Page 15 of Grave Revelations (Prophecies of Angels and Demons #3)
Chapter 14
Rebecca
Azazel held out a hand. “Come, I’ll take you.”
The utter defeat in his eyes was a dagger to Rebecca’s very soul. Was her request so unreasonable? Simon was alive. She had to see him, had to know he was okay after everything that had happened.
So why did it feel like her request was akin to taking a blade and running it through both their hearts?
“Okay,” she said, reaching for his outstretched arm. She nestled into his chest as he stepped out of their makeshift home and lifted into the sky. There was no physical pain, but something pulled her down, dragging her back to the shelter he’d crafted. A piece of her remained on that bed of vines where she’d fallen asleep, hoping he would return.
They moved silently through the night, the slow flap of Azazel’s wings a now familiar sound. For the first time, she wished she could hear his thoughts and know what he was thinking.
He’d wanted her to stay with him. To leave Simon in a hospital bed, recovering from injuries she’d caused.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest.
He said nothing .
They landed atop a flat roof swallowed by a sea of asphalt. It was jarring by comparison to the forest she’d left.
He set her down, backing up. “Room two-thirty-seven.”
“Azazel, wait.”
In a blink, he was gone, leaving her alone on the roof. She wrapped her arms around herself as a chill ran down her spine, waiting to see if he would return.
When she was sure he wouldn’t, she moved to the rooftop door, pressing against it, and tread lightly down the empty corridor to the stairwell. Stopping on the second floor, she followed the signs at the end of each hall until she reached room two-thirty-seven and took a few deep breaths, steeling herself.
Pressing both hands against the door, she pushed.
The room was dark, a thin sliver of moonlight trickling between the blinds. Machines beeped and whirred in the corner, and in the center of the room, a curtain obstructed her view of a bed.
She slid it aside, coming to stand beside Simon, and let out her first real breath in days. He was bruised and bandaged but alive.
“Simon,” she whispered.
He cracked swollen lids, and a whimper escaped her. She reached for his hand. “Simon, you’re alive.” The words were choked, and her fingers trembled as she held onto his very real, very alive hands.
One amber eye fell on her, the other too swollen to open. His lips parted, and he let out a sigh.
“Don’t talk. Save your strength. I’m here.” Her voice broke as she dipped her head to his forehead. “I’m here.”
Rebecca lifted heavy lids. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was, half expecting Azazel to grumble something about how long she'd slept or complain that she snored. She peered around a sparse room lit by pre-dawn rays streaming through raised blinds and clattered to her feet, wiping a line of drool from her chin.
Simon was where he’d been last night, lashes resting gently against his bruised cheeks. A machine beside his bed beeped steadily.
She reached for his hand, squeezing limp fingers and her shoulders drooped.
A woman in blue scrubs bustled into the room, checking his charts and reading the vitals from the monitor.
“?Es este tu marido?”
“What… Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”
The nurse pursed her lips. “Your husband?”
“Um... He’s mine.” Rebecca dipped her chin, and the nurse sidled by them, leaving them alone again.
She dropped into the chair she’d spent the night in and yawned, mind spinning with questions. Why hadn’t he healed? Why were his eyes no longer yellow? In truth, none of it mattered. He was alive. She could take him home where he could see the best doctors.
But what about Rhea? Sophia? Her coven?
One thing at a time. Simon needed to be relocated to the US. Then, she could figure out the rest. Planning gave her a sense of purpose.
She rubbed absently at her chest. Azazel had dropped her on the roof and hadn't looked back. Would she ever see him again? She shouldn’t care. Everything was twisted in her head, jumbling together.
A soft moan brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up. Simon’s dark lashes fluttered open, and amber eyes met hers.
“Rebecca?” His cracked, scratchy voice struggled over the word.
“Shhh. I’m here. You’re going to be fine.”
He blinked a few times, his eyes falling closed, but his arm lifted, hand stretching for hers. She grabbed it and squeezed.
When she’d sat by his side long enough that she was sure he wouldn’t die at any moment, she gently extricated her fingers from his and left the room in search of a phone. Hers was probably still on its charger beside her bed in Bath. But she could use someone’s phone to call… She stopped in the hall outside Simon’s room, leaning into the wall. Who did she have to call?
Commotion from the end of the hall made her look up as a woman in a teal suit and flashy heels strode toward her, flanked by several nurses and staff.
The group chatted animatedly as they moved past her and, to Rebecca’s horror, turned and stepped into Simon’s room. She followed them in, her mouth going slack as the woman in teal barked orders in Spanish, and everyone jumped to respond.
No one noticed her pressed against the wall as paperwork was shuffled in front of the woman. Her charcoal nails clicked the Mont Blanc pen in her hand, and she began signing.
“Excuse me,” Rebecca said.
The woman looked up, perfectly lined chocolate brown eyes narrowing on her, cataloging every stray tree branch and streak of dirt. The nurses and doctors paid no attention to Rebecca, focusing on the woman now appraising her as if she were the gum on the bottom of her shoe.
The woman was of average height, but under her scrutiny, Rebecca felt small.
When she said nothing and continued to stare, Rebecca went on, “Are you the doctor?”
Her glossy lips turned down, and in a perfect American accent, she said. “I’m Simon’s business partner.”