CHRISTIAN
Isabella’s fingers barely held onto my wrist, her grip weak—too weak.
But the fact that she was reaching for me at all made something inside my chest tighten unbearably.
She wanted me to stay.
I should have felt relieved. I should have felt comforted.
Instead, all I felt was anger.
Not at her.
Never at her.
But at the bastard who did this.
I swallowed down the rising fury and gently placed my other hand over hers, cradling it between my palms. She was so warm, but at the same time, she looked so fragile.
“I’m here,” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her lashes fluttered slightly, and I could tell she was exhausted.
She had only just woken up, and already, her body was fighting against her, pulling her back into unconsciousness.
But she fought it.
She kept her e
