Knight-in-Arms - Ultimatum: (BWWM Interracial Paranormal Billionaire Shifter Romance Part Four [Final]) by Athena Dore Page A

her right now, he was both dead and alive, like Schrodinger’s cat.
     
    Her bleary eyes focused on the person who had called her.
     
    Dr Astor.
     
    Dr Astor’s face looked pale with exhaustion. She didn't look happy or cheerful - an ominous sign. However, this might just be because she was too tired to smile.
     
    Rochelle sat up.
     
    "How is he?"
     
    "He's stable" Dr Astor said.
     
    Rochelle closed her eyes and sighed with relief.
     
    "He hasn't woken up yet but there were no complications during his surgery. You should go home and get some rest”.
     
    Rochelle wanted to stay where she was but Dr Astor persuaded her that she would feel better once she’d had a good night’s sleep. Rochelle knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep well, but she yielded to the logic of the situation. A chauffeur-driven car turned up to take her home. Lower Ferton was an hour away but driving there seemed to take forever. Every day, she’d be an hour away from Xavier. How would she cope?
     
    She visited him every day. Xavier’s staff had dropped off her luggage and things from Italy and seeing her outfits and gifts and souvenirs made her heart ache, remembering a time before all this had happened.
     
    She stayed with him from when the streetlamps were switched off in the morning, to long after they came on again in the evening.
     
    She fell asleep resting her head on the bed. She dreamt that Xavier was awake. They were on the beach. He walked up to her. He was smiling. He laid his hands on her shoulders.
     
    “Rochelle” he said.
     
    She woke up, the bright warmth of the dream fading into the bleak surroundings of the hospital.
     
    “Rochelle” the voice said again. She looked up and there was Xavier, awake.
     
    “You’re awake!” she cried.
     
    She reached out to touch his face but his eyes fluttered shut and the heart monitor flatlined. All sorts of alarms started sounding.
     
    “Xavier?” she cried, shaking him but he didn’t wake up.
     
    The medical staff rushed in, opening his gown, placing the defibrillator paddles on his chest and shocking him. It didn’t work. They tried again. It still didn’t work.
     
    Rochelle was trembling in the corner. Was this the end? But it couldn’t be. Please don’t die, Xavier; I need you.
     
    The third shock brought his heart back into rhythm.
     
    Later that day, Dr Astor confided in her that they didn’t know what was wrong with him. Certain organs seemed to be shutting down without explanation.
     
    Dr Astor didn’t have to spell it out for her: Xavier was dying.
     
    *              *              *
     
    Rochelle knew that Xavier had been fine before he’d been stabbed. If anyone knew what was wrong with him, it would be the Order of Jessick.
     
    She found the address of their UK headquarters on the Internet and went down to London.
     
    She was taken to a room with dark oak panelling. She knocked.
     
    “Come in”.
     
    It was that distinct drawl so familiar from Italy.
     
    She opened the door. Tobias Maximus Heath sat at an extravagant mahogany desk opposite. He was wearing a brown suit and scribbling something down furiously. He stopped immediately when he saw her, as though he had been looking forward all day to seeing her and was only writing to pass the time.
     
    “What a pleasant surprise, Miss Phillips”, he said, “It’s a pleasure to see you again”.
     
    The pleasure’s all his, Rochelle wanted to say but she forced herself to remain civil. Xavier needed this.
     
    “Hello” she said.
     
    He stood up, walking round to the front of the desk and resting against it.
     
    “What can I do for you?”
     
    “I need your help” she said.
     
    “My help?” asked Tobias, “Interesting…”
     
    He picked up an expensive-looking green and gold pen, and twirled it around his fingers.
     
    “Xavier’s ill”, she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “Really ill”.
     
    “Yes, I heard about his little