Page 183 of Emerald Malice

“It’s not your fault,” Andrey insists.

I turn to the house, my jaw clenched tight so it can’t wobble. He’s dead because of me. I don’t deserve to cry.

Andrey grabs my arm and tries to guide me, but I tear my arm away.

I don’t deserve his comfort.

“I want to see Remi,” I demand weakly. “Take me there.”

Andrey hesitates, so I make my way toward the infirmary, one slow, aching step at a time.

Inside, I find Misha sitting on a chair, chin slumped to his chest and snoring softly. His hand rests on Remi’s head.

The boy looks exhausted.

The dog looks destroyed.

But both are breathing. Thank God.

Not wanting to wake them, I slip back out as quietly as I can, a grateful sob still caught in my throat.

Andrey is waiting in the hallway for me. “Come,” he says softly. “You need a check-up, just to make sure everything’s alright with the baby. The doctor is waiting.”

I whirl around to face him. “You’re the one who needs a doctor. You’ve been shot!”

“I’ll get my wound checked once I’ve made sure you’re okay.”

One of his men is dead because of me, and he’s worried whether I’m okay. Guilt claws at my chest. “I’m fine. Stop worrying about me!”

Easy, Nat. He’s just trying to help.

I blow out a ragged breath and start over. “I won’t be able to relax until you get that wound sorted out, Andrey. You’re still bleeding.”

He doesn’t so much as glance down at the wound. “I want to be with you.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near me until you get yourself sorted out.”

I won’t lose him, too. I can’t.

“Very well,” he sighs, gesturing to a door farther down the hall. “Dr. Abdulov is right through that door. I’ll get checked out and you can see Katya and Mila. They’ve been waiting for you.”

Then, to my surprise, he bends down and kisses me softly on the lips.

It’s too soft and tender for all the horrible things that have happened in the last few hours. I feel guilty for enjoying it. He’s dripping with blood and Remi is a ragged mess of bandages in the other room and Misha looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks and Annie is all by herself in the hospital and Anatoly is dead, he’s fucking dead, for God’s sake, and here I am, enjoying a kiss.

It’s selfish.

It’s wrong.

I pull away, feeling another wave of guilt for that, too.

There are no right choices anymore. I’m forever at an impossible crossroads, stuck looking at the paths “wrong” and “wronger.”

“We’re going to get through this, Natalia,” he promises me, his hand floating towards the locket hanging against his chest.

I smile weakly and grab my own chain. I can’t bring myself to say anything. If I do, I’ll break.

So I just turn and walk away.

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