Page 70

Then there was nothing.

***

For a long time, there was nothing.

The overwhelming smell of iron, but no light, no sound. Just darkness. He couldn’t even feel himself breathe. Was he breathing?

It may have been eternity, or it may have been seconds. Anthony didn’t know. His consciousness drifted until pain forced him back, a terrible blaze spreading throughout his entire body.

He had a body. It hurt, it hurt worse than anything he’d ever experienced, but it was there.

He tried to breathe.

Razor blades invaded his throat, the air itself an icy poison. He whimpered, scared that any movement would increase the torture, but he forced his eyes open.

The light must have been dim, just a flickering candle, but it was so bright it was as if his retinas had blown out. His vision was overexposed and blurry. He squinted, groaning.

“You are okay, my love. I am here.”

Anthony couldn’t move his head to look. He gave his pupils a moment to adjust to the room. When he spoke, his voice was a weak whisper.

“Freddie?”

The face of Anthony’s mate came into focus. The terrified concern there hurt Anthony’s heart. Despite the pain, Anthony was overjoyed that Freddie was alive.

“Take it slow, my sweet,” Freddie said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“What happened?”

Freddie’s brow furrowed. “Don’t worry about—”

“Please, Freddie.” Anthony lifted his hand to Freddie’s forearm, squeezing with what little energy he had. “I need to know. What happened?”

Freddie sighed, and with his free arm reached to a small, mahogany nightstand. Anthony's eyes had adjusted such that he could see the entire room now. It was an elegant but simply furnished white bedroom. He lay in a four-poster bed. A bit of greenery was visible through the window next to him.

“Drink some water, and I’ll tell you.”

Freddie lifted the old-fashioned crystal glass to his lips, and Anthony let the liquid spill into his mouth. It hurt going down, but as it did, a cool feeling spread, soothing his ragged throat. When it hit his stomach, though, there was a wave of nausea, but it subsided quickly enough.

“What do you remember?”

Anthony blinked. “I…I staked him. Azarian. The bastard.”

Freddie stroked his forehead, and the ache in his bones calmed a little.

“You did, my love. I’m so proud of you. If you hadn’t, I don’t know how that fight would have ended.”

“He’s dead?” Sudden dread filled him. He couldn’t keep running from the asshole. “He has to be, right?”

“You hit his heart. His death was inevitable. Do you remember what happened next?”

“I…Gabriela!” Anthony’s hand went to his stomach, searching for the wound, but all he found was the faintest of scars. “She gutted me. But…I shouldn’t have healed so fast.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” A nervous look came over Freddie’s face. He was tiptoeing around something. “Gabriela was more powerful than we imagined. Garrett is formidable, but she had the upper hand. When you took out her son, she threw Garrett off and attacked you.”

“Did you kill her?”

“No. She was fast. Faster than me, even. She escaped down the subway tunnels.”