I couldn't deny the satisfaction that coursed through me as I walked away from Julian's bleeding form. For five years I'd swallowed my pain while he inflicted more. Now, finally, he was the one suffering.
A commotion behind me broke through my vengeful thoughts. I turned to see what was happening when a door flew open several feet ahead of me.
Tristan Sinclair stumbled out of his hospital room, looking pale and unsteady. His massive frame was hunched over in pain, hospital gown hanging loosely on his body. Despite his obvious weakness, determination blazed in his eyes as he positioned himself between me and the direction where Julian lay.
"Are you alright?" he rasped, his voice rough with fever. "I heard shouting."
My anger instantly dissolved into concern. "Tristan! What are you doing out of bed?"
He swayed dangerously, and I rushed forward, dropping my bag to catch him before he could fall. His skin burned against mine, fever still raging through his powerful body.
