if the council won’t pardon her, I’m done,” Terror stated sharply.
“She’s still a Defect,” Vicious said carefully. “Even if she gets a pardon, they’ll never sanction her as a mate.”
“After everything I’ve given, the least they can do is let me have her.” Fury welled inside him. “And there’s nothing defective about her!”
“I know,” Vicious assured him. “Our laws say otherwise.”
“Our laws are bullshit.”
“Some of them are,” Vicious agreed. “Changing them won’t be easy.”
Terror was reminded of the conversation he had with Maisie about this very thing. “The things that are most important never are.”
“General,” a medic interjected respectfully from the doorway. “Visiting hours are ending, sir.”
Vicious shot Terror an apologetic look. “Orion has the ship on a tight curfew.”
“Go,” Terror said, his energy waning and his chest aching from the exertion of their discussion. A worrisome thought hit. “Is Hallie okay?”
“Yes.” Vicious’ face had turned as hard as stone. “She suffered a fall during the initial attack, but she’s fine now.”
“The babies?” he asked carefully.
“Healthy,” Vicious said, his face relaxing some. “Her scan this morning went well.”
“Good.” He struggled against the heavy weight of drowsiness consuming him. “The other mates?”
“All safe,” Vicious assured him. “Rest, Terror. I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”
Terror made an unintelligible sound, barely able to keep his eye open as Vicious left and the medic came into his room to check his vitals and make adjustments to his medications and fluids. By the time the medic left, he had slipped into another torturous nightmare that he couldn’t escape. Each time he would jolt awake and remember the horrible truth.
Maisie is gone.
His heart ached, and it wasn’t the crushing pressure from the infection raging through his lungs causing it. No, it was love. All these years, he had refused to let anyone get as close as Maisie had. He had prided himself on being aloof and untethered.
This agonizing moment of lovesick heartbreak should have been enough to convince him that he had been wrong to open his heart to Maisie. This awful, stomach twisting sensation should have solidified his belief in love being a weakness and a foolish endeavor.
But it didn’t.
If anything, the torment stirring up his guts and making his eye burn with stinging tears, left him all the more grateful for the moments he had shared with her. He could still remember the smell of her hair. He could still feel her soft mouth on his. He could still taste her, could still hear the joyful sound of her laughter and the gasps of her pleasure.
Alone in his hospital room, Terror turned toward the small fake window projecting views of a night sky. Somewhere, maybe far away or surprisingly close, Maisie was under similar stars. He closed his eye and pictured her staring up at them. Was she thinking of him? Did she feel this same gnawing ache?
Stay alive, Maisie. Wherever you are, stay alive. I will find you.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-One Weeks Later
“Deep breath in.” Risk moved the stethoscope along Terror’s upper back. “Exhale. And another.” The stethoscope touched his lower back in two different places. “Exhale.”
Terror steadily blew out his breath. He stared at the ridiculous motivational poster on the opposite wall of the exam room and wondered what fucking idiot thought of hanging that. Probably Savage and his psy-ops crew. They were busy boosting morale as the aftermath of the Splinter infiltration.
“Lungs are good. Heart is great.” Risk came around the exam table and began to palpate Terror’s neck and throat. “No swelling in your lymph nodes. Any problems with that cough since your last checkup?”
Yes.
“No.” He wasn’t about to admit that to Risk, though. The doctor would bench him for another week or two, and he was done sitting out the game.
“Good.” Risk checked his eyes, ears and nose before gesturing for him to open his mouth. After a quick peek, he stepped back and disposed of the tongue depressor. “I saw your physical assessment scores. Your run time on the course was surprising.”
Terror didn’t want to admit how hard it had been. The first time he had taken the physical, he had failed spectacularly. The blow to his already cratered self-esteem had sunk him into a mini-depression. If it hadn’t been for Vicious tossing him out of bed and forcing him into the gym, he would probably still be wallowing.
“How’s your sleep?”
Terror avoided Risk’s knowing gaze. “It’s fine.”
“Uh-huh,” Risk said, unconvinced. “Nightmares or insomnia?”
Terror clenched his fists as the flashes of his nightly torment filled his head. It was always some