through the blinds, cutting pale lines across the hospital room. The sterile air carried the faint

rself she was checking on a patient, just another patient-but she knew it was a lie.

Alive. Breathing

into unconsciousness the way he did. Even battered, even pale, there was s

n broke the

, and then his eyes opened-dark, piercing, as if they'd never trul

rasped, low and rough from bo

adying herself. "You're my pat

mirk. "Good to know. I'd hate to think you

to one of calm disapproval. "You were shot. Twice.

rmured, eyes never

her, but beneath it was something unsettling-a pull she cou

said firmly, reaching for his chart

g every detail. "Rest is for men who don't have enemies waiting. And I..." His

voice. "You need to let your body heal. If

't you?" he asked, the faintest

es

ive. You wouldn

id it-not like a question, but a certainty. A

job," she said quietly, her

ing back her defenses. "No, Isabella. You save

e, but he did. The way he spoke it-like he'd

do

s, breaking the tension. Isabella stepped back quickly,

stayed on her. W

m, she heard his voice-

, angel. You were mine t

hammered. She should have felt fear. She should have walked away. But all she felt was

w: whatever bound them togethe

s des