Page 79 of Vital Signs

"Don't." His hand sliced through the air between us. "I don't want your explanations or your apologies."

"What do you want?"

"I want to understand why you ignored my DNR."

"I couldn't let you go," I said finally, the words scraping my throat raw. "Not like that. Not thinking I'd abandoned you."

Hunter's laugh was harsh, brittle. "So it wasn't about me at all. It was about you. Your guilt. Your need to be the hero."

Heat crept up my neck. "That's not fair."

"Fair?" He took a step toward me, close enough that I could smell the soap on his skin. "You want to talk about fair?"

"I want to talk about anything other than watching you die."

"Fine. Let's talk about now."

"Now?" I repeated.

"Now that I'm alive against my will." His voice was steady, but his hands weren't. "Now that you've seen me at my worst. Now that you've watched me crawl back from the edge. What do you want now, Misha? After all that?"

The question caught me off guard. What did I want? I hadn't thought beyond keeping him alive, beyond proving I hadn't abandoned him. But standing here, inches from him, I knew it wasn't that simple. Not anymore.

"Nothing," I said, the lie bitter on my tongue.

Hunter stepped closer, invading my space until I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. His proximity sent a wave of awareness through me, my body remembering his touch from days before. How his hands had mapped every inch of me, how my skin had burned beneath his fingers.

"Liar."

He moved fast, hands slamming the wall on either side of my head, caging me. A show of dominance without contact.

"Hunter," I breathed, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated. Instead, I let my gaze drop deliberately to his mouth, a silent challenge in my eyes when I looked back up.

"Tell me what you want." His voice roughened, dropped lower as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my face. "You owe me that much."

I could have ducked under his arm. Could have pushed him away. His strength hadn't fully returned yet. Instead, I stayed where I was, tilting my chin up in defiance.

The challenge in his eyes sent heat spreading through my chest. I couldn't tell if he was baiting me or testing himself. If he wanted honesty or ammunition.

"I want you not to hate me," I said finally.

He pushed away from the wall, creating distance, but not before I saw his mask slip. Just for a second. Just enough to glimpse what lay beneath.

"I don't hate you, Misha." He exhaled slowly. "I wish I did. It would be easier."

I couldn't look away from his face: the shadows beneath his eyes, the stubble darkening his jaw, the curve of his mouth that I'd memorized during his fever dreams.

"I crossed a line," I said quietly. "I violated your choice. Your autonomy."

"Yes." No hesitation. No mercy.

"I'm not sorry." The words fell between us like stones. "I can't be sorry you're alive."

His eyes flashed with anger and something else. Something hotter, more complicated. He stepped back into my space, not touching me but close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. "And that's the problem, isn't it? You'd do it again. You'd make the same choice. Even knowing what it cost me."

"Yes." I leaned forward slightly. "I would."

Hunter's hand shot out suddenly, fingers wrapping around my wrist. Not painful, but firm. Inescapable. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, the rapid beat beneath my skin. The simple touch sent heat coursing through my veins.