Page 47 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

thirty-one

Asher

" Y ou look like hell."

Kade's voice cuts through the antiseptic haze clouding my thoughts. The scent burns my nostrils. Sharp chemicals mixed with something softer, warmer. Vanessa's scent, but wrong. Tainted.

"Forty-seven hours." The words scrape my throat raw. My back remains rigid against the corridor wall, every muscle fiber screaming from prolonged tension. "Remy dismissed me twenty-six minutes ago after correcting their dosage calculation. Twice."

Coffee appears in my peripheral vision. Dark roast, black. The ceramic burns against my palm, my split knuckles stinging as I accept it, steam carrying bitter heat that grounds me for exactly three seconds.

"The team's rotating shifts." Kade positions himself where he can monitor both approaches to Vanessa's room. Classic overwatch. "You don't have to stand guard alone."

"Yes, I do."

The monitor beyond the door beeps steadily. One-point-seven-second intervals. I've counted forty-three thousand, two hundred and sixteen heartbeats since her vital signs returned. Each one carves deeper into my chest.

My jaw muscles spasm. I force them to relax, tasting copper where I've bitten my tongue. The coffee scalds going down, but the heat centers me enough to think tactically.

"We need Miguel Reyes."

Kade's eyebrows lift. "Her family's been notified, but—"

"Not for emotional support." My words slice through his assumption. "He's an ER doctor in San Francisco. Mentioned cases when I had dinner with them. Identical symptoms. Dilated pupils, controlled movements, chemical restraint."

The admission hangs between us. Dinner with her family. Meeting her parents. Actions that cross every professional boundary I've maintained for years.

"Meeting the parents already?" Kade's mouth quirks upward. "Must be serious."

Heat crawls up my neck. I drink more coffee to hide the reaction, but nothing escapes Kade's awareness.

"Strategic decision."

"Right. Strategic." His tone carries dry amusement. "Because Filipino family dinners are standard asset protection protocol."

My grip tightens on the cup. Ceramic practically cracks under pressure. "She's not just an asset."

The words escape before I can contain them. A truth I refuse acknowledge out loud, not even to myself. My chest constricts as the implications sink in.

Kade's expression shifts, amusement fading into something more serious. Recognition.

"Funny how you can see it clearly when it's someone else." My voice drops lower, steady despite the chaos in my chest. "Alina was just a journalist. Asset protection only. Until she wasn't."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Direct hit.

"That's different—"

"Is it?" I drain the coffee, bitter heat burning away the last of my filters. "How long did you insist she meant nothing while planning to level half the city to keep her safe?"

Silence stretches between us. Kade's blue eyes hold mine, and I see the exact moment he recognizes his own obsession reflected back at him.

"Clearly," he says finally, the single word carrying extra weight.

A nurse exits Vanessa's room. I straighten immediately, muscles coiling as I analyze every micro-expression for information. She nods reassuringly before continuing down the corridor, shoes squeaking against the polished floor.

"His exact words were 'something I've never seen before, but I'm seeing it repeatedly.'" My eyes track the nurse until she disappears around the corner. "Miguel's conducting his own investigation. Three patients in the last month. All women, all with identical symptoms to Vanessa."

Kade pulls out his phone, fingers moving across the screen. "I'll have Alina arrange transport for Dr. Reyes. Priority clearance, full security detail." He looks up from the device. "We'll need to brief him on what he's walking into."

"I'll handle that."

Kade motions down the corridor. I follow, calculating the perfect distance—close enough to hear any change in Vanessa's monitors but far enough for minimal privacy. Seventeen steps from her door.

"Civilian doctor. Classified facility." Kade's voice drops lower, concern evident in those clipped words. The unspoken question hangs between us: Is your judgment compromised?

"His clearance can be handled. Cole can create temporary credentials. Need-to-know basis only." My fingers twitch with the need to start coordinating immediately.

"I'll personally secure him from landing to facility. Full blackout protocols." The plan forms with mathematical certainty in my mind. "Encrypted comms, blacked-out transport, no digital trail. We bring him in blind and remove him the same way."

Kade studies my face, assessing whether emotion has overridden logic. Three days ago, I'd have questioned bringing another civilian into our secured location.

When Kade hesitates, something inside me fractures.

"This isn't negotiable." The edge in my voice surprises even me.

My fingers clench around the cup, calculated pressure threatening to crush it. I force them to relax, one digit at a time.

"She needs the best medical care available." I lower my voice, aware that emotion is seeping through my carefully maintained control. "Miguel Reyes is the best option."

"Wouldn't that be a conflict of interest?" Kade tenses.

"No one would want her to get better more than Miguel. And Remy can provide the objectivity he'd need."

Kade's shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. Decision made.

"I'm just surprised you're not planning to rappel into his hospital and extract him yourself."

A sound escapes my throat, almost laughter, rough around the edges. "Considered it. Too many variables."

Without thinking, I drive my elbow into his shoulder. Calibrated contact, more force than necessary for casual interaction. Kade's eyes widen before he steps forward, pulling me into a brief embrace.

One second. Two. Three. My limit reached.

I step back, hand flexing against unexpected sensory input. Even after sharing a bed, physical contact outside combat situations still registers as foreign, but not... unpleasant. The realization disturbs me more than the contact itself.

"Get some rest," Kade orders, checking his watch. "You look like death."

My attention snaps back to Vanessa's door. The monitor's rhythm remains steady, but my heartbeat hammers against my ribs. Rest means leaving her unguarded. Unacceptable variables.

"Asher." My first name carries weight when Kade uses it. "She's going to survive this."

A single nod. Nothing more to say.

His boots echo measured patterns against concrete as he moves away. I resume position against the wall. Back straight, weight distributed, sight lines clear to both corridor approaches and her medical bay.

The antiseptic smell intensifies with each breath, sharp and wrong mixed with traces of her presence. Footsteps approach from the far end of the hallway, and my awareness shifts automatically, noticing rhythm and weight. Medical staff. Authorized.

Even here, in the most secure location in the city, my hand stays within six inches of my weapon. Not from immediate threat assessment, but from the simple fact that she's vulnerable, and my body refuses to stand down.

The monitor skips a beat.

My hand moves to my weapon before conscious thought processes the sound. Just equipment fluctuation, nothing more. But in that split second of terror, when her heartbeat faltered, something fundamental shifts inside my chest.

I'm not guarding an asset anymore.

I'm protecting the only thing in this world that matters.

And I'll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.

Sixty-seven minutes. The number burns behind my eyes like a sniper scope held too long in the desert sun.

Every sound from Vanessa's room etches itself into memory. Another nurse rotation, medication cart wheels squeaking past, the soft beep of monitors that should sound reassuring but don't.

My back is still pressed against the hallway wall. The pressure doesn't stop the fractures spreading through my chest, doesn't hold together what's threatening to shatter completely.

Distance calculations used to be my refuge. Clean mathematics. Predictable outcomes.

Fourteen feet to her bedside. The space might as well be an ocean.

Through the glass panel, medical staff flow in patterns. The older nurse moves with steady hands, competent. The younger one fumbles with IV lines, liability. My eyes track every movement while part of me screams that none of this analysis matters.

Can't shoot her illness. Can't eliminate poison from her bloodstream. Can't command her brilliant mind to fight harder.

The monitors display numbers that should mean something: heart rate steady, blood pressure acceptable, oxygen levels holding. Just numbers. Not the sharp wit that challenges me. Not the laugh that somehow found cracks in armor I thought impenetrable.

Sarah's face flickers behind my eyelids. Different hospital, different failure, same crushing weight of helplessness.

Should have been faster. Should have seen the threat. Should have—

"Hold on, my little bunny."

The endearment slips out, the softness is foreign on my tongue. If the team heard it, they'd think the chemicals claimed me too. But here, alone in this sterile corridor counting heartbeats on a monitor screen, the mask doesn't matter.

Raw exhaustion wars with adrenaline that has nowhere to go. Rage is gone, leaving behind something worse—this hollow ache where certainty used to live.

Footsteps echo from the elevator bank. Familiar gait: Kade's measured stride beside someone moving with urgent purpose. Miguel appears, still in surgical scrubs, medical bag clutched tight. His professional composure cracks the instant he finds me outside the room.

"Where is—" He stops mid-question, gaze locking on Vanessa through the small window. The change is immediate, devastating. Doctor dissolves into big brother watching his baby sister fight for consciousness.

His face crumples for exactly three seconds before medical training reasserts itself. But those three seconds reveal everything. This man who saves lives daily, reduced to the same helpless terror clawing at my ribs.

"Miguel." I straighten, extending my hand.

His grip is firm despite the tremor I recognize too well. "How long has she been like this?"

"Forty-seven since initial exposure."

He nods, processing timelines with clinical efficiency, but his eyes stay fixed on Vanessa's still form.

"I told our parents she has a severe flu. That she can't have visitors while she's contagious." Guilt shadows his features. "I never lie to them, but—"

"They don't need to see her like this."

Understanding passes between us. We've both watched people we love hover between life and whatever comes after. Some burdens don't require sharing.

Miguel moves toward the door, brother and doctor warring in his expression. When he looks at me again, something shifts in his assessment. Recognition, maybe. Or just a man acknowledging another willing to stand guard over what matters most.

"I need to examine her. Check her responses, review the treatments." His voice steadies into professional territory, but his hands shake slightly as he reaches for the door handle.

The team. Kade dropping everything to bring Miguel here. Jax handling the extraction. Even Cole monitoring communications while I maintain this vigil. They're here—not just physically present but invested in outcomes that matter to me.

Miguel pushes through the door, and I follow close behind. He rushes to Vanessa's side, yanking a stethoscope from his bag like he's done countless times before.

"Her breathing's changed," he says, leaning over her still form. "More labored in the last few minutes."

The monitors confirm it—oxygen levels dropping, heart rate climbing. Her small face contorts as if fighting something invisible and terrible.

Miguel's medical bag hits the floor with a metallic crash as he reaches for emergency supplies.

"She's going into crisis."