? Having had neither grandparent, nor fun auntie in my life, I had no idea.
I hadn’t met my mom or her husband yet. We’d talked on the phone, and I couldn’t wait to see her in person, but she was too pregnant to travel, and I was, you know, too full of holes to go to her.
If I thought I could actually do it, I might have tried it on my own.
I wouldn’t go without Lachlan though, and honestly, neither of us were ready to leave the hospital yet.
I would have to remind myself not to refer to her as Cherise though.
Her name was Arja, and her husband was Aatos Korhonen.
I didn’t know the name he used to have before they went into hiding.
At least I had a picture of her. She looked so much like me, with curly brown hair reaching her shoulders and brown eyes.
With luck, Lachlan and I would be out of the hospital before she gave birth.
“Little slave, you’re thinking too loudly,” Lachlan whispered. “You should be sleeping.”
“I—” A soft knock interrupted me, and I feigned sleep when our private nurse bustled in.
I heard her sigh deeply, then grumble under her breath about newlyweds as she left on quiet footsteps.
Smiling, I inhaled Lachlan’s spicy scent and fell asleep with my husband in my arms.
* * *
LACHLAN
Natasha looked beautiful. Her brown eyes were almost amber with delight under a black hat trimmed in faux mink, and the matching coat covered a cream cashmere sweater dress she wore with boots and the sexiest over-the-knee socks.
A few snowflakes danced around her and landed on her cheeks like diamonds.
“I can’t believe I’m going to see my mom tomorrow.
” Her arms laden with canvas shopping bags containing all manner of fresh produce, low fat dairy products, chicken, fish, and staples she deemed necessary, she bounced on the balls of her feet as I unlocked the door to our new home less than ten kilometers from her mother’s.
“And thank you for buying us a house close to her, and for having our stuff delivered and unpacked.”
I chose not to mention the many hours she and her mother had spent video chatting, or the constant texts flying between them while we recovered from our injuries. After all, they had almost twenty-three years of missed time to make up for.
“It was my pleasure, love.” I took off my coat and hung it in the closet, leaving my shoes on the mat as Orc twined around my ankles looking for attention.
Marmite was in the barn behind the house.
I couldn’t wait to see him, but I had other plans for the evening.
The teenager next door would have already given him fresh water and food, and according to her father, the girl spent more time with my pony than she did with her family.
Not for the first time, I considered giving him to her.
Every pony deserved a little girl, and considering Natasha’s history with him, I didn’t think it would be her.
Then again, Orc would sit in her lap preferentially over mine, despite her tales of how he used to snap at her.
Perhaps there was hope for her and Marmite.