When the doctor said to remove her hand from his wound, she’d been so terrified he would die that it had taken Hunter physically removing her from the bedside in order for her to back away from Ash — from the love of her life.
Who was currently dying before her very eyes.
“I am doing what I can,” the doctor said with a heavy voice. “The bullet grazed his neck. Nothing was punctured, though the gunshot wound to his back…” His words died off as he continued to work on Ash.
The man she loved was motionless.
He’d awoken once — screaming. Hunter had knocked him out in order to gain enough time to produce some laudanum.
“Is it deep?” Hunter tugged at his jacket and paced the room. “Will he be… paralyzed?”
Sofia’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t thought about what it would mean — saving him. Would he ever forgive her if he was paralyzed because she’d chosen not to let him bleed all over the floor? Knees suddenly weak, she went over to the chair and sat. She hung her head in her hands.
Her bloodstained hands.
“It isn’t the new bullet wound I’m concerned about,” the surgeon said quietly. “It was a clean shot through the muscle. I’ve removed it. As long as there is no infection, we shall be just fine. My concern is the bruising across his chest near his heart. How long has he been this way?”
Hunter’s eyes flickered to Sofia. “Perhaps it is best spoken of in private.”
“No.” Sofia stood. “He is my fiancé, is he not?”
Hunter ground his teeth together and faced the doctor. “It is an old wound, one that has never quite healed correctly. His other two doctors have given him… months to live.”
Sofia gasped.
Hunter didn’t turn but simply said, “It was for the best he not tell you, Sofia.”
“For the best?” she repeated in a weak voice. “That I not treasure every moment we had together? That I not memorize every kiss, every touch?
The surgeon coughed.
Hunter paled. “He asked it of me, and after…” He licked his lips and looked down. “…it was the least I could do.”
With a glare, she pushed past Hunter and addressed the doctor. “Are you able to fix it?”
“I do not know what it… is.” The surgeon sighed heavily. “There seems to be an infection. It is dangerously close. If I had his permission to operated, maybe, but—”
“I give it,” Hunter said softly. “Whatever you need to do, do it. I imagine the infection will kill him if you do nothing.”
The surgeon’s silence was answer enough.
“Well?” Sofia crossed her arms.
“Right.” The surgeon was elderly, his glasses crooked on his face. Sweat poured from his temples as he leaned over Ash’s body and poured whiskey across his chest. “My lady, this is not the place for you to—”
“I’m staying.” Sofia clenched her jaw. “Remove me from this room, and you will need help removing that blade from your heart.”
The surgeon sputtered.
“Russian,” Hunter said as if that explained everything.
It must have, considering the doctor simply nodded and continued to slice open the skin in the middle of Hunter’s chest.
Ash let out a moan.
Sofia reached for his lifeless hand and gripped it.
He appeared so calm, despite the jumbled groans coming from his mouth. His face was passive. She could study him in earnest. He was a beautiful man from his full lips to his strong jaw, and those eyes — they were deadly when they gazed upon her. She’d do anything, say anything to make him stay.
“Ash… please be strong,” Sofia whispered in his ear as she pushed his hair back from his forehead. “Please, for us, be strong.”
Minutes later, the surgeon let out a whistle.
Sofia was afraid to ask if it was one of hopelessness or shock.
“I think…” The surgeon reached for a pair of forceps and leaned over Ash’s body, his face nearly touching Ash’s skin. “…I think— Ah… yes. That’s it.”
Sofia released Ash’s hand and walked over to the doctor.
He pulled something metallic from where he’d cut, and then the forceps caught a piece of something long, and he tugged.
Sofia almost lost her countenance, as he kept tugging and finally freed the piece of material from Ash, dropping it onto the bedside. The smell was horrendous, as if he had just pulled out a dead animal and cooked it over a fire.
Sofia covered her mouth while Hunter stared dumbstruck. “Is that a piece of cloth?”
The surgeon cursed under his breath. “Some doctors never learn. Tell me, did your brother often travel to small villages for work? Other countries?”
Hunter nodded.
“It seems a very young doctor made a very deadly mistake. He left behind what was supposed to be used to keep your brother from bleeding. Not only did he miss part of the bullet lodged in his skin, but sewed him up with the cloth inside. I’ve seen this practice only when there is fear of the patient bleeding out, but it has since been abolished because of infection. If a doctor uses this procedure, they are to remove the cloth within twenty-four hours, never leave it behind to rot.”
“So he’ll live?” Hunter asked the question on the tip of Sofia’s tongue.
“If he dies…” The surgeon needled some thread. “…it will not be because of what happened this evening. However, the infection is still in his body. He will need to fight it, and he will need much rest. There has been a lot of blood loss.”
“What else can we do?” Sofia blurted. “Are there any special herbs? Anything?”
The doctor tilted his head. “My dear, he simply needs something to fight for, something to make him strong.”
Sofia’s shoulders slumped.
“He means you.” Hunter’s voice was encouraging. “He has you, what more could he need?”
Sofia wasn’t convinced. “He was ready to leave me before.”
“He was ready to leave you because he loved you,” Hunter said plainly. “Because he couldn’t imagine a life where you would be forced to wed a man who was about to die, where you would be forced to wed a man you might believe to still be in love with someone who was no longer living.”
Sofia’s head snapped up.
“But…” Hunter cursed under his breath. “…that is his story to tell, and believe me, he’ll be cross if I’m the one to explain it. Simply stay by his bedside. Don’t they say true love’s kiss cures all that ails us?”
The doctor let out a soft chuckle and finished sewing Ash’s wound while Sofia pulled a chair to his bedside.
Three hours later, and his condition still hadn’t changed. A fever had set in, causing him to thrash about. One minute the man was speaking French, then Russian, only to fall back into Spanish, and then some other language she wasn’t able to identify.
“Ash.” She draped a cold cloth on his forehead. “Ash, you must stay with me. You must fight.”
Words were useless. If he could not hear her, what was the point?
Feeling silly but desperate, she took one glance at his lips and leaned in, touching hers to his in a soft brush and then harder. Perhaps if he could not hear her, he could at least feel her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
There was darkness — and then light, as blinding as winter’s snow… and then there was a kiss, a searing kiss. —The Grimm Reaper
ASH WAS FALLING, CATAPULTING toward the fires of hell. It seemed that every moment he started to feel relief across his body, it was stolen again by the flames.
He was dying or already dead — he wasn’t sure which — but he was certain things were not good. Fire was never a good sign, after all.
And then, just when hope seemed lost, something cold touched his lips. It was so deliciously cold, like eating an ice in the middle of summer, or lying down in a pile of snow. He clung to the cold, worshipped it. He made promises to it.
The ice was so much better than the fire. He i
magined his lips sucking in the ice and blowing it across the flames.
It seemed to be working because the more he focused in on the cold touching his lips, the better his body felt, until suddenly the flames simply stopped.
And he realized, with certainty, that he was not dead.
He was very much alive.
And he was being kissed — not by snow, though it had once been his nickname for her. Snow White… he was being kissed by the princess, by his love, and through her kiss she was saving his life, giving of her own? Greedily he took and he took, until finally he felt the pain leave and in its place…
Peace.
“Snow…” he whispered. “White.”
“Ash?” Her voice was as soft as a snowflake touching his face. “Ash, are you awake?”
“More.” His voice was hoarse, dry to the bone. “More snow!”
“Snow?” she asked.
“More snow!” He licked his lips.
And then he felt her again, her lips cool, water trickling into his mouth, for she was not simply kissing him, but aiding him in drinking water.
He felt each drop as it flooded through his system, putting out the fire, dissipating the pain.
“Open your eyes,” she urged.
“Open them for me.” Opening them himself seemed too great an effort.
“How about this?” Her breath was cool on his cheek. “Open your eyes, and I’ll give you more.”
“More?” He squeezed his eyes tighter.
“Mmm.” Her cold nose nipped his neck, and then her teeth were pulling at his ear, and it was bliss. He damn well better not be dead and forced to live in that very same position while her lips assaulted him. Then again, he wasn’t complaining if that was his future, but he wanted to open his eyes, damn it!
“Ash…” Her lips teased his cheek. “Open your eyes.”
He forced one eye open and then both. The room was one large blur and then movement to his left. He blinked a few times, swirls of color danced in front of his eyes. He held his breath willing them to part so he could focus on something—anything other than the pain. A movement from his left had him concentrating on the air in front of him, slowly, it cleared, forming a shape. Full crimson lips, curing gently upward into a breathtaking smile was the first thing his eyes beheld, and by God if it were to be his last, it would be enough. Beautiful, like a shining beacon they beckoned him, called out to him. He needed to touch her face, to see that she was real, that he was alive. With an arm that felt heavier than sand, he reached for her, grunting with effort, somehow managing to push back more of the colors that threatened to blind his vision. He almost made it to her lips, to her face, but his arm fell lamely by his side.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “Am I dead, then?”
“Am I only beautiful if you die?” Sofia countered.
“I imagine this is a trick question, where if I answer badly, I’ll not be on the receiving end of the more that was promised me.”
Sofia smiled, a brilliant smile, one that lit up the room — lit up his dark world and caused a slow crackling fire to burn in his soul. “God…” He choked. “I love you.”
Sofia’s breath hitched.
Yes, apparently he had voiced that thought, and quite bluntly, if the look of pure joy on her face was any indication.
Sofia launched herself onto his body.
“Ouch!” He heaved beneath her. Sight as she was, in his current state, she might as well be a coach horse. He frowned, best to keep that thought to himself lest he find himself injured again.
“Oh no!” Sofia pulled back. “My apologies I forgot and—”
“I’ll trade pain for pleasure any day, my love.” He tugged her with as much might as he could. Her face touched his, and their lips met.
“I truly am dead, for how could a woman this beautiful—” The word lodged in his throat. “—stay by my side, pulling me back from the dark pits? In what world is it fair that the most beautiful princess — be mine?”
Sofia kissed him harder on the mouth. “In what world is it fair that a man should punish himself for crimes he did not commit, for things not his fault?”
“It seems Hunter’s been quite chatty, then?”
“Not Hunter.” She sighed against his chest. “Pierce.”
Of course. “Bloody nuisance, he is.”
“He told me about her… about what happened so long ago.”
Ash sighed; the last thing he wanted to speak of was his greatest sin, his greatest error. “I was working for the Crown… and from far away — especially in our younger days — Hunter and I were near impossible to tell apart.”
“And she thought you were he?”
“She did,” Ash croaked. “She ran to me just as a carriage made its way toward her… It wasn’t until later we discovered that her murder was all an evil plan from a man we had once trusted, a man who also had once worked for the Crown. But the fault still lies with me. If I had listened to Hunter, I would not have been in the street.”
Sofia tilted her head. “She would still have died?”
“Most likely.”
“So you still blame yourself for her death?” She studied his face as though to glean her answers in that manner. “Or do you simply enjoy punishing yourself for your brother’s grief?”
Ash sighed. “I punished myself because I loved her… I loved her more than my brother, and I was ashamed, so ashamed that it was he that proved stronger than I. How could I show my face when I helped cause her death? How could I face my brother when he knew I loved her as I did?”
“And now?”
“Now, she is… a fond memory… a ghost that I sometimes still see in the shadows… but not my memory, not my ghost.”
“The scar…” Sofia traced it with her fingertip, causing a shudder to ripple through his body.
“A reminder of my sins. At the time, I had no knowledge of the true reason behind her death. I simply wanted an easy way out. Grief and rage blinded me… jealousy whispered in my ear that it was better this way, better to die with her, better to leave the earth, rid it of my sin.”
“So the greatest assassin known to London failed when the price was too high? When it counted most?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “And because I was reborn that day, because death refused me, I took on death’s name.”
“The Grimm Reaper.”
“Has a nice ring to it.” The joke was forced as was his chuckle. He hated revealing his darkness to her, hated that knowing the full extent of his sins, she could very well walk away, and he wouldn’t — couldn’t — blame her for doing so.
“Death…” Sofia ran her delicate fingers across his jaw. “…has a way of affecting us all. Whether planned or not, expected or unexpected, it still hurts, we still bleed, we still suffer.”
Ash wanted to hang his head, to turn away from her loving touch. If she left him, it would destroy him from the inside out — but he could not blame her.
“But life,” Sofia continued, caressing him. “It breathes newness where death only leaves dry bones. A part of you died that day, Ash, right along with her, as I’m sure a part of Hunter did as well. But you survived — despite it all, you survived — and you’ve been given a choice.”
“I have?”
“Yes.” She smiled brightly. “Keep living… or give up.”
“Things are not always so black and white, love.”
“The human condition complicates things because we believe life must be exactly that — complicated. Do you love me?”
“Wh-what?” he sputtered, his eyebrows pinching together. “More—” He croaked. “—more than words could ever say. I am not a man of great speeches. I am not Hunter—”
“Thank God for that.” She winked, her mouth curving upward into a saucy grin.
“But…” He licked his lips and focused in on her eyes rather than her mouth. “…whether or not I’m an assassin, a killer… I love you. I imagine my heart has been out of my possess
ion for quite some time.”
“Since I opened my mouth?” She smirked.
Ash leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Since I saw but a glimpse of your face… I was lost, and when you opened that saucy mouth, I was already drowning, powerless to stop the waves from overtaking me, and not caring that they did.”
The light in her eyes danced, and her lips twitched with mirth. “That was quite romantic for a killer.”
“Yes, well…” He glanced away and then back again. “…we all have our moments, I expect.”
“So that’s it then.” Sofia blinked innocently.
“What’s it?”
“That.”
“I believe I’m lost.”
“You love me. I love you. We shall be married.”
“Doesn’t one need to be asked first?” he teased. “And how do you figure it is that simple?”
“Love doesn’t have to be complicated. Men, always trying to complicate things.”
“Women,” he grumbled. “Always trying to fix them.”
“I think we have that backward.” Her soft laugh washed over him, a balm to his soul.
“Are you calling me a woman?”
“That depends. Are you calling me a man?”
He gazed at her mouth. “Devil take me, I could no more tease about you being a man than me being patient.”
“Who said anything about patience?”
“I did...” Ash gripped her shoulders and tugged her against his body. “…because I damn-well don’t want to wait until a wedding to ravish my bride.”
“Are you finally asking?”
“Are you accepting?”
“Ask.”
“Just accept, darling. You know you want to.”
Her giggle was like a thousand tiny bells. “Killers, so romantic.”
Ash grinned, tipping her chin toward his lips. “Be my wife, not because you’re forced to, but because you want to, because I cannot live — refuse to go through my lonely existence — without the sun by my side.”
A rosy blush suffused her cheeks. “I’m the sun?”
“More than that.” Ash sighed. “You’re the light in my darkness, the hope I’ve been searching for, for ten years.”