I didn’t want him to make me sleep, to plunge me into darkness. I didn’t want to leave Malachi. I didn’t want to leave Jim without Tegan. I would be healed, and then I would get up fighting.

Raphael leaned forward. “It will hurt, Lela. More than you think.”

“Faster?” I whispered.

He nodded. “You’ll be on your feet faster. Is it worth it?”

“Yes.”

He lifted me in his arms, and set me in the backseat of the Guard car as we were serenaded by the peal of ambulance sirens. “Most of your friends are all right. The police will assume this is gang-related violence. No one will think to ask where you are.”

My head was cradled in Malachi’s lap. “Drive away slowly, but go now,” he said to the person in the front seat, who I could only assume was Henry.

Raphael locked eyes with Malachi. “She requested to remain awake while I heal her.”

Malachi’s eyes grew wide. “No. It’s too much, too painful. She’s been through enough.”

“It’s her choice, not yours, Lieutenant. The only choice you have is whether you’ll stay with her.”

Malachi’s jaw started to tick. “That’s not a choice.”

Raphael chuckled. “There’s always a choice.” He bowed his head over me. “Your neck is broken, Lela. That’s why you can’t feel anything. Once I fix that, you’re going to feel everything. And you have a lot of injuries that I need to heal very quickly. We’re not going to do this slow and easy. Are you ready?”

He took the blink of my eyes as a yes. “Very well.”

And then … nothing happened. I stared up at Malachi’s face, feeling warm and drifty, and he stared down at me, looking like he was feeling all the pain. In seemingly no time, we were back at the Guard house.

“You can carry her to your room,” Raphael said. “I’ll finish there.”

Malachi’s arms closed around me, and I was conscious enough to be horrified as my wounds smeared blood over his black tuxedo shirt. He didn’t seem to care, though. With an almost painful tenderness, he scooped me up and ascended the stairs, nodding as Raphael announced he was going to check in with Henry before joining us.

I watched Malachi’s face as he clutched me against his chest. I wanted to tell him I needed him to keep touching me, to keep looking at me with dark eyes filled with emotions that had burned all the cool indifference away. He laid me down on his bed, and I inhaled deeply because all of it smelled like him, more than his pressed and cologned tux, his pillowcase and sheets, his room … they smelled like the real Malachi, earth and sun.