Page 101 of Reign

A chorus of voices shoot forward, silently chanting.

Chase. Ivy. Mom.

You’re strong. You will be missed if you go. You don’t have to come to us yet.

As if summoned, Eden and Emma appear at the top of the stairs, rushing toward me.

They’re here. They’re not mad at me anymore.

Their faces flash in and out of a black void as they come closer. I’m dying. When they get here, it’ll be too late. I’ll pass out, and Sabine will—

NO.

A bolt of energy soars through me at the image of my friends, desperate to save me. And Ahmar down below, fighting to get to the balcony.

My hands form into a prayer at my stomach. Sabine sees the motion and smiles. “That’s right, dear girl. Succumb to my inevitable triumph.”

Her face wavers, in and out, and I realize it’s not my blinking that’s making me see black, then reality, then black.

Pressed together, my hands shoot up, between her strangling arms. Sabine doesn’t expect the move and stiffens her grip, but with enough force, I pull my hands apart and break her hold.

Sabine stumbles at the unexpected show of self-defense. I give her no time to recover.

I glance at her bleeding stomach. “That was for Chase.”

Then I twist her until her back smacks against the railing. “But this? This is for Ivy.”

I push her over just as Eden and Emma reach me, their palms smacking against the stone as they bend forward.

“And that?” I say dully as Sabine’s scream is abruptly cut off. “That was for my mom.”

36

Callie

Two Weeks Later

“Sweetheart? You can go in and see him now.”

The nurse pads quietly away after notifying me in the hospital’s waiting room, and I stand, smoothing my shirt and casually wiping drool from the side of my mouth from when I tipped my head back to count the ceiling tiles, then never lowered my chin.

I’m not sure how long I slept in the chair, but my neck aches with a crick as I massage it and follow the nurse’s footsteps into the corridor. It gives me something to do rather than focus on the nervous beats of my heart or the swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

The nurse didn’t have to tell me what room he’s in—I’ve known the number since the moment he was taken out of ICU and put in a private section. I’ve counted the days since he opened his eyes, the hours he’s been taken off a breathing tube, and added up every day I wasn’t allowed to see him.

After a whirlwind of police, press, and parents, I’ve at last been granted permission from Chase’s team of doctors to see him.

Creeping past the other rooms, all silent and dark save for the soft green glow of machines, I find Chase’s with his door slightly ajar.

My breaths come out shaky. Phone calls with Ahmar and Dad have prepared me for this moment—a section of time where Chase may not look like himself or speak much at all, but instead of being scared, all I want to do is run to his hospital bed and grab his hand, then hold it to my cheek.

Because even through all the surgeries, a new reality to wake up to, and his recovery, he’d still be warm, and I need that assurance more than anything.

The large window is dark with night but silhouetted with lights from neighboring city buildings. Those white lights crest over the still form in the bed, machines beeping softly beside him.

“I’m not Frankenstein’s monster,” comes a gristly, hoarse voice. “Unless that means you want to be my Bridezilla.”

Smiling, I step through the reflection of lights across the floor and to his bedside, where I can get a closer look.

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