“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why, but I’m going to find out. She was off it for a while, and she seemed fine,” I said.Except for the voices.
Filippa went to a drawer and pulled out a syringe and a tourniquet.
“I’ll take a full panel and get her blood tested for everything Ican think of. It’s a starting point. Other than that, I’m going to give her a drip of fluids and saline. She’s dehydrated and might not have eaten in a few days.”
My gut clenched at the words. That fucker in the church had starved my angel. He had kept water and food from her, imprisoned her somewhere, when she’d already suffered that exact fate for three fucking years. Black anger billowed from my heart, the same cold, black hue as the smoke that had risen from the top of Hallow Hall as it burned, taking all the evidence of Pavol’s, Vargas’s, and Benedict’s crimes with it.
“What can I do?” I asked hoarsely.
Filippa eyed me cautiously. I stood over them, fists clenched hard enough to draw blood.
“Go and calm down somewhere. Get a cup of coffee or some ice water. Try the matcha tea from the cafeteria. We’ll be here awhile,” Filippa snapped.
I turned away, my frustration not allowing me to make a civil comeback. I took two steps when she lashed out.
“Stop right there! You come to a goddamn hospital with that much bleeding... from what? A stab wound? And don’t think to get yourself patched up?”
I stared down at my thigh.Oh, right.
“It isn’t a stab wound,” I told her coolly. “It’s a gunshot.”
My blood had been pooling around my boot, apparently, while I was standing over Katarina.
“Mass.” Filippa seemed to be at the end of her tether with me. She stopped right in front of me and gave me the once-over. “What are you doing? Getting shot? Running around the city with unconscious women? I’m not even going to ask about the robes or the fire damage... Are you still doing all of this? Do you still not care if you live or die?”
Her voice broke on the last word. She was emotional like that; she always had been. A bleeding heart wrapped in a cool and analytical doctor’s body.
“I do care. I’m here because I care about something finally,” I said quietly.
Filippa sighed. “Revenge?”
I shook my head. “Her. That woman there. I care about her—enough to...” I was unsure where I was going with that sentence. It was a fundamental shift, soul deep. For so long, I’d lived with emptiness inside, knowing the end was only ever one bad call away. Most of the time, I welcomed the knowledge that life was fleeting and fickle and at any moment it could all be over.
Until now.
I care about her enough to live.
“Who is she?” Filippa asked, curious.
“She’s my responsibility,” I heard myself say. “Mine to protect. Mine to save. Mine to heal. Mine.”
Filippa raised an eyebrow at Katarina’s sleeping face. “She must be someone special to have broken through your bullshit and made you see sense.”
“Which is?”
“Life is for the living. Now, I’m going to check that bullet hole, so I can sleep tonight knowing I did everything I could to actually give you a chance to live a real life for once... with the woman you love.”
Love?
Filippa pushed me into the chair beside Katarina’s bed and bustled around, setting up supplies for cleaning the gunshot wound. I studied my sleeping angel’s face.
Love. So, that’s what this terrible, precious thing was in my chest, the hope and fear all rolled into one. Love.
“Right, no bitching, or it’ll take longer,” Filippa said, wheeling over a tray and her chair. She tapped the bed beside Katarina’s hand. “Foot up here.”
I followed her commands. She pushed my robes out the way.
“Okay, in the interest of passing the time, I want to know. Why the fuck are you dressed like the priest from hell?”