Court of Flowers (Sutherland Book 1)

XL | Gabrielle

"Now, now, Eaton, I do not think this is necessary—"

Sasha's eyes fluttered open and she squinted against the sunlight from across the room. She turned her head just as the door flew open and a large man stumbled inside. It was not because he was pushed into the room by West, but because he was just... unstable.

He whirled on his heels and struggled to stay up as he swayed, his arms held up to the side to maintain his balance.

"Good morning, Sasha," West greeted, walking over to the bed with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

She blinked. "Much better than yesterday."

"Good," he nodded, stepping back. "I asked an acquaintance to assess your condition this morning." He twisted his torso and motioned with his hand. "This is Oliver St. Vincent. He owns Sinclair."

She frowned, recognizing the name. "Sinclair... the hospital?"

The large man turned, raking his fingers through his rather scruffy long dark brown hair which made him appear as though he just rolled out of bed. His beard which covered most of his lower face and the smell of brandy in the air made Sasha wonder what his story was. "Yes!" his deep, baritone voice boomed around the bedchamber. He smiled, white teeth peeking through his bushy mustache, which to Sasha resembled a bird's nest. "Yes, the hospital. And a few other stores, but why would you care?" He took one wobbly step toward the bed, his glimmering eyes looking straight at her. "And you are alive." He turned to West with a mocking smile and bowed. "My task is over."

As he straightened, West, grabbed St. Vincent's arm and forced him to face Sasha. "You will check her wound, St. Vincent."

Sasha recoiled in bed. "My wound is healing just fine. Who is this—" Her eyes widened. "Is this the man who opened me up like a carcass?"

"Hmm. Did I say that when I was slicing you? Perhaps, I did," said St. Vincent, walking closer to the bed. "Reveal thy imperfect anatomy, my lady."

Sasha blinked. "My what?"

West sighed and sat beside Sasha. "He needs to see to your wound."

"He is a doctor," she pointed out, her words laced with uncertainty as she spoke them, looking at St. Vincent up and down.

St. Vincent's hazel eyes squinted as he grinned. "A giant doctor with angel hands," he said, bending down to help West with the bandages. "Have you been applying the solution I gave you?"

"Yes."

"Then why am I here, Eaton?" St. Vincent asked. "I told you to only call for me if she is dying." Sasha opened her mouth to speak but the man was fast to add, "Ah, I believe I understand. You want to see if you may resume sexual interactions."

Sasha's face flushed and she saw West close his eyes to summon control. "I took you here because it had been two weeks since the incident, St. Vincent."

St. Vincent rumbled with laughter at their loss for words. It took him merely a second to see the wound to say, "She looks like she has been eating—or been forced to eat. She is not dying." Then he straightened to full height, his shadow looming over her. "But I suggest you be less active in the sexual act." He motioned his head down at West who was hastily wrapping the bandages back over Sasha's wound. "Let this man do all the bloody work."

Sasha scoffed in disbelief, looking at the man standing before her. He smelled like his washbasin was poured with spirits, his beard, and hair looking like one giant mane.

"Did you truly save me?"

He looked offended. "I would not say so. I was dragged here to apply my skills. I was not hoping to save you."