Page 165 of Every Shade of Shadow

I laugh at that, for the first time in days. It feels good, a relief to know I can still summon some semblance of joy.

“And you really think Darkwood will be okay?”

"Of course." I force a smile, hiding my doubts behind a mask of confidence. "Professor Darkwood is the most powerful warlock here. He'll pull through."

Lily nods, seeming to accept my reassurance. "You’ll let me know if there’s any change?”

“Of course."

“How’s Lily?”

Ava gives a light chuckle. “She’s going to have a badass scar on her arm, but otherwise back to her usual shitty self.”

“That’s good to hear.”

We part ways, and I head to the infirmary wing in the third tower, anxiety gnawing at my insides with every step. What if he never wakes up? What if the AOB healers can't counter the deadly effects of Mortis's curse?

I clench my hands into fists. I can't lose him. Not when there's still so much I need to understand about myself, about the desires he's awakened within me, my parents...

At the entrance to the wing, I'm stopped by a healer. Even she’s rocking the real-estate look. "Sorry, only faculty members are allowed in at this time."

I stand up straighter and meet her gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm here to see Professor Damien Darkwood. Please, just let me pass."

The healer studies me for a long moment, as if weighing whether it's worth arguing, before stepping aside with a curt nod. “You’re her, aren’t you? Annabelle Fairchild?”

Damn straight. You know, complete and total ass-kicker, saver of worlds. Instead, I give a light smile. “I am.”

She nods. “Five minutes only."

"Thanks." I sweep past her into the wing, making a beeline for Damien’s private room.

I stand by his bed. He’s so pale—an apparition more than a man.

I reach down and take his hand, but it’s cold. I don’t try to hold back the tears any longer. “Come back to me,” I beg him. “Come back.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Damien looks no better in a bed than lying on the bloody dance floor. At least he has a private room, not out there in the infirmary wing with the rest of the living dead.

I press his hand to my face but it’s clammy and cold and far from that which drove me to such untold pleasure.

He threw himself into the fray selflessly, to protect me, and this is his reward. Even the AOB medics haven’t been able to tell me if he’ll ever pull out of this. God knows there have been enough of them around here.

“Ana?”

I turn to find Lily standing in the doorway, her grim expression sadly all too common these days, her arm in a sling.

“Hey.”

“Someone’s looking for you,” she announces. “An AOB official, name of Hargraves Beaker, which, if you ask me, sounds fucking ridiculous, but there you go.”

I’m reluctant to leave Damien’s side. I can’t even remember when the last time I ate was. “What does he want?”

“He’s in charge of the ‘formal,’” she air-quotes, “interviews with the survivors, starting with you, apparently.”

“Haven’t we been interviewed enough?”

She shrugs. “Guess not.”

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