Page 22 of Grave Revelations

Now that he’d finally acted and told her the truth, of course she chose Simon. It was no less than he deserved for standing idly by through it all.

Chapter 14

Rebecca

Azazel held out a hand. “Come, I’ll take you.”

The utter defeat in his eyes was a dagger to Rebecca’s very soul. Was her request so unreasonable? Simon was alive. She had to see him, had to know he was okay after everything that had happened.

So why did it feel like her request was akin to taking a blade and running it through both their hearts?

“Okay,” she said, reaching for his outstretched arm. She nestled into his chest as he stepped out of their makeshift home and lifted into the sky. There was no physical pain, but something pulled her down, dragging her back to the shelter he’d crafted. A piece of her remained on that bed of vines where she’d fallen asleep, hoping he would return.

They moved silently through the night, the slow flap of Azazel’s wings a now familiar sound. For the first time, she wished she could hear his thoughts and know what he was thinking.

He’d wanted her to stay with him. To leave Simon in a hospital bed, recovering from injuries she’d caused.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest.

He said nothing.

They landed atop a flat roof swallowed by a sea of asphalt. It was jarring by comparison to the forest she’d left.

He set her down, backing up. “Room two-thirty-seven.”

“Azazel, wait.”

In a blink, he was gone, leaving her alone on the roof. She wrapped her arms around herself as a chill ran down her spine, waiting to see if he would return.

When she was sure he wouldn’t, she moved to the rooftop door, pressing against it, and tread lightly down the empty corridor to the stairwell. Stopping on the second floor, she followed the signs at the end of each hall until she reached room two-thirty-seven and took a few deep breaths, steeling herself.

Pressing both hands against the door, she pushed.

The room was dark, a thin sliver of moonlight trickling between the blinds. Machines beeped and whirred in the corner, and in the center of the room, a curtain obstructed her view of a bed.

She slid it aside, coming to stand beside Simon, and let out her first real breath in days. He was bruised and bandaged but alive.

“Simon,” she whispered.

He cracked swollen lids, and a whimper escaped her. She reached for his hand. “Simon, you’re alive.” The words were choked, and her fingers trembled as she held onto his very real, veryalivehands.

One amber eye fell on her, the other too swollen to open. His lips parted, and he let out a sigh.

“Don’t talk. Save your strength. I’m here.” Her voice broke as she dipped her head to his forehead. “I’m here.”

Rebecca lifted heavy lids. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was, half expecting Azazel to grumble something about how long she'd slept or complain that she snored. She peered around a sparse room lit by pre-dawn rays streamingthrough raised blinds and clattered to her feet, wiping a line of drool from her chin.

Simon was where he’d been last night, lashes resting gently against his bruised cheeks. A machine beside his bed beeped steadily.

She reached for his hand, squeezing limp fingers and her shoulders drooped.

A woman in blue scrubs bustled into the room, checking his charts and reading the vitals from the monitor.

“?Es este tu marido?”

“What… Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”

The nurse pursed her lips. “Your husband?”

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