Page 195 of Savage Hearts

In a life full of bad moments, this one is the absolute worst.

I open my eyes and glower at her. “No,” I say, my voice hard. “I’malive because ofyou. Because you took a bullet meant for me. Don’t get it confused in your head. And don’t thank me.”

I turn my attention back to her sutures, my heart filled with the tortured song of a thousand howling wolves.

But Riley, stubborn smartass that she is, doesn’t let my glower intimidate her.

In a voice both innocent and tart, she says, “Am I allowed to thank you for taking away the big scary moose?”

I’ve met hardened killers less confident than this. And definitely less annoying.

Whatever she sees on my face when I glance up at her makes her smile.

“I mean elk.”

“Be. Quiet.”

Eyes dancing with mischief, she whispers, “Because I really hated that thing.”

In Russian, I tell her she’s a giant pain in my ass, then tape a fresh bandage to her stomach. Finished with that, I go to the closet to get her something to wear. Without asking myself why, I choose a shirt identical to the one I’m wearing, then help her sit up and put it on.

It’s enormous on her, like a tent. She doesn’t seem to mind, because she’s too busy sniffing the sleeve and looking heartbreakingly happy about something.

That expression is instantaneously seared onto my mind’s eye. I know I’ll come back to it again and again after she’s gone, taking comfort in the memory.

That alone will be able to sustain me to the end of my days.

“Lie back.”

Miraculously, she does as I command without argument, then watches me in silence as I pull the shirt down over her hips. I pull the towel out from beneath her, hesitating only briefly before asking, “Panties on or off?”

She answers by lifting her hips.

I reach under the hem of the shirt and gently pull her wet panties down her legs, then go into the bathroom with them and the wet towel and lay both over the edge of the tub.

Then I brace my arms against the sink, bow my head, and struggle to get my breathing under control.

I’m in love with her. I’d burn down entire cities for her. I’ll follow her to the ends of the earth and kill anyone who dares to upset her and spend the rest of my life with her ghost inside my head.

And I can never let her know any of it.

Inhaling slowly, I raise my head and stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes stare back at me, and though I expected them to be empty as they usually are, now I see an odd, unnerving glint.

It takes a moment for me to realize what the glint is. When I do, I’m afraid for the first time I can remember.

That strange spark reflected back at me is something maybe even more powerful than love. Something that makes people do even more foolish things, take even greater risks, keep fighting when all is lost and oblivion is not only possible, it’s inevitable.

Hope.

When Riley took a bullet meant for me, she also set something else into motion. Something I’ve only heard about in fairy tales or storybooks, a thing only prophets or sorcerers can do.

She resurrected me from the dead.

Not only that, but she also gave me a reason to live.

Dazed, I return to the bedroom. My little resurrectionist is yawning, so I kiss her on the forehead and tuck the blankets around her body, making sure she’s snug. Then I retreat to a safe space—the chair in the corner—sit down, and close my eyes.

Just when I think she’s drifted off, she murmurs my name.