Page 68 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

She coughs again, and this time, a faint spray of blood splatters onto her hand. Her face pales instantly, and the shaky breath she takes tells me everything I need to know.

“I’m dying,” she says, her voice a whisper now, fragile and cracked.

Cast and I both freeze, staring at her in stunned silence. The reality of the moment sinks in, heavy and suffocating. The woman who’s caused so much pain, who’s been at the center of this web of violence, is standing before us, gasping for breath, blood seeping through her fingers.

“W-what?” I stammer, my mind spinning. “What the hell do you mean?—”

“I don’t have long,” she interrupts, her voice barely audible now. “I’ve been sick for months. And it’s only getting worse. But I need to speak to Willow. I need her to understand. Please.”

25

VINCENT

I lieon the padded therapy table, my muscles tense as I loop the thick rubber band around my foot. My leg aches, a deep, pulsing reminder of everything I’ve lost and everything I’m fighting to regain. The sterile scent of the rehab center mixes with a softer, more floral fragrance—Willow’s perfume. It’s light, fresh, an aroma I can't quite name, but it wraps around me like a whispered promise.

She stands beside me, her delicate fingers brushing my ankle as she adjusts the resistance band. Her touch is gentle but firm, confident in a way that makes my pulse stutter. Willow has a quiet strength about her, the kind that sneaks up on a person and leaves them breathless. She’s not just helping me stretch my legs—she’s holding me together, piece by stubborn piece.

“Push against it slowly,” she murmurs, her voice a melody of soft encouragement and quiet command.

I exhale through my nose and do as she says, pressing against the resistance band with controlled effort. My muscles tremble slightly, a painful reminder of how much work I still have left to do. I clench my jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.It’s not supposed to be this hard. I’m not supposed to be this weak.

But then Willow squeezes my calf lightly, a small reassurance. “You’re doing good,” she says, her gaze locked on my leg, watching for any sign of strain.

I can’t help but watch her instead. The way her dark lashes frame her eyes, the slight furrow of concentration in her brow, the way her lips part as she observes me like she can see beyond the muscle and bone, straight into me. She’s beautiful in a way that feels dangerous, like looking too long might make me forget everything else.

And that terrifies me.

I force my focus back on the exercise, inhaling sharply as I pull my leg back to its starting position. Willow adjusts the band again, her hands sure and steady, like she’s done this a thousand times. Maybe she has. Maybe she’s always touched me like this the whole time, like she loves me, with warmth that seeps into my skin and settles in my chest.

But I doubt it.

Because when she looks at me, there’s a sentiment there. Something unspoken.

“How does it feel?” she asks, stepping back slightly, but not far enough that I can’t still feel the ghost of her hands on me.

“Like hell,” I admit, my voice rougher than I intended.

She laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a sharp and unexpected sensation through my ribs. “Good. That means it’s working.”

My lips twitch despite myself. “You enjoy my suffering, don’t you?”

Her lips quirk, a playful glint in her eyes. “Just a little.”

Damn, she’s stunning. Not in an obvious, flashy way—no, Willow is the kind of beauty that creeps up on you, that makes you want to lean closer without realizing you’re doing it.

I exhale and push against the band again, my body rebelling, but I refuse to stop.

“Don’t overdo it,” Willow warns, her fingers lightly brushing against my knee, steadying me. “Pushing too hard could set you back.”

I grit my teeth, exhaling harshly through my nose. “I don’t have time for setbacks.”

Her gaze softens, unconditional love flickering across her face. “I know,” she says, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

She knows. She always knows.

I hate that. Hate how easily she sees through me, how she can sift through all the bullshit and find the cracks underneath. I don’t want to be fragile. I don’t want to be seen as broken.

But Willow never looks at me like I’m broken.

---