Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 27

Pain. That was the first thing Sasha felt. A deep, throbbing, bone-crushing kind of pain that pulsed through every inch of her body like molten steel. Her chest felt like it had been caved in and stitched back together with fire. Her head rang, her limbs felt like lead.

She stirred slightly, her face contorting in a grimace.

Her eyes fluttered open, lashes blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen windows. The ceiling swam above her, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was—or even who she was.

Then she shifted, and her arm brushed against something warm.

Startled, she turned her head slowly and saw Quinn. He was leaning on the edge of the table, his head resting on his crossed arms next to hers. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly parted, clearly asleep—but his body was still tense, like he hadn't allowed himself to rest deeply.

A lock of his messy hair gently brushed her forearm with every slow breath he took.

She stared at him for a moment. The worry etched in his face hadn’t faded, even in sleep.

Then she tried to sit up—and instantly regretted it.

A sharp groan escaped her throat.

Quinn's head snapped up like he’d been shocked. His eyes locked onto hers, wide with disbelief and sudden relief.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice thick from sleep but breaking with emotion. “Take it easy—don’t try to move too fast.”

Sasha blinked at him. Her voice was dry, raspy. “Not moving fast,” she said. “Pretty sure a snail just lapped me.”

With Quinn’s help, she managed to sit up, her back stiff and sore. She leaned against him slightly as the world spun for a moment. "How you feeling?"

“Well,” she muttered, letting out a breath, “I feel like I got my ass kicked by King Kong on steroids… but other than that, I’m just peachie.”

Quinn let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you look fantastic. A total vision.”

Sasha gave him a tired smirk. “Careful, Reeds. I might start to think you’re flirting.”

“I’m not. You’re delirious,” he replied, steadying her with a hand on her back. “You lost a lot of blood.”

She nodded slowly, her brow furrowing. “I feel… lightheaded.”

“That’s because I gave you some of mine,” he said softly.

Sasha’s eyes darted to him, surprised.

“You what?”

Quinn shrugged like it was nothing. “You needed it. I’m O-negative. Universal donor.”

Her gaze held his a beat longer than usual. Something unspoken passed between them.

Then she scoffed weakly and leaned her head back against the wall behind her. “Of course you are. Perfect blood, too. What don’t you have?”

“A black belt in seven martial arts. And a healthy sense of self-preservation, apparently.”

Sasha let out a quiet laugh, though it ended with a wince. “Guess that makes two of us.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, the air between them warm and quiet. For the first time in days, maybe longer, the chaos had slowed—just long enough for them to breathe.

Sasha sat in silence for a few moments, her chest still rising and falling unevenly. Then, quietly, she murmured, “I need an ice bath.”

Quinn turned his head toward her, unsure if he heard her right. “You sure?”

“I feel like a boneless steak that got run over by a semi,” she muttered. “If I don’t soak this off, I’ll seize up by sundown.”

He nodded and moved to help her off the table. Sasha slipped off the edge but her knees buckled the second her feet hit the floor.

Quinn caught her immediately, his arms wrapping tightly around her. She leaned into him, closer than she intended, her face brushing his chest. Her breath was hot and unsteady.

“Easy,” he said, steadying her.

Together, they made their way down the hall to one of the chateau’s lavish bathrooms—more like a personal spa. The space was open and expansive, polished slate floors with underfloor heating warmed the air. A massive standing shower dominated one side with a waterfall head built into the stone. A deep, jetted Jacuzzi tub sat to the right, but Quinn bypassed it, guiding her toward a smaller, more rugged tub designed specifically for cold and mineral soaks.

He supported her with one hand while his other turned on the tap, cold water pouring into the tub. Then he opened the ice box sitting beside it, grabbed a large scoop, and shoveled in pile after pile of glistening ice. He sprinkled in a few crushed minerals Calvin had insisted on for faster healing.

As the water slowly filled with frozen chunks, Quinn turned to find Sasha struggling to get her shirt off. Her body trembled slightly from exertion.

Without thinking, he stepped forward and gently placed his hand on hers.

“Let me help,” he said, voice low.

She paused, then nodded.

Carefully, he lifted the hem of her shirt, slowly peeling it up over her battered torso. Every movement was deliberate, cautious—he avoided her bruises, mindful of the bluish discoloration still blooming on her ribs. His fingers grazed her bare skin as the shirt slipped over her head, and it took every ounce of control he had not to let his hands linger.

She winced, biting her lip as he moved to her pants. With quiet focus, he undid the button and slid the fabric down over her hips and legs, revealing dark, fitted undergarments—plain, functional, but somehow more disarming than anything else. He kept his eyes averted as best he could, but his pulse betrayed him.

She was stunning, even bruised and bloodied.

And she was vulnerable in a way he’d never seen her.

He swallowed hard, jaw clenched.

Sasha, for her part, tried to ignore the tremor crawling up her spine—but it wasn’t from the cold. Despite the pain, despite the bruises and swelling, she felt a warmth unfurling in the pit of her stomach. It crawled up her neck, flushed her cheeks. It wasn’t pain—it was something else.

Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Desire.

She closed her eyes for a beat, suppressing the feeling, then stepped toward the tub.

Quinn wrapped an arm around her waist and helped lower her into the ice bath with the utmost care.

The moment her body hit the freezing water, she flinched and made a face. “Son of a bitch.”

Quinn couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, it’s cold.”

“No s**t,” she breathed, biting back a groan as the ice worked its numbing magic.

He stayed by her side, watching her closely, unsure if she was trembling from the temperature or from everything she’d just been through.

After a moment, he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

She turned her head slowly toward him. “For what?”

“For stopping you… from taking Alicia out. I… I don’t know why I did it. Instinct maybe. Or stupidity.”

Sasha didn’t respond right away. Her expression was unreadable, but not cold.

Eventually, she sighed and leaned her head back against the stone lip of the tub.

“You built the last three years of your life around her,” she said simply. “That kind of conditioning doesn’t vanish overnight. It’ll take time.”

Her voice was soft, but there was no judgment in it—just truth.

He looked at her, really looked at her. And for the first time, he wasn’t just seeing the deadly assassin, the impenetrable mask she wore like armor.

He was seeing the woman underneath it. Strong, broken, resilient—and still here.

And she’d almost died.

He said nothing more, just sat beside her in silence, the steam from her breath rising into the stillness.

And she closed her eyes, letting the cold bite into her skin, forcing the fire inside to quiet down.