Chapter 304

ZION

Winter’s scream sliced through the quiet hospital room like a blade—high, raw, pure terror—yanking me out of the shallow half-sleep I’d fallen into with my head pillowed on my arms at the edge of her bed.

The chair I’d been slouched in skidded back and crashed to the floor with a metallic clatter as I jerked upright, heart slamming so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

My eyes swept the room in one frantic heartbeat—door still closed, windows dark, no movement in the corners, no shadow that didn’t belong.

Just the low amber glow I’d left on for her, the soft blue light from the monitors, and Winter thrashing weakly against the sheets, trapped in whatever hell her mind had dragged her back to.

Nightmare.

Fuck.

“Snowflake—baby, hey…” I kept my voice low, steady, the way the trauma counselor had drilled into me over and over, but I poured every drop of softness I had left into it—

“Shhh, sweetheart, shhh… it’s just me. It’s just Zion. Your Zion. It’s just a nightmare, love. Just a bad dream trying to trick you. You’re safe. You’re right here in the hospital, in your warm bed, tucked in tight. No one’s hurting you. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again. I’ve got you… I’m right here… right here… shhh… my brave girl… my beautiful girl… you’re safe… I’ve got you… forever got you…”

She jerked again—

Another choked whimper slipped past her cracked lips, small and broken, barely louder than the frantic spike of the monitor alarms.

Her hands clawed at the blanket, knuckles white, body curling in on itself like she was trying to disappear, like she was still back on that cold floor trying to make herself small enough to survive.

“Let go… leave me alone…” she whimpered, voice tiny and shattered, shaking on every syllable.

“Please… no… let go…”

My heart cracked wide open—pain so sharp it stole my breath.

Fuck

I leaned in closer—forehead almost brushing hers, one hand sliding gently into her hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands with slow, soothing strokes.

"Shhh..It’s over, love. They’re gone. They can’t touch you. They’re never touching you again. Look at me, Snowflake. Open those gorgeous eyes for me. Breathe… just breathe… in… out… in… out… that’s it. You’re doing so good. You’re safe. I love you. I’ve got you… always got you… shhh… my everything… you’re safe… you’re home… I’m right here…”

Her thrashing slowed—less frantic now, more exhausted twitches. Her lashes fluttered—wet, trembling—then cracked open just enough for me to see the storm-grey underneath, wide and glassy and still half-lost in the dream.

Recognition hit slow—then all at once.

“Zion…?” The word was barely a breath, cracked and shaking.

“Yeah,” I said, relief crashing through me so hard my own eyes stung.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. You’re safe. Just a nightmare. Just a bad dream. They’re not here. They’re never getting near you again.”

She started shaking then—full-body tremors, teeth chattering, tears spilling over already-swollen lids.

The monitor alarms chirped louder as her heart rate spiked again.

I kept stroking her hair—slow, rhythmic, fingers carding gently from her temple back in long, soothing passes.

“Calm down baby. Breathe with me,” I said, keeping my voice even, calm.

“In… slow. Out… slow. In… out. That’s it. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

She tried—chest hitching, breaths ragged at first, then slower, matching mine. The tremors eased, little by little. The monitor beeps slowed, steadying.

I kept talking—low, calm, nonsense mostly—just words to fill the silence, to remind her where she was.

“You’re in the hospital remember. It’s night. Everyone’s gone home. Just us. Just me and you. You’re warm. You’re dry. You’re safe. The door’s locked. The nurses are right down the hall. No one’s getting in. No one’s getting near you. I’m right here. I’m not moving.”

Her grip loosened—just a fraction—but she didn’t let go.

“I… I saw him,” she whispered, voice so small it broke my heart.

“Damien. He had the knife against my throat. He was laughing. Your father was there… watching. Telling him to finish it. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I—”

Her voice cracked. Fresh tears slipped free.

I leaned closer—forehead resting gently against hers, careful of the fading gash.

“He’s gone,” I said fiercely, voice low but hard.

“Both of them. Locked up. Cuffed. In cells where they belong. They can’t touch you. They can’t even see you. It was just a dream, baby. Just your mind trying to process the shit they put you through. But it’s not real. Not anymore. You’re here. With me. Safe. And I’m never letting anything happen to you again.”

She nodded—small, jerky—tears still falling.

I brushed them away with my thumb—soft, careful—then peppered tiny, feather-light kisses across her forehead, her temple, the bridge of her nose—every safe spot I could reach without hurting her.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered between kisses.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m not letting go.”

She nodded slowly.

“Want me to stay like this?” I asked, pulling back just enough to see her eyes.

“Right here. Forehead to forehead. Hand in hand. Until you fall back asleep?”

She nodded again—faster this time, desperate.

I stayed.

Didn’t move.

Just breathed with her.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Until her breathing slowed.

Until her grip relaxed.

Until her lashes fluttered shut and stayed closed.

I stayed there—kneeling beside the bed, forehead to hers, hand in hers—until the monitor settled back into its steady rhythm.

Until her face finally relaxed.

Until I was sure the nightmare had lost its hold.

Then I eased back—

I righted the chair with a quiet scrape and sank back into it, the plastic creaking under my weight.

Three o’clock in the morning.

The hallway lights outside the door had dimmed to that sickly yellow night-shift glow, and the room was hushed except for the soft, steady beep of Winter’s monitor and the faint hiss of her oxygen cannula.

I’d only managed a couple hours of restless, broken sleep—head pillowed on my arms at the edge of her bed, jumping at every sound, every shift of her breathing.

I wouldn’t sleep well here. I wouldn’t sleep well again until she was stronger, until the stitches were out, until she was safely back in the Royal house, in our bed, where I could lock every door and stand guard myself.

“Zion…?”

Her whisper was so quiet I almost missed it over the hum of the machines.

My head snapped up.

She was watching me through half-lidded eyes, face pale against the pillow, but awake.

“Hey,” I said softly, leaning forward so my elbows braced on the mattress edge.

“I thought you’d fallen back asleep.”

She shook her head—just a tiny movement, careful of the bruises still mottling her cheeks.

“What is it, sweetheart?” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead with the lightest touch I could manage.

She swallowed—wincing at the pull in her throat—and her gaze flicked toward the bathroom door.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

I smiled despite myself—

“I’ll help you.”

“That’s okay,” she said quickly, already trying to push herself up on her elbows.

“I can do it myself.”

She made it maybe two inches before a sharp groan tore out of her—pain lancing across her face as her side pulled at the fresh incision.

She dropped back against the pillows with a shaky exhale, hand pressing instinctively over the bandage.

“Your nurse gave strict instructions remember,” I reminded her gently, already standing.

“No getting out of bed without assistance. Not even to stand. You could fall, and I’m not risking that.”

“Zion!” she hissed, cheeks flushing under the bruises—a soft pink I hadn’t seen in days.

“I don’t want you taking me to the bathroom!”

“I’m sorry, Snowflake,” I said, lips brushing the shell of her ear just enough to make her shiver.

“But you’re stuck with me tonight. I’m the only one here. Besides…” I let my voice dip even lower, warm and wicked against her skin.

“Why not me? I’ve seen and tasted every inch of your delectable body. What’s the big deal? I’ve had my mouth on places the nurse hasn’t even dreamed of checking.”

Her blush exploded—bright and instant, spreading across her cheeks and down her neck despite the fading yellow-green of the bruises.

She swallowed hard, eyes widening, a tiny, shocked

“Zion!” escaping her cracked lips.

I chuckled—soft, quiet, the sound rumbling low in my chest.

“Or,” I added, grinning now,

“I could go flag down the night nurse. But she seems very angry—like someone pissed in her coffee and then stole her favorite pen. Your choice, baby. Me… or Angry Night nurse.”

Winter stared at me for a long second—eyes narrowed, cheeks flaming—then let out a tiny, resigned huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Okay, you,” she muttered, voice still hoarse but laced with that stubborn spark I loved so much.

“But just to the bathroom door. Once I’m inside, I can manage on my own.”

I chuckled again—deeper this time, warm and relieved—and straightened.

“We’ll see about that.”

I lowered the bed rail with a quiet click, then slid one arm behind her shoulders and the other under her knees—slow, careful, lifting her like she was made of glass.

She winced as her side pulled, but she didn’t protest, just looped her free arm around my neck and tucked her face against my shoulder.

I carried her to the bathroom—three careful steps across the cold tile—then set her down gently on her feet right in front of the door, keeping one arm looped securely around her waist until I was sure her legs weren’t going to give out again. She swayed for half a second, hand gripping my forearm, but she steadied herself.

“Okay… I’ll go from here… myself,” she said, voice small but stubborn, already trying to ease out of my hold.

“What? No—” I started, instinctive protest rising fast.

“Zion,” she cut in, cheeks flushing that soft pink under the bruises, eyes narrowing in that familiar mix of embarrassment and defiance.

“I’m not letting you watch me pee.”

"But..."

No!"

Okay, fine,” I conceded, raising both hands in mock surrender but keeping my body close enough to catch her if she wobbled.

“But door stays unlocked. I mean it. You call if you need me. One word—anything—and I’m through that door. No heroics, Snowflake. No toughing it out alone. Promise me.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

I stepped back—reluctantly—and leaned against the wall outside the door, arms crossed, listening to every small sound: the shuffle of her feet, the soft clink of the toilet seat.

Anything.

My heart stayed lodged somewhere in my throat the whole time, counting seconds, straining for any sign she was okay inside.

I leaned against the bathroom wall for half a second more, before I couldn’t stand still anymore.

My boots started pacing—slow, measured, three steps one way, three steps back—right outside the door like a caged animal.

I kept glancing at the door like it might explode or she might call out or—fuck—fall.

I could picture it too clearly: her swaying, knees buckling, the way her side would pull and make her gasp.

I should’ve gone in with her. Should’ve insisted.

Should’ve—

She’s in the fucking toilet, Zion.

Calm the fuck down.

It’s three steps from the seat to the sink.

She’s not climbing Everest.

She’s not bleeding out.

She’s just… peeing.

Yet, I was losing my fucking mind.

I stopped pacing.

Pressed my palm flat against the wall beside the doorframe.

Leaned my forehead there for a second, eyes closed, listening harder.

Come on, baby. Call me.

I’m right here.

Just call.

I forced a slow breath in through my nose, out through my mouth.

Waiting.

Listening.

Ready to move the second she called.

Because that’s what I did now.

That’s who I was.

Her guard.

Her idiot.

Her always

....