TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 334

< CHAPTER 262 MEDICALLY INTERESTING

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CHAPTER 262: MEDICALLY INTERESTING

EMBER’S POV

I sit with Maurice for twenty minutes before Knox comes to find me.

Twenty minutes isn’t long enough for everything I want to say to a man who is lying in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and machines counting his heartbeats.

But twenty minutes is what I have because we’re leaving Alaska today and there’s a list of things that nee doing before we board that plane.

Knox has been letting me take my time, but I can feel him hovering in the corridor the way he hovers wher he’s being patient against his natural instincts, which is to say: loudly.

“I’m going to find her,” I tell Maurice’s unconscious face. His hand is warm in mine, and the machines bee their steady rhythm.

His chest rises and falls softly.

“Devika. I’m going to find her and get every answer you were too scared to chase. About my father, about the suppressants, about the woman with the twin girls and the black car. All of it.”

He doesn’t respond. Obviously. But his fingers twitch against mine in a way that could be a reflex or could be the somewhere-deep-down version of Maurice hearing his daughter’s voice and reaching for it.

“And you’re going to wake up,” I say, and my voice doesn’t waver because I’ve decided it won’t. “That’s not a request, Dad. That’s a condition. I’ve recently learned that conditions are very effective when dealing with difficult men, and you are the most difficult man I know. Well, the second most difficult. The first just proposed to me on a highway while discussing shoe storage, so the bar is high.”

I kiss his forehead. I straighten his blanket, which doesn’t need straightening, because the nurses here are meticulous and the blanket is fine, and the straightening is for me, not for him.

Then I stand, walk to the door, and don’t look back.

Knox is leaning against the corridor wall with two coffees and the specific expression of a man who has been waiting patiently for exactly as long as his patience allows and has now arrived at the edge.

“There’s someone who wants to see you,” he says, handing me a coffee. “Different wing.”

“Rayana?”

“She threatened to discharge herself and walk over here in a hospital gown if I didn’t bring you to her, and f believe her because I’ve seen her do worse things in better health.”

We walk through the hospital corridors with our fingers interlaced, and the coffee is terrible and his hand

is warm and every nurse we pass does a double-take at the six-foot-something man with the blue eyes and the jawline that really should require a permit.

< CHAPTER 262 MEDICALLY INTERESTING

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Heatch one of them staring, and Knox catches me catching her, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“She’s looking at you,” I say.

“She’s looking at the splint of my wrist. It’s medically interesting.”

“She’s looking at your ASS, Knox.”

“My ass is also medically interesting.”

“I’m going to have you escorted out of this building.”

“You can’t escort me anywhere. I’m a king.”

“You’re a king with a fiancée who is considering violence.”

He pulls me into him by our joined hands and presses his mouth to my temple and the kiss is warm and

lingering and entirely inappropriate for a hospital corridor.

I lean into it anyway because I am done pretending that public displays of affection are beneath me. They’re not beneath me.

They’re the only thing keeping me upright at the moment.

Rayana’s room is in the private wing, which is where hospitals put patients who can afford to die in

comfort.

The room is large, with actual art on the walls, and the bed looks like it belongs in a hotel rather than a

medical facility….

Rayana is propped up in it, wearing pyjamas and an expression that suggests the hospital gown was abandoned approximately thirty seconds after admission.

She looks terrible.

I wasn’t prepared for how terrible.

The last time I saw her was before Zürich, and the woman in this bed is not the one I remember.

She’s thinner, the bones of her face visible in a way they weren’t before, the platinum blonde hair limp

against the pillow, her skin carrying a grey undertone that no amount of silk pyjamas can camouflage

The cough is new, or at least newly frequent – she suppresses one as we walk in, pressing a tissue to her mouth and folding it quickly.

But her eyes are the same. Sharp, alive, tracking everything with avid intelligence despite her condition.

“There she is,” Rayana says, and her smile is genuine in a way that still catches me off guard because I

spent so many weeks assuming everything she did was deliberately evil. “The woman who apparently burned a house down with her brain and scared the entire medical community. I’ve heard stories. The nurses are terrified of you.”

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