It was cold, quiet, and so very dark.
absquatulate
(v.) to leave without saying goodbye
I’d once thought Ronan would let me drown; that he would watch me sink, curly hair floating and aglow. But in the end, it was his voice that dragged me from the darkness.
“Prosnis’, Mila.” Wake up. “Goddammit, prosnis’.”
Ronan had demanded so much from me since we met—so many orders he was confident would be met—but this request held a vulnerable crack. It wasn’t a demand at all. It was a need.
I found another weakness.
He was weak for me.
Drawing in a shallow breath, I struggled to open my eyes. I forced them open and saw I was lying on the floor of a moving car that vibrated beneath me. Yellow and red. My new coat was ruined, the faux fur matted with streaks of blood. Crimson-soaked bandages lay discarded around me. My shirt was torn open, and the sight of the hole gushing blood in my stomach made me so dizzy I was almost pulled under again. Though Ronan’s voice as he snapped something at Albert grounded me.
My eyes lifted to Ronan, who ripped open a new sterile bandage with his teeth and used it to put pressure on the wound. I tensed in expectation of pain but only felt a twinge in my abdomen as a tremble began to shake my entire body.
Our gazes met.
Russian roulette.
One blink, and—
I’d only miss the sight of him.
A dark, tortured gaze held mine for
a long moment. Finally, it seemed to sink into him I was awake and farther from death’s door than he’d assumed. Keeping pressure on my wound, he leaned against the back seat, rested an arm on his elbow, and dropped his head to his chest, eyes closed.
“Ona ne spit,” he exhaled roughly. “Fuck. Ona ne spit.”
“We are almost there,” Albert announced from the front seat.
I’d expected to be in a lot of pain from being shot, though my entire body tingled as if I’d been injected with lidocaine everywhere.
When Ronan opened his eyes, they pinned me with fury. “Zachem ty eto sdelala?” he gritted. “Zachem?”
“English,” I said softly.
“Why the fuck would you do that, Mila?” he growled with a deep rasp. “WHY?”
“You’re not immortal,” I whispered, my throat thick. “I didn’t want you to die.”
He stared at me with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and something else indiscernible. “You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for me.” He clenched his teeth. “You DON’T get to die for me, kotyonok.” His eyes crucified me. “If anyone dies between us, it will be ME. Do you understand?”
I didn’t understand, so I shook my head.
“Then let me make it clear for you,” he said, the shadows in his eyes flashing. “You would survive without me. You would move on.” His tone roughened. “I can’t imagine a world where you and all your fucking yellow doesn’t exist. So if you die, you’ll take me with you. Your sacrifice would mean nothing, kotyonok. NOTHING.”
A tear ran down my cheek as a coldness began to invade the tremble inside me. My marrow was turning to ice, and I shivered violently.
“I’m so cold, Ronan . . .” My eyes felt weighted down, so I closed them.
“Nyet,” Ronan growled, grabbing my face. “Don’t fucking close your eyes.”
“I’m so tired,” I whispered, lethargy pulling at every muscle in my body. “I don’t think . . .”