Chapter 89 Chapter 89
Moments later, the door opens again. Elena—the nurse—returns, followed by a man in blue scrubs, handsome as sin with sharp jawline and piercing green eyes that scan me clinically. He pulls up a chart, stepping closer to check the monitors, his presence commanding yet gentle.
“Good morning, Adrianna. I am Dr. Levi Harlan. You have been out for a while—let us see how you're doing.”
His hand brushes my arm as he adjusts the IV, sending an unwelcome spark through my skin, my silent mind screaming questions I can not voice, the beeping mocking my confusion.
The doctor's touch lingers a second too long on my arm, that spark igniting something deep and forbidden in my gut—demonic heat, maybe, from the dream that still clings to my skin like sweat after a brutal fuck. But no, that is impossible. My mind reels, fragments of angels chained and demons pounding cock into unwilling asses flashing behind my eyes, soul bonds throbbing like fresh bruises. I blink hard, trying to shake it off, the beeping monitors a harsh reminder of this sterile hell.
Nurse Elena—God, her face twists my heart, so like the fierce lover who strapped on and railed me until I squirted across the sheets—hovers with a plastic cup, straw poking out.
“Here, sip this slowly,” she says, her voice soft, professional, no trace of the snarling dominance that had me begging for more.
I latch onto the straw, sucking down cool water that soothes my ravaged throat, each swallow easing the raw scrape enough to think straight. The liquid slides down, quenching the fire, but questions burn hotter now.
After a few cups, my voice croaks out, weak and raspy like gravel under boots.
“Where... am I? What happened? How did I get here?”
The words hang in the air, trembling, my eyes darting between them—Elena's gentle concern, the doctor's piercing gaze that feels too familiar, too possessive, like he has seen me naked and screaming in ecstasy.
Elena moves efficiently, wrapping a cuff around my arm to check my blood pressure, her fingers cool against my feverish skin.
“Vitals are steadying,” she murmurs, watchful eyes flicking to the doctor.
He—Levi, though the tag says Harlan, but fuck, it is him, those green eyes from the dream, calm and calculating—takes a deep breath, chart in hand, preparing to drop whatever bomb he's holding.
“Ms. Jones, you—” he starts, voice steady, clinical.
“Adrianna,” I cut in, sharper than intended, my throat protesting but holding. “Call me Adrianna.”
The demand surprises even me, a spark of the determined woman from my 'memories'—the one who plotted revenge on fallen arch-angels, who rode Elena's strap-on while soul bonds ignited like hellfire.
Levi grins, a flash of white teeth that sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine, straight to my core, where phantom aches from dream-fucks pulse.
“Okay, Adrianna. You have been in a coma for quite a while.”
He hesitates, eyes locking on mine, weighing the impact.
“How long?” I whisper, dread coiling tight, the supernatural haze of my dream cracking under reality's weight—angels and demons dissolving into coma-induced bullshit.
He exhales slowly.
“Twelve years. You have been in a coma for twelve years.”
The words hit like a gut punch, stealing my breath. Twelve fucking years? My mind fractures—Michael's chained screams, Apollo's primal rage-fucks with Levi, Elena's tongue buried in my ass while we vowed eternal sin—all of it, gone. Just a dream, a twisted dark fantasy spun from drugged oblivion. I take a deep breath, the monitors beeping faster, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“Oh, wow. What... what happened?”
Levi glances at the chart, his professional mask slipping just enough to show restrained protectiveness, like he wants to pull me into his arms and fuck the confusion away. But he does not.
“According to your records, someone drugged you. The neighbor's kid, Apollo, found you passed out in the yard and called for an ambulance. You were lucky—he got to you just in time. Ten minutes later, and you might not have made it. He still visits you everyday, hoping you will wake up.”
Speechless, I stare at the ceiling, tiles blurring as tears prick my eyes. Drugged. Coma. Twelve years lost to a void, my body atrophied, mind fractured into erotic nightmares of revenge and soul-deep lust. The soul bond with Elena? Bullshit hallucination. Levi's demonic cock thrusting into Apollo while I watched, chained and wet? All fabricated from whatever poison coursed through me. But the sensations linger—wet heat between my thighs, nipples hardening under the thin gown at the memory of Elena's teeth on my clit, the way we had collapsed in a sweaty, cum-soaked heap, plotting angelic downfall.
Elena squeezes my hand gently, her touch igniting that faint echo of the bond, or maybe just desperate longing.
“Take it slow, Adrianna. We have got you now.”
Her voice is soft, caring, but no recognition of our 'marriage,' our hours of furious scissoring until pussies ground raw. She is just a nurse, and I am just a patient waking to a life erased.
Levi steps closer, adjusting the IV with careful fingers that brush my inner arm, sending sparks racing to my untouched core.
“We will run more tests, get you physical therapy started. You are strong—you made it through.”
His eyes hold mine, a depth there that whispers of hidden worlds, demons lurking beneath the scrubs, but I shove it down. Reality bites harder than any dream-bite on my throat.
Questions swirl unspoken: Who drugged me? Why? And why does looking at them feel like waking from a orgy of fallen angels, my body craving the brutal release of that fantasy revenge? The room spins slightly, exhaustion pulling at me, but determination hardens in my chest. I need answers—real ones. Not the smoky illusions of soul bonds and hellish fucks. Elena offers another sip of water, her fierce eyes softening, and I take it, throat easing further, mind racing toward whatever truth waits beyond this bed.
As Levi jots notes, his presence looms protective, restrained hunger in his stance that mirrors the dream-Levi's calculating dominance. I shift under the sheets, thighs clenching against the phantom throb, wondering if any of it was real—or if the dark fantasy clings, ready to drag me back under. The beeping slows, my breaths evening out, but the confusion festers, a seed of unrest blooming in the sterile quiet.