It’s the beeping that finally wakes me. The intensely familiar sound painted a false reality in my dreams of scrubs and weeping faces and grateful smiles and children. Strong, brave children in hospital beds. But I’m not waking up from a quick nap during a break at work. There are no patients or parents waiting.

That life is gone, just like me.

Beep. Beep.

My return to consciousness is long. One step at a time taken on shifting ground. Pain, distant. Heartbeat, fast. Breathing, labored. The sole of my right foot itches. My neck is so stiff I’m afraid if I move it will break. Fabric under my cheek. A mattress, too hard against the front of my body. Sterile smells, bleach and antiseptic.

Hospital. I’m in a hospital.

“She’s waking up.” The voice is feminine and softly accented. Curt but not unkind. A nurse. I hear footsteps, smell light perfume.

Where’s the doctor?

“Put her back under,” says a low voice.

What? No! I try to say it aloud, but can’t find my tongue. Where’s my tongue?

Movement. Familiar sounds—pop of a syringe, rattle of an IV stand.

Wait—

Gone.

* * *

When I hear the man singing, I decide I’m finally dead. Only in death would an angel sing me “Galway Girl.”

“‘We were halfway there when the rain came down—of a day-I-ay-I-ay—And she asked me up to her flat downtown—of a fine soft day-I-ay-I-ay.’”

Liam?

The singing stops.

“I’m here. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Dead.

“You’re not dead.” A pause; pressure on my bare forearm. “Can you feel that?”

I nod, or think I do.

“Good, now open your eyes.”

Blinding brightness. Shapes and shadows. Sunlight on white sheets. My eyes water as I blink rapidly. Blobs resolve into objects. A bed. Small room. Not a hospital—someone’s home. There’s a pitcher of water on the nightstand, condensation spreading in a circle beneath it. The air is warm, a breeze soft on my back.

My back itches.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, but the itch is a good sign. You’re healing.”

With effort, I lower my chin. My cheek slides on sheets, my eyes following down the line of the mattress. I blink.

My first thought is that it’s not Liam who sits in a chair with his fingers wrapped around my emaciated arm. This man’s hair is buzzed nearly to his scalp, his face clean-shaven and pale. Beneath the sleeves of a black t-shirt, intricate tattoos line both muscular arms. And this man is visibly scarred—a thin white line interrupts his throat, another one bisects his left eyebrow. Both are long healed.

When I look into his eyes, they, too, are familiar and not. Shadows lurk in their depths, an icy darkness that wasn’t there before. But there’s also an unmistakable glimmer—a magnetism that triggers six years’ worth of longing and heartache.

I have to be dreaming.

“Liam?” My voice is no more than a breath.

A sliver of a smile curves his lips. “Aye, it’s me. I daresay the years haven’t been kind to either of us.”

Laughter. Insane, inappropriate laughter gurgles out of me. Liam’s smile widens minutely. My back spasms and I groan, my humor wiped away by pain.

He moves to stand. “I’ll get you something.”

“No! No, please. Don’t go.”

After a pregnant moment, he nods and settles back into his chair. I wish he’d touch me again, but he doesn’t.

“How?” I ask.

His brows lift. “Care to narrow it down?”

I look for signs of teasing, but there are none. Shifting a little, I wince at the odd tugging sensation on my back. “How did you find me?”

He taps his temple. “Finder, remember?”

“No jokes,” I whisper.

“I’m not joking.” His expression tells me it’s the truth. “It wasn’t fucking easy, I can tell you that much.”

It’s not really an answer, but I leave it be. I don’t know if he feels guilty or not—I’m beginning to realize I don’t know this man. Did I ever?

I stare at the wall beside the bed. “Did you kill Chris?”

“No. He was gone when I found you.” A pause. “My approach wasn’t exactly subtle. I’m sure he was tipped off.”

“He left me to die,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

He grunts. “He could have easily killed you before I arrived. Frankly, I’m not sure why he didn’t.”

I flinch at the lack of concern in his voice. The bland curiosity. Feeling angry, lost, and so, so broken, I drag my eyes to his face.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why, what?”

“Why fucking bother?”

He stills. A predator in repose, no longer wearing the mask of humanity.

“I made a promise.”

Tears spill from my eyes; I have the nebulous thought that I’m not thirsty anymore, that my body is hydrated. Odd, to not crave water. So odd.

“How long?” I ask, not bothering to mask my tears. Almost, I wish Chris had finished the job.

Liam looks away, across the bed. There must be a window there, but even the thought of lifting and turning my head is exhausting.

“Nearly six weeks.”

Silence. Minutes pass. Or seconds? Time bent its own rules in the dark. Drip drip.

I was there forever.

“You get used to it,” says the man who used to be Liam. His gaze veers back to me. “And it gets better—the nightmares and flashbacks, the panic attacks and aversions. As with all things, it takes time. But I promise, you’ll get through it. You’re going to be okay.”

Okay. That word is nearly incomprehensible. I blink slowly, then shake my head.

His eyes flare with emotion. “I’m going to kill them all. Every person who knew what was happening to you. Your father, his lieutenants, and your sister.”

“No,” I gasp.

He laughs; it’s a horribly cold sound, like breaking dreams and hearts.

“Time to wake up, little dove.” I flinch at the word; his eyes harden. “Alexis is Maddoc’s second-in-command. Has been for seven years, since the day she turned twenty-two. She’s a ruthless savage and a psychopath.” He shakes his head. “I fucking tried, Eden. I tried to keep you safe. Hell, even Christopher tried to warn you away. He loved her once, before she changed. Crazy bastard thought by saving you he could save her. Like there’s anything left to save.”

She’s not worth it.

I stare.

I breathe.

I blink.

“Get out,” I rasp. Aqua eyes narrow, glinting dangerously. I point at the door, ignoring the ricochets of pain in my back. “Get the fuck out, Liam!”

He nods curtly and stands. At the doorway, he pauses. “They’ll die for what they did to you.”

“Why?” I cry in agony. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It was all for nothing. If Alexis—if she really… Goddamnit! I would have told her about the fucking diamonds. She didn’t have to—I would have told her…” I trail off, spent.

Something shifts in Liam’s eyes. For a moment, he’s the man I know. His fingers clench on the doorframe.

“I can’t make this right, Eden. I would if I could. I would give anything, everything. Not to ease my guilt or your pain, but for us. For us…” He bows his head. “We’ll talk more later.”

He’s gone before I can formulate a response.