Darkness didn't come all at once. It drifted in like smoke, curling around the edges of my vision as I sat slumped in the mahogany chair.
Chloe was a blur of movement. She was no longer the woman who looked at me with cold, distant eyes; she was a force of nature. She had cleared the expensive china and silverware from the end of the table with a single, violent sweep of her arm.
"Asher, stay with me!" her voice cracked through the fog in my brain. It was a command, the kind I usually gave my soldiers.
"I'm here," I managed to rasp. My hand, still covering hers over the wound, felt heavy—like it was made of lead.
The door burst open, and Marcus came charging in, his face pale as he carried Chloe's medical bag. Leo was right behind him, his small face streaked with tears.
"Marcus, take Leo to the sunroom," Chloe ordered without looking up. Her hands were already snapping on latex gloves. "Keep him there. Don't let him see this."
