Gritting my teeth, I focused on the first-aid kit. Nothing I did would fix my rapidly fading system. Tritec still existed in my blood. It’d given me enough endurance to satisfy my elixir-drunk woman.
But now…now I felt the payment it demanded.
My body was sluggish. My mind not as crisp. My pain sharper than before.
I needed this to be over so I could attempt to avoid the rapidly encroaching end on my future. Heart attack, stroke, or coma.
Was I prepared to pay those terms? Had I earned enough time and strength to keep Eleanor safe?
The answer?
No, not yet.
I still had work to do, and I had to do it now.
Taking a handful of painkillers, I shot them back with a glass of freshwater from the tap, then took another fistful back to the bedroom. Pika flew after me, landing on the scrunched pillow next to Eleanor. She remained on her side where she’d passed out.
Her lips were parted and red from my kisses. Her cheeks pink with sex, but the rest of her remained white from exhaustion and suffocation.
She needed to sleep.
She needed to be safe.
Once again, neither of those things were available.
Pika nibbled on her hair, twittering and chirping as if he could sing her a lullaby and choreograph her dreams. My heart hurt just as much as my leg as I ducked to my haunches.
Swallowing my grunt of pain, I put the glass on the bedside table and cupped her icy cheek. Waking her up would almost be impossible, but I had to try.
I needed her help, just for a little longer. “Eleanor…take this.” Pushing the pills into her mouth, I moved until I could sit her up a little. She mumbled something and tried to slip back onto the sheets, but I poured a mouthful of water into her, holding her chin until she swallowed.
Her throat worked, slipping the tablets into her stomach.
“Good girl.” I kissed her head and let her collapse to her side again.
At least her system would have fortification while she slept. Hopefully, she’d wake with her pain dulled.
She really needed nutrition too. We both did.
We needed food and water and an island where we could be utterly alone.
But just like everything else…that would have to wait.
I swayed on my feet as I drank the rest of the water and abandoned the glass. I’d never been this tired or so useless. It would be so fucking easy to lie next to her…just for ten minutes.
To close my eyes and—
Stop it.
I shook my head, chasing away the insidious pull of sleep.
Drake.
Deal with him, then you can sleep wherever you drop.
Quickly pulling on the clothes and draping Eleanor in an oversized canary yellow shirt, I sucked in a breath.
Last night had been my awakening. Today was my atonement.
Just a little longer…
A new fever made everything ache as I bent over the bed and scooped Eleanor into my arms.
Pika squawked and, just for a second, I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to pull her up.
Fucking hell, come on!
My back tensed. My biceps clenched.
Anger at my weakness granted enough power to haul her from the sheets and into my embrace.
I wobbled.
I tripped backward.
I grunted as fresh pain from my leg ricocheted through my system.
Ignore it.
Hoisting Eleanor higher, I turned and stumbled toward the exit.
Pika chirped and chased after me with a worried huff.
He flew beside me as I carried Eleanor down the sandy pathways of an island that I no longer loved. His feathers whispered encouragement; his tiny parrot friendship keeping me awake, keeping me going, keeping me alive…for now.
* * * * *
I entered Euphoria’s playroom and slammed to a stop.
I hadn’t encountered anyone on my journey here.
Eleanor had slept soundly in my arms, Pika had fluttered beside me, and I’d focused on putting one foot in front of the other, steadily closing the distance on the final Sinclair battle.
I didn’t bother being sneaky or trying to remain hidden on my journey. Drake had made it known that I knew things he wanted and I was not to be killed.
Hurt? Yes.
Killed? No.
And in reality, I was hurt enough.
I wouldn’t prove to be too much of a risk unless someone threatened Eleanor.
Groaning with exhaustion, I jostled Eleanor higher into my arms and surveyed the aftermath carnage of Drake and Jealousy’s BDSM fantasy.
They lay in the middle of Euphoria’s bare and barren playroom. Drake lay on his back, one leg cocked and the other straight. His stomach was concave, the bullet graze and knife stab visible thanks to his bandages falling off, his cock flaccid and well-used.
Jealousy lay away from him, curled in a tiny ball as if she could become invisible. Her nakedness was white and as terrifying as Eleanor’s, decorated with bruises and handprints.
Both she and Drake were out cold.
It would be too fucking easy to stroll over, grab a sword from the prop cupboards full of cavemen furs and highland weapons, and run it straight through his heart.