Page 48 of Savage Obsession

The collective breath of relief in the room is almost audible. Scarlett’s shoulders sag, and Alina lets out a shaky exhale. Even Viktor, though his expression remains stoic, seems to lose some of his rigid tension.

Then, before anyone can say anything else, Scarlett and Alina spring into action, practically flanking her on both sides.

“Yelena!” Scarlett gushes, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You scared the crap out of us!”

“Oh, come on, give her some air,” Alina chimes in, but it doesn’t stop her from wrapping her arms around Yelena in an almost suffocating hug.

Yelena, still weak but evidently unimpressed by the dramatic display, groans. “Can you two stop licking me like I’m your cub?”

A stunned silence follows her words, then, one by one, chuckles begin to escape the group. Scarlett laughs first, then Alina, and even Leon smirks from his place against the wall.

“Yup,” Alina declares, shaking her head with a grin. “My sister is definitely going to be alright; she's already back to herself.”

Relief courses through me like a drug, potent and undeniable. She’s back. She’s here. And I’m never letting anything happen to her again.

23

Yelena

The first two days are the hardest. Pain pulses through every inch of my body, dragging me in and out of consciousness. My vision is a haze, a shifting blur of shapes and muted colors. Every time I try to focus, my head pounds as if a sledgehammer is slamming against my skull. The world feels distant, voices muffled, reality shifting like a mirage I can’t grasp.

The grogginess is relentless. Time slips away, moments blending together until I can’t tell if minutes or hours have passed. The beeping machines tether me to the waking world, but disorientation pulls me under again and again. I try to speak, but my tongue feels thick, my throat raw and tight. The doctor’s voice filters in and out, calm but clinical, assuring someone that I am stabilizing, that my vitals are improving.

Even when I’m awake, I feel untethered. A drifting sense of detachment clings to me. At times, I swear I see people who aren’t there. Shadows moving at the edge of my vision, ghosts of memory or hallucination—I don’t know. My mind fights to stay clear, to hold on to the present, but exhaustion is a current that pulls me under.

Then, slowly, the world starts returning to normal. On the third morning, I blink, and for the first time, the ceiling above me comes into focus. My body still aches, but the suffocating weight pressing against me has lessened. The doctor checks my eyes, his penlight not as blinding as before. The words he says finally make sense.

“She’s out of immediate danger. We’ll continue to monitor her. Once we are satisfied, we will discharge her. I think she’ll be more comfortable at home.”

Home. The thought both comforts and unsettles me. But I am too weak to argue. Right now, all I want is to leave this place, to be anywhere but under the hospital’s harsh fluorescent lights.

It has been a week since I was discharged from the hospital, but it still feels like I am trapped inside my own body. The doctorsaid the symptoms would gradually wear off, but at this point, I am beginning to think he lied.

Fatigue clings to me like a second skin. My limbs feel heavy, weighed down by an exhaustion I can’t shake. No matter how much I rest, the lethargy refuses to leave. Even sitting up for too long has my muscles aching, my breath coming short. It’s frustrating. I want to move, to shake off this weakness, but my body refuses to cooperate.

I'm currently trying to push myself, to force my way through it, but Aithan will have none of it.

"Don’t be stubborn, Yelena," he warns, catching me just as I try to swing my legs off the bed.

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "I’m not made of glass, Aithan."

"You’re acting like you are," he counters, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, a mixture of concern and authority in his eyes. "You still get tired even from doing nothing. What do you think will happen if you start pushing yourself too soon?"

I hate that he’s right. I hate even more that he’s the one stopping me. But deep down, I know he’s only looking out for me.

Still, I refuse to admit it. Instead, I roll my eyes and sink back against the pillows, muttering under my breath. "You’re being overprotective."

"If keeping you from doing permanent damage to your body makes me overprotective, then so be it."

I don’t argue, not because I agree, but because I am too damn tired to keep my eyes open.

The evening is quiet, almost too peaceful. Aithan and I finish dinner in the privacy of our bedroom, the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows along the walls. My body still feels sluggish from the poison, but for the first time in days, I don’t feel like a complete prisoner inside of it.

Aithan hasn’t said much tonight, his usual sharp and teasing remarks replaced by something quieter. He watches me too closely, his gaze carrying a weight I can’t quite decipher.

I set my empty glass on the nightstand and look at him. "You’re staring."

His fingers tighten around the edge of his own glass, knuckles briefly going white before he lets out a slow breath. "There’s something I need to tell you."

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