Page 25 of Blade (Spartan Watchmen MC #5)

B eep. Beep. Beep.

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor was the first thing Lily became aware of as consciousness slowly returned. The second was a deep, throbbing pain in her abdomen and shoulder that even the fog of medication couldn't completely mask.

The third was the warm weight of someone holding her hand.

She struggled to open her eyes, her lids feeling impossibly heavy. When she finally managed it, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room sent spikes of pain through her skull, forcing her to close them again immediately.

"Lily?" A gruff, familiar voice. Blade's voice. "Baby girl, can you hear me?"

She tried to respond, but her throat was parched, raw. All that emerged was a dry croak.

"Here, ice chips." The sensation of something cold against her lips. "Just a few. Doctor's orders."

She accepted the ice gratefully, the cool moisture a blessed relief to her parched mouth. When she tried again to open her eyes, she did so more cautiously, squinting against the light until her vision adjusted.

Blade's face slowly came into focus above her. He was a mess; haggard, unshaven, dark circles beneath his eyes suggesting he hadn't slept in days. But his eyes... his eyes were alight with relief, with a desperate kind of hope as they met hers.

"Hey," she managed, her voice a raspy whisper.

"Hey yourself," he replied, a tremulous smile breaking through his exhausted expression. "Welcome back."

She tried to take stock of her situation. Hospital room. Monitors. IV lines. The distinct heaviness of bandages on her shoulder and abdomen. Memories began to filter back. The quarry, Jose, the exchange gone wrong. Gunfire. Pain. Darkness.

"Marcus?" she asked, the name taking significant effort to produce.

"He's okay," Blade assured her. "Recovering well. Thanks to you."

The last part was said with a complex mix of pride and something like fear.

"Everyone else?" Her tongue felt clumsy, unwilling to cooperate fully.

"All our people made it," Blade told her. "Some injuries, but nothing life-threatening." He paused, his hand tightening slightly around hers. "Except you."

The gravity in his tone told her how close it had been. "Bad?"

He nodded, swallowing hard. "Two gunshot wounds. The shoulder was clean through and through. But the abdominal shot... it nicked your liver, causing significant internal bleeding. You were in surgery for six hours."

Six hours. No wonder he looked like he hadn't slept. "How long...?"

"Three days," he supplied, correctly interpreting her fragmented question. "You've been in and out of consciousness, mostly out. This is the first time you've been truly lucid."

Three days of her life, gone. Three days of Blade sitting beside her, waiting, hoping.

"Sorry," she whispered, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was apologizing for. For scaring him? For getting shot? For not being more careful?

He shook his head firmly. "No. Don't apologize. Not for being brave. Not for saving Marcus. Not for any of it."

“Guess you aren’t going to spank my ass for endangering my life?” she teased.

“Oh, you still have the one coming you earned previously. But not for this. We gave you permission. Never again. Never fucking again. You’ll never be in danger again as long as I live.”

She tried to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "Jose?"

A shadow crossed Blade's face. "He got away in the confusion. But don't worry about that now. Focus on healing."

But there was something in his expression, something hard and cold beneath the relief and tenderness, that told her Jose's escape wasn't the end of the story. That Blade had plans for the man who'd nearly taken her from him.

"You haven't left, have you?" she asked, realizing suddenly that the exhaustion in his face wasn't just from worry, but from maintaining a constant vigil.

"No," he admitted. "The hospital staff tried to throw me out on day two. Lucky had to pull some strings with the administrator. The charge nurse in the ER is Samantha. Her husband is the head of the ER and a member of Valhalla. I wasn’t leaving your side and they understood."

Of course he hadn't left. Not Blade. Not her protective, possessive enforcer who took his responsibilities so seriously. Who took her safety as his primary mission.

Who loved her.

"Your chest," she said, suddenly remembering his injury. "Are you okay?"

A hint of sheepishness crossed his face. "Tore my stitches coming after you. Doc was... not pleased. But I'm fine. They patched me up here after they stabilized you."

"Coming after me?" she repeated, confused. "But you weren't supposed to be at the quarry."

"I wasn't," he acknowledged. "Not until I heard you were down. Then wild horses couldn't have kept me away."

The simple statement, delivered in that matter-of-fact tone, made her heart clench. He'd come for her. Despite his injuries, despite the doctors' orders, despite everything. He'd come for her.

"I killed two of Jose's men," she said suddenly, the memory surfacing with unexpected clarity. "When they tried to grab Makenzie. I didn't even think about it. I just... reacted."

Blade nodded, unsurprised. "Your training kicked in. Your father's lessons."

"I'm not sorry," she admitted, searching his face for judgment and finding none.

"You shouldn't be," he replied firmly. "They were trying to hurt you, hurt people you care about. You did what you had to do."

His simple acceptance of her actions, of the violence she'd committed, was strangely comforting. No condemnation. No shock that his little girl could take lives when necessary.

Just understanding. Respect, even.

"The club," she began, struggling to organize her thoughts through the fog of medication. "Are they still...?"

"Looking for Jose?" he supplied. "Yes. Savage is leading the hunt. Jose's gone to ground, but he can't hide forever. Not from us."

The cold promise in those words should have disturbed her. Instead, she found herself nodding slightly. Jose had to be stopped. Had to answer for Tim's torture, for Marcus's abduction, for the bloodshed at the quarry.

For nearly taking her away from Blade.

"I should be there," Blade continued, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "But I couldn't... I needed to be here. When you woke up."

"I'm glad you are," she whispered, squeezing his hand weakly. "I needed... needed to see you too."

His expression softened. "Doc said once you're awake and stable, we can discuss transferring you back to the clubhouse. He's set up a proper recovery room there. More comfortable than this place. More secure, too."

The thought of leaving the hospital was both appealing and frightening. "Is that safe? Medically, I mean?"

"Only if you're stable," he assured her. "And we'd have round-the-clock care. Doc's got a full team; nurses, medical equipment, everything you'd get here."

She wasn't surprised. The club clearly had significant resources, connections that extended far beyond what a typical motorcycle club might command.

Another reminder that the Spartan Watchmen weren't ordinary bikers, but highly trained former military operating with precision and discipline even in civilian life.

"Okay," she agreed, the prospect of recovering in a more secure, more private location definitely appealing. "When?"

"Let's see how the next twenty-four hours go," he suggested. "If you continue to improve, maybe tomorrow."

She nodded slightly, already feeling exhaustion pulling at her again. Fighting against it, she struggled to keep her eyes open, to stay with him a little longer.

"Rest," Blade told her, noticing her battle. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Promise."

"Don't want... to sleep yet," she protested weakly. "Just got... back to you."

A soft smile crossed his face, tender in a way few people ever got to see. "I'm not going anywhere, baby girl. Neither are you. We have time now."

The reassurance, coupled with the gentle stroke of his thumb across the back of her hand, was enough to let her surrender to the fatigue pulling at her. Her eyes drifted closed, the beeping of the monitor fading as sleep reclaimed her.

The next time Lily woke, the light in the hospital room had changed, suggesting several hours had passed. The pain was more pronounced now, the medication wearing thin, but her head felt clearer.

True to his word, Blade was still there, his large frame somehow folded into the uncomfortable hospital chair, his hand still holding hers. He appeared to be dozing, his head tilted at an angle that would surely leave him with a crick in his neck.

She watched him for a moment, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to study him unobserved. He was sleeping like a baby, snoring softly.

And he was beautiful. Strong features, the shadow of stubble now a full beard after days without shaving, dark hair falling across his forehead in a way he'd never allow when awake.

Her protector. Her warrior.

Her Daddy, though they'd barely begun to explore that aspect of their relationship before chaos had intervened yet again.

As if sensing her scrutiny, his eyes opened, immediately alert despite his fatigue. His gaze focused on her face, relief washing over his features as he found her awake and lucid.

"Hey," he said, his voice rough with sleep. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," she replied with a weak attempt at humor. "Twice."

A small smile quirked his lips. "Yeah, that tracks. Pain level?"

"Climbing," she admitted. "But tolerable for now."

He nodded, reaching for the call button. "Nurse should be coming to check your vitals soon anyway. They can adjust your meds."

"Have you slept at all?" she asked, noting the deepening shadows beneath his eyes. "I mean really slept, not just catnaps in that torture device they call a chair."

"I'm fine," he deflected, a non-answer that told her everything she needed to know.

"Blade," she pressed, using what little strength she had to squeeze his hand. "You need rest too. Real rest."