Page 83 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

It’s not long before my eyelids grow heavy, and the sweet lullaby of his breathing soothes me into a peaceful state.

Not quite where I’m sleeping, but pretty close to it.

I can almost feel the cool breeze off the lake again, and I can practically hear the rain drops tapping along the water’s surface.

The sound of the thunder overhead is a little distorted, but it’s vague enough to not be heard clearly…

My eyes jolt back open to the sound of his heart monitor beeping rapidly, and although I’m not as quick to react, I notice his breaths quickening. I tenderly lay my hand on his chest, and fight against the ache in my shoulder to push up just a little.

“Damien?” I whisper, hoping that I can pull him back from whatever has his heartrate sky rocketing.

His eyes fly open as he takes a deep gasp in, almost as if he’s been silently drowning.

“Hey, you’re okay. Just breathe.” I move my hand to his face and softly caress the straining tick in his jaw.

He reacts by jerking his head in my direction, and then a weak sigh of relief escapes his lips the moment our eyes meet.

“You’re okay?” he immediately asks in a frantic whisper, melting my heart like always.

“Yeah, baby. We’re okay.” I sniffle and blink a few times, trying like hell not to cry, but as he watches the tears form in my eyes, he reaches for me.

A grunt of aggravation slips from his mouth as his IV tube gets caught on the bed frame above us, and without even a second thought, he rips it out. “Damien…” I choke a strangled giggle.

“I don’t give a fuck, come here.” He moves his arm under my head and gently pulls me close, both of us wincing in pain as he wraps his other limb around my waist, carefully pulling me close.

His large hand cradles the back of my head and gingerly pushes me to rest on top of his clearly wounded chest. I want to pull back, afraid that I’ll hurt him, but it’s like it doesn’t matter to him. He holds me just as tightly as ever.

His warmth floods my senses, almost knocking the breath back into me, and I don’t resist the urge to bury my face in the crook of his neck.

Shudders slither their way through my body, and I break.

Relief and a blanket of security is wrapped in his grasp around me, giving me the perfect moment of reprieve from the destruction in my soul.

“It’s okay, baby girl. Let it out. I’m here,” he whispers into my hair, and plants soft kisses on the surely revolting strands.

“I’m okay…” I inhale deeply, desperate to suffocate on his scent.

“I’m much better now.” He tightens his hold on me, but not so much that it hurts any worse.

I can feel the way my body trembles mildly against him, but the strength of his grasp gradually eases it.

His breaths gradually return to a normal rhythm, but I can feel the strain behind them.

He’s obviously in a lot of pain, but he’s putting it aside for me.

I look up to see the IV dangling over the bed, wondering what exactly is in the tube.

“How long before you let me go and allow them put that back in?”

“At least ten hours, maybe ten years, I haven't decided,” he says desperately, like I would try to argue, and I snort out a tiny laugh as he nuzzles his head against mine. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry.” I look back at his exhausted and guilt-ridden eyes, hating the depressing blue that’s shimmering in the irises.

“I love you too, Damien. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, this isn’t your fault.” I gently raise my hand to his cheek and move my thumb over his jawline. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“I'll give control over DH to Zeke if that’s what you need,” he offers, willing to throw his life into the trash just to ease my mind.

I bunch my eyebrows at him in confusion, not understanding where that thought could’ve come from.

“I can hand it right over to him if that’s what you want. I’ll give it all up.”

“No.” I refuse immediately and sternly, and all he gives me is a confused and remorseful look. “Devil’s Hands is a part of you, and I love you. All of you, and I'll always support you. You wouldn't be you if you didn't fight for what you believe in.” He shakes his head vehemently.

“You can't keep getting caught in the crossfire.

I don't want our baby to be two years old wondering where Mommy is.” The shakiness in his tone breaks my heart, and I can see the evidence of the turmoil the past day has caused.

His physical wounds are nothing compared to the emotional and spiritual ones, and that only makes me more determined to keep us both above water.

“It won’t,” I reply confidently, using all of my strength to protect his sanity.

“I know you’ll do everything in your power to make sure of that, but if you hand over DH, you'll hate yourself. It’d be like handing over a part of you .

It’s been a bad twenty-four hours; you need to take some time to think it over before you do something rash.

Just go back to sleep, baby. You need to rest.”

“I don’t need rest, I just need you.” He buries his face again, and inhales deeply.

His devotion to me is something I’ll never get used to—a monument to our connection that can never be torn down.

I know that if I just lie here, he’ll eventually fall back asleep, but for now he continues to engulf me with every one of his senses.

He inhales deeply each time, absorbing my scent like it’s his lifeline, and not the hospital around us.

His lips continuously press soft kisses to the areas he can easily reach, like my hair, forehead, and nose.

Even his hands carefully wander, tracing the dips and curves of my body until it comes to rest on my lower stomach.

“You must have been so scared. I'm so sorry…”

“We’re fine now, baby. That’s all I'm going to focus on. Okay? Keeping you alive and growing our baby, that’s all I want to think about.” I caress his chest delicately, feeling the battered skin beneath as if it matches my own. He nods again and allows his lips to linger on my forehead.

“Okay,” he whispers, but tenses as we hear shuffling by the door.

His immediate reaction is to pull himself up, letting his protective instincts take over, but I pull him back down when we see a younger female doctor and a sweet looking female nurse walk in, wheeling in a screen and some other equipment.

“We thought we heard talking in here. How are you two feeling?” the nurse asks. Her voice is soft, and she has a genuine smile that tells me she’s good with her patients. It automatically puts my mind at ease, while it takes Damien a moment to unwind.

“We’ve been better.” I chuckle somewhat, hoping an easy atmosphere will relax him.

“I can imagine,” the doctor replies, grinning widely.

“I'm Dr. Emily Jennings, the Head of Obstetrics and Gynecology here at University Hospital.” She reaches out her hand and we shake it respectfully, Damien first, of course.

“Normally you would see someone much lower on the totem pole than me, so don’t be intimidated, but your fiery nurse-friend insisted that only I oversee your prenatal care while you're here.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. First, the plastic surgeon, who I’m sure was also a hot shot here, and now the head of a whole department? I appreciate the concern, but I can only imagine the fit she threw until she spoke to them.

“Yeah, she can be a little demanding. I'm sorry,” I apologize, and the doctor just swats her hand, as if my bitchy best friend was something she encountered every day.

“Oh, don’t be. I love it. You've got a good village. You'll be needing that in about thirty-two weeks.”

My eyes widen, because the time she’s suggesting is surprising. I knew the possibility of being that far along already, but I just didn’t think I would be.

“So, she’s eight weeks along?” Damien asks as his hold on me tightens a little.

“Give or take a few days, yes, since we don’t have a clear answer on what day you conceived, but scans and blood work confirm the timeline.

We submitted the testing the moment you came in, and we took a sample again about an hour ago.

Your numbers are still climbing at a normal rate, which is fantastic.

My initial concern was when your friend explained the nature of your disappearance, but on your initial examination there was no evidence of damage, or signs of trauma, to either the baby, your cervix, or your uterine wall.

Which is what we want. Now, the next conversation we need to have is going to be rather hard, and I wanted to ask if you’d like to have this conversation in private.

We can wheel you into a different room if necessary.

” She looks directly at me when she asks, and the thought of being alone for whatever she’s about to say next terrifies me, but a part of me wonders if it’s better for Damien’s well-being.

She then turns to Damien with soft features. “No offense, Mr. Hartley.”

“None taken. Whatever she needs,” he answers immediately, never hesitating to put my needs first.

“No, it’s okay. He can stay.”

She nods to me tenderly. Her voice and her movements don’t sound or appear rushed, and while this is obviously important, she doesn’t sound harsh or judgmental. Clearly, she’s a good doctor and knows how to keep her patients calm, which I deeply appreciate right now .