Page 83 of Possessive Vows

“The other man was there that night, too. He’s also dead. I killed him,” I end on a manic half-laugh.

“You were glorious,” my angel of death says.

I rise and face him.

He brushes his thumb over my cheek despite the filth caking my flesh.

“Two more,” he says.

I shake my head and reach for his shoulders, but stop when I realize how clean his suit still is.

He pulls me flush against him and leans down for a kiss, but I turn my head and lean away.

“I just threw up and I’m covered in blood. I need a shower,” I explain.

“I don’t care,” he growls.

“Well I do. Let’s get everyone checked by the doctor and cleaned up, then you can kiss me,” I demand.

He relents and leads me to the car. I stop him from opening the back door and motion for him to put me in the front.

“I don’t want to scare the kids,” I say.

The brutal glint in his eyes softens.

“They are worried you are hurt, not scared of you,” he says.

A lump forms in my throat, so I shake my head and push forward. He relents and settles me into the passenger seat.

“Is Mama okay?” Maksim whispers.

My shaky breath feels loud enough to crack the world in two.

“Yes, Maksim, I’m okay. I just need a shower,” I say.

“Thank God,” he sobs.

My heart squeezes. Zoya sniffles and sucks her thumb. I don’t dare turn and show her my bloody face.

For the briefest of moments, Artur’s hand settles on my shoulder, and I freeze on instinct. He gives me a pat before sitting back.

Dimitri drives us the rest of the way to the hospital, and by the time we get there, Giorgio, Aurora, Tristan, Fiero, and Loretta are there with at least twenty soldiers.

My knees threaten to buckle when I stand, but I hold on to the roof of the car and maintain my balance by sheer force of will. Zoya sniffles again, and I long to hold her to my chest, but the drying blood feels tacky against my face and neck.

We enter the emergency department as a group. I accept a ride in a wheelchair when my ankle and hip worsen. The nurses escort us to the VIP suite, but I don’t want a doctor prodding at me in front of the kids, so I request the room next door.

Dimitri studies my eyes before nodding and stepping forward as though to come with me. I lift my palm in the universal sign for stop.

“Loretta can come with me. You stay here with the kids,” I demand.

He shows his displeasure in the tightening of his eyes, but he relents with a nod.

Too exhausted, I disassociate the moment we pass the threshold. Loretta pushes me into the next room and waits without judgement as I give the doctor—a woman I’ve learned to trust throughout the last few months—a quick recap of today’s incident. She offers several pain medicines, but I refuse everything except NSAIDS.

I don’t want anything to impair my judgement tonight. I’m done letting my past control me. I’ve decided to become Dimitri’s bride in every sense of the word when we get home.

Home isn’t the townhouse. It isn’t a place. It’s the group of people I love most—my kin, found family, and friends.

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