Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Then all the events from earlier rush through the fog in my head.
The dark figures. The chase. The gunshot.
Sebastian.
I gasp, my frantic gaze searching the room. Sebastian was shot. He was shot right in front of me and when I rushed forward, a needle pricked me in the neck.
Then everything went black. The next thing I knew, I woke up in this room.
I pause when my gaze lands on a dark figure huddled in the far corner on my right.
At first, I think it’s something ominous, but then I recognize the mass of muscles and the dark blond strands peeking out.
“Sebastian!” I call in a hoarse voice.
I try standing up, but my legs refuse to carry me. I crawl toward him on all fours, ignoring the pressure and discomfort scratching at my knees.
I stop beside him. He’s lying on his side, face down. Strands of his hair cover his face. I grab his shoulder and pause when a low, guttural sound escapes him.
Something wet and cold touches my knee and I startle when I stare down.
Dark red.
Blood.
Lots of it.
It forms a small sticky pool beneath his shoulder that’s against the ground.
Oh, God.
I wished that his getting shot was a figment of my overactive imagination and that it didn’t really happen. That maybe I made it all up due to being pricked by that needle.
But the evidence that it’s all real is right in front of me.
Bleeding out of him in a steady stream.
My lips quiver and my heart pounds so hard, I think it’ll spill out on the ground.
“Sebastian!” I gently shake his good shoulder so I don’t aggravate his injury.
He doesn’t even stir. My frantic pulse roars in my ears in sync with the worst-case scenarios that play in my head.
What if he’s dying?
What if he never wakes up?
“Sebastian…” my brittle voice echoes around us as I carefully palm his cheek and turn it toward me. His hair falls back from his forehead and I get a view of his ethereally handsome face. The same face that has become such a constant in my dreams.
His skin is pale, making his features less sharp, and his lips are chapped and bluish.
That can’t be good.
I slowly flip him over and that’s when I get my first view of the wound in his upper shoulder.
The bullet has ripped through his Black Devils jacket, leaving a gash in his skin. Blood soaks the white sleeve, turning it red, and the black stripes look dark brown.
Some of the blood has clotted, but there’s an opening from which blood keeps oozing out at a slow, lethal pace.
Shit. Shit!
If he’s been bleeding out for long, this will quickly turn fatal.
“Sebastian…” I gently tap his cheeks. “Open your eyes. You have to wake up…please…”
He finally stirs but doesn’t respond.
Moisture gathers in my lids, but I don’t let the tears loose. Dragging in a sharp inhale of air, I breathe in the stench of blood and the humidity in this place, but there’s also a hint of bergamot and amber.
Of Sebastian.
Using his presence as an anchor, I grab his good arm and push him onto his back.
He groans and I pause before I release him. I need to stop the hemorrhage or he’ll bleed out.
My gaze strays sideways in search of anything I can use and when I find nothing, I pull my T-shirt over my head and shove it against his wound.
A low, guttural sound leaves his throat as his lips twist in pain. Sweat gathers between his thick brows and on his temple.
I bite my lip and continue.
Cold air seeps through me, forming goosebumps on my bare skin, but I ignore it as I increase the pressure.
“Sebastian…please…please open your eyes.”
Goddamnit.
He definitely needs medical attention, not a T-shirt and some pressure. What if this wound kills him? What if I…lose him?
I shake my head at that thought and hold the material with one hand, then search the pocket of my shorts with the other. Sure enough, my phone isn’t there. I search Sebastian’s pants, but his is missing as well.
It shouldn’t be a surprise since whoever brought us here wouldn’t have let us keep our phones.
I focus back on the shirt. It’s partially soaked, but the bleeding appears to have stopped.
A sigh of relief escapes me.
But even I realize this whole thing is temporary. He needs help and he needs it now.
He grunts and there’s movement behind his lids before they slowly open. I’ve never been so happy to see his tropical light green eyes as I am right now.
They’re a bit unfocused, muted, almost as if he’s not all here.
But he is. He’s not gone. He’s with me.
“Sebastian! Can you hear me?”
He stares up at me, slowly, unhurriedly, almost as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
I can tell the exact moment he recognizes me. His pupils dilate and fire creeps into his features.