Page 47 of Crimson Curse
Daniil wakes when I move. He blinks away sleep like a cat reluctantly leaving a warm patch. The sight of him rumpled and here makes my chest warm.
“Coffee,” he murmurs, and the nurse laughs.
“I have decaf that tastes like a practical joke and regular that will make your heart pound out of your chest,” she says, already pouring. “You don’t look like a decaf man.”
“Black,” he answers, gratefully. “Thank you.”
She helps me sit upright with steady patience, then sets a cup of juice in my hand and a plate of something that passes for scrambled eggs. I eat because Dr. Levin will insist, because my body needs strength to knit itself back together, and because there is a life inside me I am determined to nourish.
There is a soft knock, and Lex slips inside. The dark circles beneath his eyes make it clear he hasn’t slept. His gaze sweeps the room in one practiced motion before landing on me.
“You look better than yesterday,” he says quietly.
“Come here,” I tell him, and he does, careful to keep his distance with Daniil sitting like a wall between me and the rest of the world. I reach out my free hand. He takes it gently, as though afraid I might break, and his eyes shine with an emotion I rarely see from him.
“Thank you for getting me here,” I say.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You did the hard part.”
Daniil makes a low sound that could almost be a laugh if it came from anyone else. “She is strong. And the baby will be strong too.”
Lex sets a folded bundle of clean clothes on the chair beside Daniil, then straightens. “I’ll let you rest. I’ll be back later.”
Charlotte bursts in thirty minutes later with an energy that could power a city block. Security has the sense to get out of her way when they see her coming. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail that looks like it could hurt someone. Her eyes land on me, soften, and brim at the same time.
“You absolute menace,” she says, and her voice cracks. “You scared me to death.”
“I scared me too,” I confess.
She bends and hugs me with care, and for a moment, I rest in the arms that have hauled my couch up a flight of stairs and eaten my terrible attempts at soup and laughed with me until my ribs ached for better reasons. When she pulls back, she glares over my head at Daniil with the kind of threat only a best friend can deliver.
“If she sneezes too hard, I will feed you to your own guards.”
“I will report any sniffles immediately,” he replies, deadpan. For one bright, strange second, all three of us smile.
Charlotte settles into the chair on the other side of the bed and takes my free hand. “I’m okay on my own,” she says, reading the guilt on my face without me speaking it. “I already told your plant babies you have abandoned them, and they sighed with relief. I might actually enjoy the quiet.”
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I know,” she answers, and squeezes once more.
By the time the room falls quiet again, sunlight filters faintly through the blinds. Charlotte has gone, leaving only the trace of her perfume and the promise of my favorite foods when she returns. Dr. Levin has finished his rounds, and the machines keep on with their steady song, a reminder that life goes on inside these walls.
18
DANIIL
Several days have passed since Naomi’s blood stained the marble floor and chaos erupted in the halls, but the quiet has not brought peace. I let the house move back into its rhythm. On the surface, life resumes. Beneath it, I carry the truth like a blade pressed against my ribs, waiting for the moment I finally use it. That moment has come.
I sit in the south colonnade with the folder open on the iron table. Limestone arches hold the garden in view on one side, and a long pane of glass on the other. Lamps diffuse a pale wash across the floor, and the faint scent of jasmine threads through the air even with the greenhouse doors closed.
I call Irina and tell her to meet me here. She answers on the second ring, polite and brisk, as if I had requested a contract review. She arrives with her blouse crisp in a muted suit, hair in a tight chignon, and a string of pearls around her neck. She pauses, takes in the folder, and then looks at me. Her face is a shield she has worn for years in courtrooms and council rooms.
“You called for me,” she says.
“I did,” I answer. I slide the photograph toward her and keep my gaze steady. “Explain.”
Her eyes fall to the photograph. It shows her at Naomi’s door on a night she had no duty there. Beneath it lies a lab report on formal letterhead, a hormone profile that doesn’t happen by chance. The technicians confirmed the birth control pills Naomi was taking contained no active ingredients, only blanks. My men later uncovered a second pack hidden in a utility cabinet off the east wing.
