Page 92 of Reign

“I love you, Ahmar.”

“Ah.” Ahmar swipes the back of his hand against his eyes. “Don’t to this to me. I’ll see you in a few hours. I’ll be back after I become a goddamned ghost at Haskins’s back while he completes his initial investigation.”

I lift my restrained wrists as much as I can. A light clink of the belt loops follows. “I’ll be here.”

He stares at the leather cuffs. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” I whisper, and I don’t close my eyes until Ahmar disappears from view.

31

Callie

“Up and at ‘em, night possum!”

The voice, too lighthearted to be real, tinkles against my ear, and I swat at it like a mosquito.

“I’m asking nicely, but seriously. I’m not a nice guy. Wake the fuck up.”

I pry my eyes open, heavy with a drugged, gritty sleep the nurses keep forcing on me. But once I focus on the form looming above me, I croak out, “Tempest?”

“Yes, your fake soulmate is here to save the day.”

My roll to my side is halted by his rude grip on my wrists.

“Let go!” I complain.

“I’m not touching you.”

I glance down and give a small grunt when I notice the shackles on my wrist through the greenish light of my room.

A hospital room. With beeps and blips of machines chugging along softly beside me.

It all comes back in a whoosh.

“Chase!” I fight against my restraints. “I need to see him.”

“Do not fight, scream, or flail, or else I’ll be forced to gag you with a latex glove.” He waggles his brows. “And I do love my foreplay.”

“Are you joking? Your best friend is in critical condition, and you’re here making fun of me.”

“I’m not kidding around. I’m merely passing the time it’s taking for you to have a breakthrough moment where you figure out I’m here to bust you through those doors and take you on a mad escape spree through the halls.”

I stare at him.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” I jangle my chains as permission.

Tempest glides to one side of my bed but pauses with his hands hovering over my arm. He arches a brow. “This is gonna hurt.”

“What?—fuck, Tempest!” My whispered, wet curses fall on deaf ears as Tempest yanks at my IVs and pulls the needles out of my skin without so much as a testing pull.

Tempest moves to unlock the belts at my hands and ankles with surprising dexterity, then helps me sit up until my feet dangle over the bed. But my fingers tangle in the sheets, stopping him from lifting me to a stand.

“What is it?” he asks.

“My hospital gown. I’m…”

“No need to be modest. You have an excellent ass. For a rodent, anyway. And,” he adds when I fumble to close my gown at the back, “There’s not much time, so grab your shit and let’s hustle.”

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