Page 212 of Filthy Royal

“Okay, Alpha.” She let him settle her on the bed and slide down next to her, his body curling around hers, his face inches from hers, his arms clutching her so close she didn’t think any space remained between them.

“Let’s rest now,” she whispered. “We can talk more about it when you’re ready.”

Damien’s arms contracted around her. “I’ll never be ready to let you go.”

She wanted to tell him he had to find a way for her sake, but her eyelids were already fluttering closed.

38

DAMIEN

Damien sensed the moment Scarlett’s breathing evened out, and she went lax in his arms. Slowly, carefully, his movements on autopilot, he slipped from the bed, covered her with the hide, typed out a brief message on his comms, and staggered to the door.

He wandered down the hallway. Stumbled.

This was not happening.

He would fix it.

Luc appeared, his skin sallow and expression crushed. Nikolai and Maxheim must have told him and the others about the doc’s prognosis. “Skolov—”

“Don’t. It’s not happening. She’ll be fine.”

“Damien—”

He shoved past the other male. “Stay with her.” It’s why he’d messaged him in the first place. “I… I’ll be back soon, but just in case, I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

No response.

For that, Damien was grateful. He couldn’t handle a conversation. Right now, he needed to focus.

He would fix this. Scarlett would be fine. He’d make sure of it.

His hand rubbed at his chest, the weight on his sternum greater than a shuttle, the storm inside whirling like shrapnel.

He stumbled farther down the hallway.

He was cracking into pieces and had no idea how to keep it from happening. Anger, he knew. Rage and brutality, he’d learned how to channel and endure. But this? This miasma of pressure and pain, of seething agony and the kind of helpless anguish, despair, and grief that wrapped around his windpipe and stole his breath? That he didn’t know how to survive.

One of the shuttle’s overhead lights flickered. Damned things had to be replaced regularly, but now… now it caught his attention. Now the dimming of the crystal, the growing darkness, hit with such force that he staggered back, and then leaped forward.

With a roar, Damien smashed his fist through the smooth graphene material. His fingers closed around crystal and wiring. Oblivious to the cuts, the blood, and the debris, he wrenched at it as if his life depended on it. The crystal snapped free with a crack. Breathing hard, he cradled it in his palm—only to watch the light go out.

No, no, no.

He sank to his knees.

Couldn’t catch his breath.

He’d made himself strong, trained himself to endure pain, and come back twice as hard.

But this time, there was no one to fight, and no one to blame.

There was only fear and helplessness, a tightness that stretched from his chest to his throat and made swallowing difficult. Made breathing next to impossible.

He’d never make it without her.

Couldn’t lose her like this.

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