Sasha is in the critical care unit. I watch Sasha and Rayne through the one-way glass at the nurses’ monitoring station. Although I haven’t worked as one for three years, I remain certified as a medical doctor. All I need to do is flash my badge—one of the benefits of schooling at the University of Toronto for my medical degree. I’d gone to Harvard to specialize as an emergency physician but returned to Toronto’s Health Network for my residency. I’m grateful for these privileges now. Even better, Sasha’s surgical resident was one of my school buddies, and she has no problem sharing information with me.

The window gives a great view, without sound. When Rayne rises to leave, I take a deep breath, willing back the best of my icy armor. Sasha does not need to know just how much her kidnapping and torture bother me. Right now, she needs in-control-and-taking-care-of-everything Jaden. Shoring up the walls of emotional resistance takes on new meaning when dealing with someone who knows me as well as Sasha does.

Alarm rings through me as I watch Sasha try to pull herself up. Not a great idea. Has Rayne said something to upset her? Now she grabs Rayne’s arm, obviously very intent on getting her to agree to something. I hate to think of what harebrained scheme Sasha has cooked up. Something, no doubt, about her early release; but she’ll have to go through me first. Rayne will be of little help if that’s the plan. I move to the door as Rayne exits.

“Hi.” Rayne smiles wanly at me.

“How is she?”

“Not as bad as we thought. I don’t think it’s all hit her yet. I promised her we’d come back later.” My little dragon has lost some of her vibrancy, some of her luster. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck. She leans toward me before pulling back. That pleases me. Her subconscious mind has started to trust me. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Again with the wan smile.

“Let’s get out of here.”

We walk over to Baldwin Street and find a good Italian restaurant called Donatello’s. Wood, crystal, and crisp white table linens are the focal point as the maître d’ escorts us to a private table in the back. The scent of roasted garlic and grilled tomatoes permeates the air. Even that doesn’t entice Rayne’s usual excitement about good food. The uniformed maître d’ seats us with a flourish of old-world charm.

After a great deal of dithering over the menu, she agrees to split a caesar salad with me and orders the petto di pollo alla valdostana. I go for the veal with mushrooms and sweet sherry sauce. I choose my usual coffee while Rayne decides on iced tea.

Only one word springs to mind about Rayne’s attempt at conversation—desultory.

“Are you planning on telling me what’s wrong, or are we going to sit here with the elephant in the room?”

Rayne lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just thinking about Sasha, that’s all.”

“What about her? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing specific. I just feel bad for her. I know how it feels.”

She can’t possibly know how it feels to have your dick cut off, so she must mean the sense of violation. I gentle my tone and rest my hand over hers. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Rayne looks at me for the first time since we’ve left the hospital. “No. I’ve talked enough for one day.” She snatches her hand away as if burnt. “Look, can we talk about something else?”

I bite my bottom lip. Whatever went down between Rayne and Sasha obviously upset her, and my lashing back wouldn’t help matters.

“Okay.” I take time stirring cream in my coffee. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Are you going to be my Dom or not?” Her bottom lip thrusts out just a little. I’ll need to remember that taking the offensive is her tactic of choice.

“If you want me to be your Dom, you’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”

She stares at me for a moment then gives another of her exaggerated sighs. “If you must know, Sasha asked me about my rape. She wanted details. It seemed to help her.”

Our food arrives, and I wait for the server to quit placing and fussing. Rayne sits, moving food around her plate.

“What details?”

Rayne’s eyes look dead as she recites the salient facts without embellishment, without emotion.

“What happened after the Courtney guy dropped you off?”

She stands and throws her napkin on the table. “I’m heading back. I’ll see you there.”

“Rayne . . .”

She keeps walking.

Rayne and I come full stop as we run into Sasha’s gurney in the hall.

“Can you give us a minute?” Sasha asks the nurse.

The orderly and nurse guiding the gurney pull it against the wall.

“What’s up?” I wrap Sasha’s pale hand in mine.

“They’re taking me for a CT scan and some nuclear medicine test,” Sasha says.

I look at the nurse. “How long will she be?”

“Several hours, if not longer. We have to wait for the dye to take effect, and the first set of scans will take about an hour and a half. Then, she’ll have an MRI before going back for the second half of the scan.”

I wink at Sasha. “See you in a few.”

“Then, she’ll need her sleep.” The nurse has that no-nonsense barracuda tone that brooks no argument.

I lean over and kiss the side of Sasha’s mouth as was our custom. I straighten and wink. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Need anything?”

“No, man, I’m good. Just bring our little friend back with you.” Sasha gives me a weak smile and looks past me to Rayne. “She says I’m allowed to have a pity party tomorrow before we put all this behind us.”

With her usual intuition, Sasha identifies the part of Rayne’s nature that calls to me. I’m not so sure about this pity party stuff, though. That is pretty harsh if you ask me. I’m no psychologist, but isn’t it too damned soon to get over the first stage of grieving?

Rayne takes her usual seat opposite me in the limo. As she settles, I swear she folds in on herself, like when I touch the sensitive plant in my garden. Something has sucked the light right out of her. All that remains is a shell acting for all intents and purposes like an automaton. I need to jolt her out of this stupor before it goes too far.

“Don’t you think you’re pushing Sasha too fast?”

Her spirit returns as Rayne beams the intense spotlight of her gaze on me. My Dracaena doesn’t like to be challenged.

“No, I do not, but it sounds like you have something to say about it.” She couldn’t have sounded bitchier if she tried. Good thing she’s caught me at a good moment.

“I’m not being critical—”

“Yes, you are. But go ahead. I get it. You’re her friend.” Rayne sighs and looks out at the traffic as we inch along Queen’s Park Crescent toward the Amber Star Hotel. “What’s got your knickers in such a twist?”

Rayne’s arbitrary nature should annoy me. Instead, it makes me smile. The more she relaxes around me, the testier she gets. And in my book, relaxation only comes with trust.

“You’re a university grad. You studied Kübler-Ross’s stages of grief. Sasha hasn’t had time for denial, anger, or bargaining, never mind depression.”

Rayne gives me a major eye roll. “That’s how much you know. Some people roll through some of the stages in seconds. Others get stuck in one and can’t move past it. Everyone’s different.” She lapses back into silence.

When we arrive back at our suite, Rayne sits on the arm of the couch. Staring into a pit of darkness. After a couple of weak attempts to get her to snap out of it, I give up.

“I’m going to get cleaned up. You sure you’re okay?”

She says nothing.

“Rayne!”

Her gaze drifts across mine before settling back on the nothingness. “I’m fine, Jaden. Just a bit tired. I’m just going to watch a bit of television.”

I shrug and go to my en suite. I need to wash off the filth from close proximity to Viper’s world. Sasha’s pain burns, having spilled over me like acid. I need to purge it from every cell. To find that place of inner peace.

Over an hour blows by as I finish my shower and shave. I spend some time rifling through my clothes. Since the suite is my home in Toronto, I have a full clothes closet. Tonight, I want something suitable for the fanciest restaurant. Connor mentioned Sassafraz is the perfect place to take Rayne. Not that I’m thinking about impressing Rayne. Not one little bit. I just like good clothes and great food. I go for quality, not quantity.

I dress to look good for myself, not my little dragon. Who will probably rip my face off the moment I see her. I slip into a fresh pair of black jeans, a Neil Barrett black linen shirt, and my Dolce & Gabbana black leather boots laced halfway, tongue out. I sling my favorite black leather jacket over my shoulder and head out to find Rayne. It’s time for both of us to shed the black shroud that surrounds our day. I start speaking as I step into the living area. “I thought we’d . . .”

Rayne isn’t here. Huh. “Rayne?”

No answer. I step through her open bedroom door. No Rayne. I check her en suite. Where the hell has she gone? I look for a note on the desk, table, and countertops. Nothing.

I check the suite inside and out. Security hasn’t seen her leave, and she isn’t in the hotel bar. I quell the panic and try to think logically. I figure Rayne for the type who would leave a note. Although it’s only been a week, I’ve learned one hell of a lot about her personality. Good manners would override her meanest thoughts. I head back to the suite and sit on the end of her bed, trying to think like she would.

A faint rustling noise comes from the closet. Rushing to it, I open the door and the light flares to life. It illuminates Rayne. Huddled in the corner. Head cradled in her arms. Knees tight against her chest. She breathes deeply and rapidly, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. I crouch down in front of her and take her carotid pulse. Her heart hurtles down the track at one hundred and ten beats per minute. Her skin is slick with sweat. She shakes uncontrollably.

I try to lift her head, but she stubbornly keeps it in place. “Rayne, look at me.” I put on my best doctor-dealing-with-recalcitrant-patient voice. No response. I hunker back on my heels, unsure of what to do next. “Are you in pain?”

Rayne moves her head slightly. I take that as a no. So, it’s a panic attack. Something must have happened at the hospital. I sit beside her and gather her in my arms. She stiffens, face still hidden. I hang on, loosely enough that she can move out of my embrace if she so chooses. Firmly enough that she knows someone’s there for her. She continues to shake, saying nothing.

As I hold her, my mind slips back to that final night with Savannah. I dissolve.