Page 238 of Caterina
Dark hair loose around her shoulders, no makeup, pale face, red-rimmed eyes.
She looks exhausted.
And so damn beautiful.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts more than my side.
“Cat.” It is barely a word; more like a croak.
Her face crumples.
“Oh, my God.” She covers her mouth with one hand, but she does not let go of mine. “Oh, my God, Adrian.”
I try to lift my hand, and it barely moves.
I hate how weak I am.
She catches the attempt and presses my hand between both of hers.
“You’re awake,” she whispers. “You’re awake.”
I try to answer.
My throat refuses.
A rough scrape comes out, and pain flashes up my neck.
“Don’t,” she says quickly. “Don’t try to talk. They only took the tube out a few hours ago. Your throat is going to hurt.”
Tube.
That explains it.
I blink once, trying to force the pieces into order.
How long?
She seems to read it on my face because, of course, she does.
“Five days,” she says. Her voice shakes. “They kept you in a medically-induced coma because of the trauma, and the swelling, and the blood loss. You were intubated. They weren’t sure—”
She stops.
Her fingers tighten around mine.
“They weren’t sure about a lot of things.”
I remember a lot of blood loss. My strength leaving. My hand in the grass, inches from the gun.
Caterina’s face.
I realize now it wasn’t a memory. It was real.
She had been there, looking down at me.
I look at her more sharply.
Bad idea.
