Chapter 5 - THE SHIELD AND THE LIGHT
BANG!
The gunshot echoed like a cannon shot through the steel warehouse.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing impact of the bullet—but it never came.
Instead, a massive wall of solid muscle and dark wool slammed into me, throwing me and Helena safely onto the concrete floor behind the heavy iron pillar.
Alexander.
"Alexander!" I screamed, scrambling onto my knees.
He lay on his side against the cold concrete, his face pale, his teeth grit in agonizing pain. Blood was rapidly blooming across the left shoulder of his crisp white shirt, painting the dark fabric a deep, terrifying crimson.
A few yards away, Richard Vance lay motionless on the floor, disarmed and pinned under the heavy boots of Marcus and three tactical officers.
"Alexander! Oh god, Alexander!" Tears burst from my eyes as I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing my hands hard against his wound to stop the bleeding.
Helena was beside us in an instant. She couldn't hear his groans of pain, but she saw the blood pouring over my hands. Her face drained of all color, a silent, heartbreaking cry escaping her lips as she grabbed her son’s uninjured hand.
"I'm... I'm okay," Alexander gasped out, his hazel eyes locking onto mine despite the blinding pain. "Did... did he hit you?"
"No! No, you took the bullet for me, you idiot!" I sobbed, tears splashing onto his cheek as I applied heavy pressure to his chest. "Why did you do that?!"
Alexander reached up with his trembling, bloody fingers, gently touching my tear-stained face.
A small, faint smile touched his pale lips.
"Because... you're my light, Emily," he whispered, his voice weak but filled with absolute truth. "I can't live in the dark again."
His eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back against the concrete as darkness took him.
"ALEXANDER!" I screamed.
Helena pulled her son’s face into her lap, weeping silently, while Marcus yelled for the medical team to enter the building.
The ICU waiting room on the top floor of Mount Sinai Hospital was quiet, save for the steady, rhythmic beep of heart monitors echoing from down the hallway.
It was four in the morning.
I sat on a leather sofa, wearing an oversized grey sweater, staring at my hands. They were clean now, washed of Alexander’s blood, but I could still feel the phantom warmth of his touch against my cheek.
Helena sat beside me, holding a cup of untouched tea.
The double doors of the surgical unit slid open.
A tall surgeon in blue scrubs walked out, pulling off his surgical mask. Helena and I stood up instantly, stepping into his line of sight.
"Miss Carter? Mrs. Kingston?" the surgeon asked.
"How is he?!" I asked frantically.
"The bullet passed cleanly through the deltoid muscle," the doctor explained with a warm, reassuring smile. "It missed the main artery by less than an inch. He lost a considerable amount of blood, but the surgery was a complete success. He is stable and resting in Room 402."
A massive wave of relief washed over me so violently my knees nearly buckled.
I turned to Helena, lifting my hands to translate with tears of joy spilling down my cheeks: He is safe. The bullet missed his artery. He is going to live.
Helena let out a long, shuddering breath, covering her face with her hands as she wept tears of pure gratitude. She pulled me into a fierce, tight hug, pressing her face against my shoulder.
Thank you, my daughter, Helena signed against my back. Thank you for saving my boy.
Ten minutes later, I stepped quietly into Room 402.
The room was soft and dim, lit only by the gentle amber glow of the city skyline outside the high glass window. The steady beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.
Alexander lay in the hospital bed, his left arm wrapped tightly in white bandages, an IV line running into his hand.
As the door clicked shut, his hazel eyes opened slowly.
He turned his head toward me, his face still pale, but his gaze alert and filled with incredible warmth.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice raspy.
"Hey yourself, hero," I murmured, walking over to the side of his bed, wiping a rogue tear from my cheek. "You scared us to death."
Alexander lifted his right hand—unbound and free—and pointed toward his heart, then extended his fingers outward toward me.
I love you.
The sign wasn't clumsy anymore. It was fluid, beautiful, and completely clear.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart soared so high I felt weightless.
May you like
I reached out, taking his warm hand into mine, holding it tightly against my cheek.
"I love you too, Alexander," I whispered, leaning down to gently press my lips against his.
