He promised himself right there and then that Skye was his—onlyhis.
He would not share her.
“I’m not letting you go,” he whispered brokenly.
She twisted around to look at him, and there was understanding there, but no fight. It appeared almost like a surrender, and the sigh she delivered after sure sounded like it, too. Coming to him, she sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair. Her eyes looked raw as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Hunt.”
He shut his eyes to the feel of her touch, feeling a pained tear escape his eye. “I wish it was me.”
She cried softly with him, and he couldn’t open his eyes to her. Couldn’t let her see the misery in them. The fucking pain.
One second she was stroking his tear away, the next her hand had let go, the nail skidding across the bandage running down his face. He sucked in a pained breath, whipping his eyes open to look at her—
He jolted, horror slamming into him like another stab to the chest. “Skye.”
She was feet from the bed, her tiny body pressed against the chest of a giant figure. The man towered over her, gripping her in his grip effortlessly. His hand was wrapped tightly around her mouth, forcing her to swallow back her screams. And all the while, he stared at Hunter, his face a void, his icy blue eyes cold.
He would kill her.
In front of Hunter.
And then he would finish him off.
This—this was how the High Table operated.
Quiet, undetected kills.
In his panic, Hunter roared as he struggled to leave the bed. His wounds screamed for him to stop. It burned as his arm came out, trying to grab at Skye, but the figure took a step back and then slid his hand from Skye’s mouth to her throat. Skye’s scream erupted out of her for only a moment when his giant hand began to squeeze at her throat. Her body buckled, her hands came out to scratch at him, to fight him off her, but he took the hits without flinching. And then he slowly slid down to the floor, his gaze still trapped on Hunter as he tumbled out of bed. The IV machine came plunging down, the hose tearing from his wrist. The sterile fluid bag crashed next to him as he struggled to crawl to Skye who was kicking her legs into the air, her sounds mute.
A knife flashed from the man’s side as he pulled it from its sheath.
A bloody death then. A statement… but not to Hunter, he realized just then. This was more personal than that. A grizzly murder—
A big Fuck You to Leo.
And then that was it.
She would die, and Hunter would gladly accept his demise.
Blood flowed out of Hunter as his wounds oozed back open; he tried to crawl helplessly in their direction. But the lacerations—there were too many of them, the pain too impossible to overcome. The room spun rapidly around him, his head felt light, and now when he started to move, he didn’t know which direction they were.
Suddenly, gunshots sounded close-by. Screams ripped through the air as a flourish of panic and alarms rang out. The hospital was in turmoil, the screams wretchedly carrying on as Hunter continued to inch toward the man, toward his dying flower as she fought for breath.
“No!” came a familiar shout.
Hunter stilled as he heard a struggle nearby followed by Skye’s struggling gasps. Another grunt sounded, and this time Hunter lifted his head, blinking rapidly at the figures in front of him. They looked like blurs. Skye’s tiny frame was on her hands and knees, and she was coughing, her hand reaching out to someone—
“JESSE!” she screamed hoarsely. “He’s got a knife, Jesse—”
A gunshot tore through the air and the dark figure fell back in a heap. Ears ringing, Hunter struggled to come closer as Jesse turned to Skye, cupping her face. “Skye—”
“You’re bleeding! Jesse, you’re bleeding! Oh, my God…”
Hunter paused.
Fear flashed through him.
No.