Chapter 9 - The Debt of the Heart
"Claire! Look at me! Look at me!" Gabriel pleaded, his voice cracking with a terror he had never felt in his entire life.
He pressed his large hand firmly over the wound near her collarbone, feeling the hot, crimson blood seeping through his fingers, staining her beautiful emerald velvet gown.
Claire lay in his arms, her vision swimming with bright white spots, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The pain was white-hot, radiating through her chest, but looking up into Gabriel’s face, seeing the tears breaking past his dark eyes, she felt an overwhelming desire to comfort him.
"Gabriel..." she whispered, her pale hand rising weakly to touch his jaw, leaving a faint streak of blood on his skin. "Is... is Eleanor okay? Is Lily... safe?"
"They are safe! You saved them!" Gabriel sobbed, pressing his forehead against her wet cheek, his body shaking violently. "You foolish, brave woman... why did you do that?!"
"Because... I love you," Claire choked out softly, her eyelids growing heavy, dark waves crashing over her mind. "I couldn't... let them hurt... your family..."
"No! Stay with me! Claire! Open your eyes!" Gabriel begged, lifting her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, sprinting out of the vault into the hallway where medical teams were already rushing in. "GET THE SURGEON NOW! IF SHE DIES, THIS CITY BURNS!"
For forty-eight agonizing hours, the top floor of Saint Jude’s Private Hospital was locked down under military-grade security.
Gabriel Vance never left the hallway outside the intensive care unit. He refused to change out of his blood-stained shirt, refused to eat, and refused to sleep. He stood outside the glass window, watching the machines beep beside the woman who had taken a bullet for his family.
On the third morning, the heavy door opened, and Dr. Harrison stepped out, taking off his surgical cap.
Gabriel turned instantly, his eyes bloodshot, his hands clenching into fists. "Tell me."
"The bullet missed her subclavian artery by less than a centimeter, Mr. Vance," the surgeon said, smiling softly. "She lost a lot of blood, but the surgery was a complete success. She is awake, stable, and asking for you."
Gabriel felt as though the weight of the universe had been lifted from his shoulders. He let out a long, shuddering breath, buried his face in his hands, and wept silently in the hospital hallway.
Five minutes later, Gabriel stepped softly into the private room.
Claire was lying in the hospital bed, wrapped in crisp white sheets, an IV line hooked to her arm, her face pale but her warm brown eyes bright and conscious.
When she saw Gabriel—disheveled, exhausted, covered in the remnants of the worst night of his life—a soft, sweet smile spread across her lips.
"You look terrible, Mr. Vance," Claire teased weakly, her voice raspy.
Gabriel walked to the side of her bed, dropped to his knees on the cold floor, and took her uninjured hand in both of his, pressing his face into her mattress, weeping openly.
"Claire..." Gabriel rasped, his voice raw. "You saved my mother. You saved my child. You nearly gave your life for mine."
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Claire ran her fingers gently through his messy black hair. "I didn't do it to settle a debt, Gabriel."
Gabriel looked up, his dark eyes filled with a fierce, eternal devotion. "I know. You did it because you have the purest heart in this dark world. And I swear to you, Claire Whitmore, for as long as I draw breath, I will spend every second of my life keeping you safe, loved, and cherished."
