Page 51 of Devour
I nodded again, barely registering the sound of the door closing as he left. I didn’t look up. All of my attention is on Luca. He looked so pale. So still. I had never seen him like this—wounded, vulnerable and it broke something inside me.
The sheets are stained with his blood. It made me sick to look at it, and yet I couldn’t look away.
I reached for the nightstand and placed the bottle of painkillers down gently, then turned to get out of bed hoping to grab, wash cloth, clean linens or do anything that made me feel less helpless. But a knock on the door stops me. Griselda entered quietly, carrying a bowl of warm water and a folded washcloth.
“I figured you’d need this,” she says as she places the bowl and cloth on the nightstand.
“Oh… thank you,” I murmur, my voice catching with emotion. Is this my life now? Always afraid every time he walksout that door, terrified he might come back hurt… or not come back at all?
“No—don’t think like that. Always keep a positive mindset; it will carry you through most times.”
I nod slowly, forcing a faint smile. If only she knew I’m a bowl full of positivity—it’s what kept me going through Noah’s treatment. But this… this is different.
“If you need anything else, let me know,” Griselda offers gently.
“The sheets… this one’s soaked in blood.”
“I’ll be back with a fresh set,” she says with a nod before turning to leave.
I reach for the washcloth, soak it in the bowl, squeeze out the excess water, and gently begin wiping the blood from his body.
His skin is cold to the touch, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Still, I clean him with slow, careful strokes trying not to let my hands shake.
By the time Griselda returns with the new sheets, I’ve finished wiping him down. With a lot of grunting and effort, I manage to peel away the bloodied sheet.
Together, we lift him just enough to slide the clean one beneath him, being extra cautious not to jostle his injured shoulder. By the time we’re done, both of us are out of breath, and he’s finally lying comfortably on the fresh sheets, though still in his suit pants.
Hands on my hips, still catching my breath, I glance at her. “I think I can manage from here.” “You should get some rest,” I say quietly.
“And you should change,” she replies, glancing down at me.
I follow her gaze and finally notice my oversized shirt stained with blood. I didn’t even realize it had gotten on me. My eyes fixate on the dark patches, frozen in place.
Griselda reaches for my hands, gently clasping them in hers. She turns me to face her, her voice soft but steady.
“You need rest too. He’s going to be fine. Believe me when I say—I’ve seen him worse, and he always pulls through.”
She leans in and presses a comforting kiss to my forehead, then picks up the bowl and quietly leaves the room. Once we’re alone, the silence feels even heavier.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly, then move toward him. I reach for the waistband of his suit pants and carefully slide them off. I find a pair of soft charcoal-gray pajama bottoms in his closet surprising, considering he usually sleeps in nothing but boxers. I didn’t think he even owned proper sleepwear.
Once he’s changed, I slip out of my blood-stained shirt and pull on a clean one. Then I climb into bed beside him, gently pulling the covers over us. I rest my hand on his chest, careful not to disturb his injured shoulder.
But even as I close my eyes, I know sleep won’t come easily. Every time I blink, I see Luca, covered in blood, barely conscious, slipping away from me.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Luca
The pain is dull now. It thrums beneath my skin like the echo of a distant drum muffled, but steady. I float somewhere between sleep and consciousness, adrift in a haze of sedatives and blood loss. Voices come and go. Hands touch me. Cloth wipes over my skin.
The scent of soap and iron tangles in my nose. I’m vaguely aware of soft hands helping me relieve myself. Even through the dark fog, I feel her presence like cool fingers pressed to a fevered brow.
I want to tell her I’m fine, but my mouth won’t cooperate. I try to open my eyes, but they’re too heavy. Still, I know she’s here. I can feel the weight of her palm resting on my chest light, but steady.
Her breath brushes my shoulder as she exhales slowly beside me. It’s the only thing calming the fire still licking at the edges of my nerves.
I remember the gunshots. We’d secure the cargo with minimal hit to my men. But I made a mistake. I let the captain go. The next thing I knew, a bullet tore through my shoulder and side.
