Page 25 of Blind Devotion (Letters of Ruin #1)

I hated hospitals and clinics. They were the places where compassion went to die.

I was desensitized to killing, but many who worked here were desensitized to health problems—mental or otherwise.

They saw so much of it in these places, so frequently, none of it swayed them anymore.

A patient was just another face, another statistic, another bill to invoice.

These sorts were the first people who lost patience with an eight-year-old child admitted for lacerations and burns down his arms, hands, and back, a child who screamed and lashed out whenever someone neared.

I needed an IV, so they held me down in numbers as I thrashed.

Every bandage dressing change was an event, but the boy I’d learned to be refused to be quiet and accept what others wanted just because they wanted it.

I’d had enough of that during my month in captivity when they pitted Yannick and me against each other.

The doctors and nurses thought I needed comfort, so they stopped by my room frequently to check on me.

They smiled and cajoled and attempted to reason with me.

They spoke to me as if they knew me and talked about how fortunate I was.

They touched me freely, acting as if I were the irrational one when I got aggressive.

They treated me like an eight-year-old when I shed that skin the moment Yannick and I were captured because of my hesitation and youth.

At first, when none of that worked, they doubled down, but soon came the comments to my parents, the snarky attitude, the eye rolls, the rough and abrupt treatment.

Not once did they or my parents allow me to visit my brother—I was too much of a risk to him, they decided—and yet Yannick blamed me for that abandonment until he died.

To top it off, they looked down on Erel—the boy who’d defied his abusive parent to free Yannick and me—because of his threadbare clothing and shabby hair.

No matter how ill I was, no matter how extensive my injuries, I only once came back to a hospital or clinic after that, five years ago.

Until ma petite rescapée came along. I was breaking all my rules for her.

I came to her bedside after her surgeries, compelled to be there.

Here I was again, within these cold, white, sterile walls and tiles, for her.

She needed someone with her, and compulsion forced my hand. It had to be me.

Not Alizé—she’d corrupt Tessa. Not Erel—he’d sooner garrote her. Not Thibault—he’d lose her in the first crowd. Not Michel, my chief of security, or anyone else—because fuck that, no man but me was going to place a hand on her.

I paced the halls like a mad fool waiting for her to be called back by the ophthalmologist. A woman’s voice called out a number.

Not ours. We had left the radiology center within minutes after she returned from her scan to drive a quarter of an hour to the next town over to arrive here, one of the last places I wanted to be. Any minute now.

“Never ever never did I think you, of all people, could be such a nervous wreck,” Tessa said with amusement from her seat.

I stopped short, brows furrowed. “What did you just say?”

“I mean, I knew you were a grump and high-strung, but don’t get in a tizzy. I’d almost think you care.”

“Say the first thing again.” I crouched before her.

“What?”

I growled my frustration. “Repeat it, the first thing you said.”

Her brow scrunched. “Never did I––”

“No, how you said it before.”

“Never ever never?”

My mouth moistened. My ears rang. Only one other person I knew ever used that phrasing. It was impossible.

A new number was called.

“That’s us.” Tessa rose to her feet.

I guided her past the open consultation door, too preoccupied with her wording to realize she shut the door behind us, effectively giving the doctor permission to share her information. Not that I was giving her a choice either way.

I sat off to the side as the ophthalmologist went through standard questions that Tessa answered during the doctor’s daily visits to my estate. She removed Tessa’s eye dressings.

A thin red scar traversed the eyelids of Tessa’s right eye, surrounded by what appeared to be a rash.

The eye itself was murky white in its center, circled by a vibrant green that had me rubbing at my own eyes in case I was imagining it.

Her left eye’s iris, aside from the same rash, was entirely that same green.

Those eyes, that phrasing—" never ever never” .

How was it possible this woman kept bringing back to the forefront of my thoughts a person I tried so thoroughly to forget?

Tessa deserved better. She wasn’t an echo of a girl I once knew.

She was the woman who made me set aside my principles.

The woman who drove me senseless. The one who made me put the rest of the world on hold.

I wanted to hear her voice every day. I wanted to bask in her presence.

It was troubling, aggravating, and infuriating, and yet I looked forward to it more and more.

The doctor performed an optical coherence tomography, then went over the results of the CT scan, which she had ordered a rush on.

As suspected, the scarring in her right eye was extensive.

Long term, the option for surgery may be reviewed for the removal of the scar tissue, but for now, the doctor diagnosed the eye with complete vision loss.

With light perception and some distinguishable color, her left eye held a better chance of partial vision recovery within the next few months.

The graft had taken well, and it was only due to prolonged exposure to salt water and delayed treatment that her recovery wasn’t more optimistic.

The slight rash scarring, however, was permanent caused by whatever chemical had burned her eyes.

My lips twitched as the doctor fitted her with what looked like breathable goggles with a head strap. I stood at her back, a silent sentinel in case she needed comfort, but Tessa accepted the news without a hint of frustration or anguish.

“I understand,” was all she said. Maddening woman. Mesmerizing, astounding, and most of all, surprising. She took it all in stride with more strength and poise than many of the toughest men I knew.

She quietly thanked the doctor as we left.

We walked through the entire clinic with her mood silent and somber. No smile on those pouty, plush lips. No joy at having the bandages removed and replaced by eye shields that put that stunning green on display.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m fine.”

Rain battered the ground, splashing up and into the dry area below the awning of the clinic. The humidity was stifling. My collar clung to my skin.

She still hadn’t said a word. I didn’t like it. Ma petite rescapée was an upbeat chatterbox who let very little get her down. She smiled. She dared. She rose above it all like an untouchable queen, ready to lay waste to her enemies.

I pulled her into me and backed her up with a firm hold on her waist until her back hit the wall. A gasp escaped her, and I shoved down the need to capture it for myself.

“Get it out now. Whatever it is.”

“Let go of me.”

She knocked her fists against me. It was cute she thought she could move me. Our size difference had never before been so obvious, with her eyes reaching no higher than my chin.

“This isn’t funny, Adrien. I’m not in the mood.”

“Exactly.” I cradled her cheek with one hand. “This isn’t like you.”

“So now you know me?”

“I know you’re hurting. Tell me why?”

“You don’t get everything you want.”

Her fists pummeled against my chest with weak hits. Her eyes glistened through the eye shield. Tears leaked out, pooling at the edge of the silicone. I pried the patch up and let the flood wash down her cheeks.

“I have you.”

Her body shook against mine. “You don’t mean that.”

I wiped away the wet trails on her cheeks, her skin soft and luscious.

“I do. You’re safe.”

“Am I? Or is it just until the next time your knife is at my throat?”

She’d never been more beautiful than she was now, flushed with anger, almost combusting with it.

Bitable parted pink lips just begging for me to take them.

I thumbed her bottom lip down. Her breath hitched, and when I let go, her lip bounced back in place.

I had always avoided kissing before. Never seen the appeal, not if it meant possible pain on contact.

“There’s no knife. Now is all that matters.”

“What about if now isn’t good enough?”

“It can be. That’s up to you.” My forehead pressed to hers. That green, no matter how scarred or surrounded by redness, sucked me in. “I’ve got you, Tessa. I swear. Nothing is taking you away from me but me. You can be certain of that.”

“Cryptic shit like that isn’t helping.”

I chuckled.

“So bitter.” I kissed the wetness below her right eye. “So resentful.” My lips switched to the other side, enjoying the taste of her, aching for more. “So full of ire. Isn’t talking what you women like best? Getting things off your chest? Chatting until all those around you bleed from their ears?”

“Wow, you’re really helping me to open up,” she mocked with a breathlessness that had me pressing into her.

Her breath stuttered as my cock, at half-mast, made contact with her stomach.

“Say the word,” I whispered in her ear, “I’d love nothing more than to spread you wide.”

“Adrien,” she nearly mewled at the innuendo, her hips undulating against me. A tigress reduced to a little kitten at my command. “Everyone would know.”

“You think I give a damn?” My hand circled her throat, thumbing her pulse like she liked to do to me. “You’re mine, little survivor. Let the whole world know it.”