Page 91 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts (Hospital for Immortal Creatures #3)

Mikhail

Coincidences exist only in a na?ve mind – one that believes bad luck is a bizarre twist of fate. ‘Fate’ is the excuse when you refuse to take responsibility for your actions. And for your thoughts.

Mikhail lowered his gaze to the letter Gea had left for Amelia.

If Gea had still been alive, Mikhail would have strangled her with his own hands. All this time, she’d been steering Amelia’s life without a care for her inexperience – her youth. It wasn’t fair to take everything from her. To burden her with such tasks.

He grabbed the metal cup from the bedside table and hurled it at the wall with all his might. Water splashed across the wall and trickled down in thin rivulets.

“I’m sorry, little beast. You weren’t drinking it anyway,” he muttered, frowning at Amelia’s pale face.

Not that you can hear me.

She wasn’t dead. But she wasn’t alive, either. She existed in a state of in-between, one that could last forever – or end in an instant if her heart gave out.

The healers said her brain was dead, but Mikhail refused to accept that.

Her body also refused to give up. Strands of black had appeared in her hair, which had frightened him at first because he didn’t understand it.

Later, he’d convinced himself it was a good sign – perhaps a manifestation of the magic in her blood.

Then her nails had darkened.

He’d summoned a witch who practised traditional magic, hoping for answers.

“Pray she dies,” the witch had said, “because you don’t know what will be left of her if she does wake.”

Mikhail had clenched his fist around her throat, ready to tear her head from her shoulders. Fortunately, Constantine had been around and stopped him.

Next, he’d called upon a vampire who specialised in alternative healing methods – practices Mikhail had mocked for years. She had taken one look at Amelia and said, “She’s suffering of a broken heart.”

Mikhail had thrown her out, convinced she was a fraud.

Now, he ran his fingers across Amelia’s forehead, the chill of her skin making him shiver in fear that she had passed. Then, her chest still rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and the sight also calmed his breathing.

He didn’t know what she was to him, nor what he was to her. Nor whether they could ever be anything to each other after all they had endured.

But he would pray for her.

He would exchange his most prized possession for her.

He would shed blood for her.

Though he hadn’t told her that.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be.”

***

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