Kelly Meade - Black Rook

“Brynn took a calculated risk in doing what she did.”

“What if the results aren’t worth it?”

Father lifted his eyebrows in silent question, seeming dismayed by the comment.

Knight faced his father. “Rook could still die, and even if he lives he’ll probably be disfigured. And now that Fiona’s dead, the other sisters have every excuse to rain hell down on us. Fiona might have been insane, but she was calculating. She did things with a purpose. From what little I saw of Victoria, the triplets are wound even tighter and have half the brainpower. We can’t anticipate them.”

“You’re right, Knight, but this is how things have shaken out. This is what we have to work with. Rook’s hanging on, and you’re still here, and I will take both of those blessings over guaranteed safety. We have every chance of defending this town against an assault, whether it happens in an hour, a week, or never. I know you were willing to sacrifice yourself for us, and I am not sorry that you’re here, instead of with them.”

The tiny capsule of poison in his pocket felt like a lead weight to Knight, holding him down and reminding him of the choice he’d made. Reminding him of the decision that had, once again, been taken out of his hands. He wasn’t sorry he was alive and with his family, or that Fiona was dead on the ground with half her head missing. He was just sorry that Rook had to pay the price for Knight’s failure.

Dr. Mike came into the small room with his stethoscope at the ready. He checked Rook’s pulse, heart, and blood pressure progress with a consistently benign expression that irritated Knight. When Dr. Mike silently added something to notes he’d already written on the bedside chart, Knight bit back the urge to growl.

“Well?” his father asked.

“Blood pressure’s still low, but there’s progress,” Dr. Mike said. “If he makes it to sunrise, I’d say he’s in good shape to pull through.”

Sunrise was hours away.

Dr. Mike continued, “I want him to shift as soon as possible tomorrow so there isn’t any permanent nerve damage to that shoulder. Won’t do much for scars, but at least he won’t lose the use of the arm.”

“I understand,” Father said. “How’s Jonas?”

“Second-degree burns. I patched him up and slapped him into a bed upstairs. He’ll recover just fine.”

“Did he happen to mention how he came to be involved tonight?”

Dr. Mike nodded. “Aye, the boy said he’s been hiding near the creek since yesterday. Said he didn’t understand his father kicking him out for acting the way he was told to act around Brynn Atwood, so he stayed close. Said he overheard the one named Fiona talking to Cassius, his father’s enforcer, about shooting Ms. Atwood if she didn’t come with them. He knew Fiona was the bad guy, so he killed Cassius and stole the rifle. The rest you know.”

“We’re very lucky he stayed close by.”

“Sounds like it. If we’re done, I need to see to my next patient.”

Father blinked. “Who else is injured?”

“Ms. Atwood.”

“What happened to Brynn?” Knight asked, startled.

“She scraped her knees to pieces at some point, and her ankle’s probably sprained.”

“She was trying to fight Geary when we got to the barn,” Father said. “Facing down a beast twice her size with nothing but a shovel.”

“That takes a lot of guts.”

She was protecting her mate, Knight realized. She’d fought for him. She should be by his side, too.

She had more than proved herself worthy of that place.

Brynn’s only experience with painkillers extended to two aspirin tablets at a time, so she wasn’t sure what to expect when Dr. Mike made her swallow actual narcotics while he cleaned her knees and wrapped her swollen ankle. The pills didn’t seem to be helping, and then suddenly the room blurred and everything the burly doctor said was hilarious. She was vaguely aware of being carried, and then deposited somewhere soft.

When she woke up later, thin slants of sunlight were strewn across the ceiling. She was in one of the bedrooms in Dr. Mike’s house. Her skinned knees were covered with a shiny layer of liquid bandage, and her right ankle was wrapped and propped up on a pillow. Someone had covered it with an ice pack that had long since warmed.

No more Vicodin for me.

Her ankle still ached, but the throb had dulled to manageable levels. Her calves were sore, her hands were raw, and her stomach growled loudly. She needed to do a lot of things, including eat, but nothing was as important as finding out Rook’s condition. She hadn’t really seen him since the barn, except in glimpses and snatches, and that wasn’t enough. Sunlight meant she’d been asleep for hours. If he’d died while she rested—

No.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The room tilted. She held still until the whirling sensation passed, and then gritted her teeth as the blood rushing down into her ankle made it throb twice as hard as before. She groaned at the idea of putting weight on it. Perhaps if she slid across the floor on her rear end, she could get to the stairs.

The door swung open and McQueen stepped inside with a wave of authority she felt more distinctly with each day she spent here—the power of the Alpha. And he’d come to see her. Her heart kicked. He didn’t look angry or grief-stricken, just exhausted, and that gave her hope.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Dizzy.” She was foolish for admitting it, but she didn’t much care. Her concern for Rook was stronger than her embarrassment. “I’m not used to such strong painkillers. I hadn’t planned to sleep for so long.”

“It was an exhausting night. Your body knew better.”

“I suppose. How’s Rook?”

He smiled, and the lovely expression cracked the fear enclosing her heart. “Would you like to see him?”

“Yes.”

Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms. She let him carry her downstairs, never once scared that he’d drop her. Thomas McQueen made her feel safe in a way her own father never had. But how could Archimedes Atwood, Prime Magus and perfectionist elemental, truly love a daughter who was always second choice? She was disappointed to finally understand this, and yet relieved, as well. She could stop trying to measure up to his unreachable expectations and just be herself.

Here.

With Rook.

The scents of cinnamon and warm bread greeted her in the waiting room. Bishop and Devlin sat on the couch eating something clumpy from ceramic bowls, which her nose told her was oatmeal. A sliced loaf of cinnamon raisin bread and a covered pot sat on a tray between them, and a coffee carafe stood on a nearby side table. They offered pleasant good-mornings as she and McQueen passed through. He nudged open the exam room door.

Knight stood with his back to the door, blocking her immediate view of the bed. He stepped back and to the side, gifting her with a gentle, haunted smile as he moved out of the way. Rook was propped up on several pillows, his body at a forty-five-degree angle. The bandages around his left arm and shoulder were white and seemed freshly changed, as were the gauze patches on his neck and cheek. Best of all, he was looking right at her.

Joy filled her nearly to bursting, and if she’d been able to leap from McQueen’s arms and fly to the bed, she would have. Instead, she allowed McQueen to sit her down on the edge of the bed, on Rook’s right side. She twined her fingers with his and squeezed, overwhelmed by the warmth of his skin and the pulse beating steadily beneath. Her own heart raced as her senses took him in, assuring her that he was alive.

“You look terrible,” Rook said.