Page 85 of Deadmen's Queen

“Never told her what?”

“That I can’t sleep without her. When she’s there in my arms, the nightmares don’t come back. She keeps them away, just by being there, but I never told her.”

Bast took a heavy breath and sank down next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. For once, I didn’t shrug it off, and my skin didn’t crawl at his touch.

“I noticed you’d been sleeping better,” he said gently.

“I need her back, Bast,” I whispered. “I can’t sleep without her.”

He nodded.

“What didn’t you tell her?” I asked, turning to look at him.

He looked away, and didn’t answer, and my anger started to spike.

“You never told her, did you?”

“Told her what?” he snapped, glaring at me.

“That you fucking love her.”

Bast’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to reply, but at the moment the door to the waiting room opened and a doctor appeared in the doorway, his scrubs smeared with blood.

“Sebastian Blake?”

We both stood up and Bast nodded.

“Yes, that’s me. How is he?”

“He's going to be okay”, the doctor said. “It was touch and go for a while there, but he's stabilised now. We managed to stop the bleeding and repair some of the damage.”

“Some of it?”

“Mr. Blackwood sustained serious internal injuries.” The doctor paused, as if searching for the right words. “We've done all we can. It's up to him now.”

“Can we see him?” I asked.

“Yes, but only briefly.” The doctor gestured for us to follow him down the corridor.

The room was dimly lit, a single dull light casting long shadows against the white walls. Inside, Tristan lay still on a bed, lost amidst a tangle of wires and tubes. His chest rose and fell evenly under the thin hospital blanket.

I approached the bed, hating the sight of my friend so weak and vulnerable. His face didn’t look right without that cocky grin.

Bast hung back, standing in the doorway like a ghost of himself. The man who had always thrived on control and power now looked defeated, haunted by what was happening to two people he cared about more than anything.

Silence hung in the air like a shroud, only broken by the soft beeping of Tristan's monitor. Our eyes were locked onto him, tracing his every breath as if it was our lifeline.

“Who did this?” Bast said. I didn’t answer. His gaze hardened as it lingered on the bandages lining Tristan's chest. “Once we find out...I'll make them pay.”

“I know. We both will.”

The time dragged like an eternity as we sat next to Tristan’s bed, hoping and praying that he would wake up. Bast had finally taken a seat, exhaustion creeping in as the day darkened into the night and then lightened again. Still, we sat there, completely powerless.

Every now and again, Bast would leave to answer his phone, filling me in on each conversation when he returned, but they all had come up with nothing so far.

I looked up as he returned to the room from another call, glancing at the clock. Five thirty nearly. It has been over twenty four hours now.

Bast lowered himself back into the chair he’d been sitting in, looking over at Tristan. I wasn’t sure if he was calmer now, or in shock. When I looked at him, I could still see the worry and the pent-up rage in his eyes.

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