Page 86 of Deadmen's Queen

“My contact at the station says they're doing all they can,” he said, his voice strained. “Forensics are still working on the case. They haven’t found the murder weapon yet.”

I nodded without looking at him. “We need to know who did this, Bast.”

“I know,” he snapped, all semblance of calm gone. He paused for a moment before continuing in a quieter tone. “We'll find him.”

“And Paige...” My voice faltered as I thought of her. She was out there somewhere, alone and probably terrified. God knows what he was doing to her. It made my blood boil. I was going to kill him.

“We'll find her too,” Bast assured me, although his voice held no certainty.

The minutes ticked away slowly into hours, marked only by the rhythm of Tristan's breathing and the monotonous beeping of machines.

As dawn began to break, colouring the room with an ethereal light, Tristan finally stirred. He grimaced and groaned in pain as he blinked and tried to open his eyes, looking at us with a flicker of recognition playing in his gaze. It was pain-filled and clouded with sedatives, but it was there. Waves of relief washing over us. He was awake. Battered, bruised and broken, but awake. I crossed over to the bed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight.

“Paige,” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. “She…”

“Shh,” Bast said. “Don’t strain yourself. We need to call a doctor.”

Tristan's eyes flickered towards me and I could see the telltale signs of fear in the corners of his eyes.

“Where’s…Paige?” He was forcing the words out, his voice barely a whisper.

I looked up at Bast, and he shook his head.

“No,” Tristan whispered, his grip on our hands suddenly tightening. His breathing became ragged, and a wave of panic washed over his face. “No... she...where...?”

“Tristan…” I warned him but he was too far gone in his own panic.

“NO!” he roared in frustration and anguish, rattling the hospital bed as he tried to get up, collapsing back against the pillows in exhaustion.

His door burst open as the doctor and several nurses rushed in. The doctor pushed past me and moved towards Tristan, trying to calm him down.

“Mr. Blackwood, you need to stay still,” he urged, but Tristan was panicking, his eyes wild as he tried again to pull himself out of the bed.

“Paige...” Tristan gasped again, his hand reaching out blindly. “Is she...?” His voice was filled with such raw anguish that it made my heart clench in my chest.

One of the nurses moved forward, a syringe in her hand, and Bast instantly moved in front of them, a wall between Tristan and the medical team. His hand was up to stop them. “Wait,” he commanded, his voice steel.

I moved behind him, grabbing Tristan’s shoulders and pushing him back down.

“We need to sedate him,” the doctor said.

“Give us a moment,” Bast said. He turned towards Tristan, grabbing his hand.

“It wasn’t her.”

Tristan blinked at him, and I frowned at Bast. Bast looked up at me.

“He thinks it was her. In the kitchen.” My eyes widened as I realised what Bast meant, and I sank down onto the bed next to Tristan, hands still on his shoulders.

“What?” choked Tristan, his eyes fixed on Bast.

“It wasn’t her you saw in the kitchen, Tris. You thought it was Paige, didn’t you? On the floor in the blood. We did too. But it was her mother, Tris. It was Pauline. Paige isn’t dead.”

Tris’s body went limp underneath my hands and he sank back into the pillows, closing his eyes.

“Not her?” he whispered.

“Paige is alive, Tristan,” I said. He opened his eyes, and they were glassy as he looked up at me.

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