Page 78 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

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WILLOW

Not fucking again.

My eyes snap open, and I immediately know something is wrong. Tubes. Wires. The steady, unnatural hum of a machine forcing my blood through it. A tightness grips my chest, like something massive is sitting on it.

I try to move, but my body feels heavy, sluggish. Panic claws its way up my throat as I register the thick tube running down it. I can’t breathe. Ican’t breathe.

A strangled noise escapes me—half gasp, half scream—as my hands flail against the bed, yanking at whatever is keeping me tethered. The machines beep wildly in protest, alarms blaring, the sound slicing through my skull.

The door bursts open.

A nurse rushes inside, her cropped gray hair slightly disheveled, her expression calm but urgent. “Willow! Stop—listen to me. You’re safe.”

I shake my head violently, the panic surging. My hands scrabble at the tubing, my fingers catching on plastic and tape, desperate to get itoffme.

The nurse—Nina, her name tag says—reaches for my wrists, her grip firm but gentle. “Willow, you’re on ECMO. It’s helping your heart and lungs recover.You’re breathing through a machine right now.”

My pulse hammers in my ears. I try to yank away, but I’m weak—soweak. Tears blur my vision as I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest heaving in frantic, shallow jerks.

“Look at me,” Nina says firmly. “You areokay. The tube is helping you.I need you to calm down, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

I force my eyes open, locking onto hers. Her gaze is steady, reassuring. She presses a button on the machine beside me, and a softhissof medication filters through the IV in my arm.

The panic ebbs slightly, but my body still trembles. My throat burns from the tube, and I hate the way the machineownsmy breath, every inhale and exhale dictated by something outside of me.

Tears spill down my temples.I’m alive. But barely.

Nina brushes damp hair from my forehead. “You scared a lot of people, you know,” she says softly. “It’s outside of visiting hours but let me see if they’re still terrorizing people in the waiting room.”

I watch her go, my heart pounding in a rhythm that still doesn’t feel like my own. The machine keeps breathing for me, each rise and fall of my chest a reminder that I don’t have full control over my own body.

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy.

The door swings open, and suddenly they’re there.

Vincent shoves past Nina first, his face pale, his usually bright blue eyes wide with panic. “Willow?” His voice is raw, like he’s been screaming. Or crying.

Damien follows right behind him, his jaw clenches as his gaze sweeps over me, taking in the tubes, the wires, the machine keeping me alive. Cast is the last one through the door, and the moment his eyes lock on mine, a weight lifts off his shoulders and he sighs.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Damien breathes, collapsing into the chair beside my bed. His hand finds mine, gripping it tight, his thumb running over my skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. “I thought—” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard. “I thought we lost you.”

I squeeze his hand as much as I can, though my strength is pathetic. The tube down my throat stops me from saying the words I want to—I’m here. I’m alive.

Damien exhales sharply, then presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there for a long moment. His touch is uncharacteristically gentle, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter beneath him.

“You scared the shit out of us,” Vincent mutters, his voice rough.

Cast pulls up on my other side, gripping my free hand between both of his. His green eyes burn, flicking between my face and the machines keeping me alive. “Can we take the tube out?” His voice is hoarse. Desperate. “She’s awake. She’s trying to talk.”

Nina shifts beside them, with a kind and empathetic expression on her face. “I’ll page the doctor. If she’s strong enough, we can remove it.”

The three of them snap their heads toward her like a pack of wolves waiting for permission to strike.

“She’s strong enough,” Vincent says immediately. “Right, Willow?”

I blink once. A yes.

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