11.
“Low blood sugar.” Sheyla made the excuse on automatic as the prince’s guard caught him before he hit the ground.
“We haven’t eaten much in the last day,” Gavriel explained, presumably to the other leaders. “Supplies ran out a while back.”
She had no interest in how the bear leader or the wolf lieutenant responded. Sheyla leaned in to check Alastor’s breathing, ignoring the incipient chaos. Steady. That’s good. His face was like alabaster with desperate roses blazing high in his cheeks. He still has that damned fever. This was no place to examine him properly, however, with tons of soldiers milling around the city limits, surrounded by armaments and war machines.
After taking the prince’s pulse, she beckoned to Dedrick. “The hospital is this way. He needs fluids at the very least.”
“I’ll go with you!” An ethereally beautiful Golgoth female shouldered through the crowd, eyes wide and desperate.
The guard shook his head. “Stay here. Keep the men calm and give orders in my stead. Cooperate with the wolves, bears, and the Eldritch, understood?”
She let out a slow breath and nodded. “As you say.”
“Let’s go,” Sheyla urged.
“Do you need any help? Is it serious?” Probably Zan meant to be helpful, and he had been silent on their short trip together, but she didn’t trust him fully yet. Without meaning to, she flicked a look at the Golgoth currently holding Alastor, gauging his reaction.
Silently the soldier implored her to keep Alastor’s secret. There was no gain in making his condition common knowledge. “We’re fine. Stay with everyone else.”
Practically running, she passed beneath the arches that marked the entry to Hallowell. Normally she’d pause to evaluate the changes as it had been years since she left, but she didn’t spare a look. Unless I’m remembering wrong, we’re four blocks away. Muscle memory didn’t lead her astray; she had stumbled this path more times than she could count, half-asleep and called back on duty after a ridiculously long shift. She led the way across the quad to St. Casimir, a weathered white stone structure that had all the charm you’d expect in an institution constructed three hundred years ago, by a monastic order. Still, despite the austere exterior, the inside was well-kept and modern, brightly lit and absolutely bustling. A pang went through her when she spotted a few familiar faces, as the old scent of antiseptic washed over her.
“Dr. Halek, isn’t it?” A former professor was smiling at her, though his expression dimmed when he processed the situation.
“It is. I need visiting doctor privileges. Can you help me out, Dr. Seagram? It’s urgent.”
“I’ll get the paperwork started. You head to admissions and see if they can find your friend a room.”
“Thank you.” She called that over one shoulder, already navigating the labyrinthine crisscross of hallways, easy for visitors to get lost.
A semi-secret shortcut deposited them at admissions, where she sped through registration with the ease of familiarity. The clerk balked when she heard the patient was Golgoth but Sheyla overrode her. “I’m the attending physician. Get me a room and I’ll handle the rest. You don’t even need to put him on your nursing rotation.”
Sighing, the woman said, “Fine. We have space in the cardiology ward. 507, last room on the right.”
“Perfect, we’re on the way.” Curling her fingers at the silent guard, she hurried off.
It was harder than normal to keep fear at bay. She’d known he wasn’t well last night, but she’d succumbed to his blandishments, acting like a woman and not a doctor. This afternoon, when he collapsed, it took all her self-control not to react emotionally, too. She’d seen family members melt down in tears, shaking their sick loved ones and calling their names, like that ever did any good. But she’d suppressed the same damn impulse a short while ago.
And I know better.
Dedrick spoke then. “Will he be all right?”
It was a loaded question, full of a tacit request for reassurance. “I’ll do my best.”
As she’d remembered, the hospital rooms were small but clean, and this one was private. She opened the door for Dedrick, who needed no invitation to deposit Alastor on the bed. He was taking off his boots when she rushed off to get some supplies. She didn’t know the cardiac unit well, but a brief Q&A with the floor nurse soon got her squared away. By the time she got back, Dedrick had him ready for pajamas, which she passed over.
“When you’re done, I’ll start the IV.”
“I’ll be quick.”
And he was. He was also a capable assistant, handing her supplies before she asked for them with an assurance that made Sheyla suspect he’d done this before. “Hold his arm in case he moves, please.”
She needed to bring the fever down, but he’d said that other medications interfered with the serum, diminishing its efficacy. The physician in her called bullshit; there had to be some medicine he could take safely for pain and fever. In any event, she wasn’t inclined to heed doctors who were now working for Tycho and who would have executed Alastor on command. Not exactly the best care, that. In fact, she wouldn’t even be surprised if his asshole brother had ordered Alastor’s doctor to make him suffer as much as possible. As soon as Sheyla had a more accurate chemical analysis of the original serum, not the stopgap she’d created, she’d cross reference and check for interactions.
“How is he?” Dedrick asked, once she completed her preliminary check.
“This seems to be mild malnutrition, combined with exhaustion and dehydration. I can’t confirm anything else until I run some blood tests.”
It was best to take the samples while Alastor was out, so she collected them efficiently. Normally a nurse would do a good portion of this, but she’d promised not to impose on hospital staff. That choice didn’t stem so much from a desire to be considerate, rather from her need for privacy. She’d probably need to consult with Dr. Seagram at some point because he specialized in oncology, but if possible, she’d keep the prince’s secret.
Dedrick indicated the vials in her hands with a tilt of his head. “I’ll wait with him if you need to take those to the lab.”
“Not your first time, huh?”
“Unfortunately, not.”
“I’m glad he has you,” she said.
The big Golgoth half-smiled. “It’s the other way around.”
“Let me guess, he saved you?” Though her tone was light, she wasn’t joking.
“Unquestionably,” came the firm response.
“Maybe you can tell me about it when I get back.” With that, she hurried off to complete the analysis. If she went through channels, it would take a lot longer, so she went down to the practicum resource room, used by residents who needed lab credit. The equipment was top notch, nicer even than the machines at Ash Valley had been ruined in the bombing, so it was a pleasure to get to work.
A few students slid her silent looks but nobody interfered. Once she had his blood work in progress, she opened her bag and withdrew the last of the original serum. The high-end chemical spectrum analysis unit—or CSAU—should be able to pinpoint components and ratios down to a minuscule decimal point, a precision she hadn’t possessed in Ash Valley.
His blood analysis processed first, and soon she had data that she alone could interpret. A few of the results concerned her, nothing that indicated a life-threatening shift. Yet. I have time to stabilize his condition. That thought served as reassurance, calming nerves she hadn’t realized were so ragged. No surprise, she was used to this environment, not desperate dashes in the cold carrying life or death tidings.
There was still three-quarters of an hour left on the CSAU, so Sheyla sent Alastor’s blood work results to a private data file, put away her tablet, and rotated her shoulders. She stretched a little, rolling her neck until it popped. Maybe it was paranoid, but she wouldn’t move five steps from here until she had the results. His life depended on her recreating the treatment from Golgerra precisely. From there, she intended to monitor his response to the medicine and ensure it was the best course. Too many people had left him to suffer, it seemed.
Whatever it takes, I won’t fail him. Not ever.
Alastor woke to darkness held at bay by a dim golden glow. His gaze homed in on Sheyla, curled up in a chair at his bedside, poring over a steady stream of data. He’d come to in hospitals often enough that he experienced no uncertainty, no panic, or confusion. The only thing he didn’t know was how long he’d been out. He could’ve asked straightaway, but instead, he hoarded these secret moments, savoring the unforeseen pleasure of her unguarded face. With her free hand, she tucked her lovely dark hair behind her ear, mumbling words he only half caught.
“…phospholipid phosphatidylserine… hmm, a nanovesicle that fuses with tumor cells. Apoptosis… that makes sense. So, it’s a binary formula… and carnosine…”
By the deep quiet enveloping them, he surmised it must be nighttime. The astonishing comfort of waking to find her close by… he hadn’t known anything like it since Caia died, and his sister had certainly never inspired such an emotional tsunami, waves of joy and despair creating an inner storm. Alastor would’ve spoken in a moment or two more, but she caught him, brows lofting as she realized he was awake. A sweet shock jolted through him when her eyes met his; they clung and held in a way that he was afraid to interpret. Her relief was unmistakable, though, and it wasn’t the clinical appreciation of seeing diagnostic skills prove true.
After a moment, she rose and came to perch on the edge of his bed. He expected a question like “How do you feel” or perhaps an observation on how awful he looked, because she hadn’t been shy about such comments. Instead, she extended a trembling hand to touch his cheek, not checking for fever. She grazed his brow, feathered her fingertips down his cheek, little compulsive touches that just about did him in.
“Worried for me, were you?” Somehow, absurdly, he was smiling.
“This has to stop.” She tried to sound stern and succeeded only in producing a bittersweet desperation that he understood all too well.
There was no point in arguing about what couldn’t be changed. Probably he should ask how she’d managed to dismiss Ded, but that wasn’t his primary curiosity. “What were you reading over there?”
“The results of the serum analysis. I put together the missing pieces while you were out and sorted where I went wrong in my first attempt.”
Alastor registered the self-recrimination in her tone, and since she hadn’t dropped her hand yet, he turned his face into her palm, waiting for the moment when she pulled back and lectured him about boundaries and whatever else came to mind. Instead, her other arm came up and she let him nestle into her while she drew a hand through his hair. The sensation was… exquisite. He closed his eyes briefly, basking in her attention.
“That is good news.” He murmured the words because some response was called for, but currently, he didn’t care about the serum or her research.
“It was irresponsible to administer a treatment I wasn’t sure of.” Though he couldn’t see her face from this angle, he knew she’d stew over this all night if he left her to it.
“Our options were limited,” Alastor said. “And I was willing. Don’t forget that part.”
“You’re trying to cheer me up.”
“Is it working?” Without much hope that she’d let it happen, he shifted to pull her fully onto the bed with the arm that wasn’t connected to tubing. She curled into his side, permitting the realignment, so it wasn’t just her petting his hair, but him holding her as well.
“Somewhat. I keep doing things with you against my better judgment.”
“Like this?”
“And this.” She brushed her lips over his jaw, a whisper of a kiss.
He exhaled. “You missed a spot.”
“Did I?”
Deliberately he lifted his chin and relaxed his mouth, silently daring her. His heart skipped a little when she leaned in, until her face was so close to his, he could smell the plain soap of her skin, and her features blurred. With a frantic leap of desire that faintly embarrassed him with its urgency, he closed his eyes, completing the portrait of a lover waiting to be kissed.
No matter how much Alastor wanted that, he still sat tense, fully prepared for her to muss his hair or crack the moment with a brusque dismissal. Instead, after an excruciating pause, her lips found his, at once hesitant and sure. She stole his breath and then even more when her hand curved against his cheek. His heart rang unsteadily in his ears with each soft brush, each deliciously sweet press and stroke of her tongue. He’d never simply let someone kiss him before, offering himself with such patience, and the reward was a rush of near-delirious heat.
She made a soft sound into his mouth, as if his taste delighted her, and he tumbled into the kiss with everything. He was acutely conscious of how little they were moving elsewhere, bodies not straining, but he wanted to, and so he put that want in each desperate kiss, more, more, more, and then a soft, devouring gasp, when she thrust her tongue deep, and he let her, welcomed, sucked and nuzzled until her breath went fast and rough, just from the repeated glide and stroke of lips and tongues.
Lightheaded, he broke away at last and put his face on her shoulder as he’d wanted to the day before. Her skin smelled like sunlight, tasted of a sweetness like that of a perfect fruit. Alastor brushed his lips there, her collarbone, her throat, and could scarcely breathe when she quivered against him, her heartbeat audible, even though he didn’t possess her enhanced senses.
“That was…” Apparently, words failed her.
“A wonderful idea? Endorphins are excellent for pain management.”
Sheyla let out a shaky laugh, putting a hand through her gorgeous hair. “If I agree, you’ll probably propose sexual healing next. I was thinking more along the lines of extraordinarily unprofessional, terrible for my career—”
“But fantastic for my ego,” he cut in with a little grin. “Why don’t we have a quiet affair? Otherwise, the tension will distract us from more important matters.”
He nearly fell over when she sighed and said, “Hormones are definitely clouding my judgment, but this isn’t the place for it under any circumstances.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Don’t push me,” she warned.
But if she was in full retreat, she wouldn’t still be cuddled up next to him. “Noted. When can I get out of here? There’s so much to do and so little time.”
“If you’re feeling up to it, tomorrow.” Unconsciously, her hands were moving in his hair again, clutch, smooth, stroke, as if he’d become her worry beads, an icon she needed to touch, and he was completely fine with it.
“I would never choose to linger in a hospital.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Did you undo my braids?” It wasn’t a service Ded would volunteer without being asked, as it was a matter of rank and status.
By her expression, she knew there was some significance to the question. “They seemed to be bothering you. Was that… not all right?”
Alastor smiled. “It’s fine. You have my permission.”
Sheyla didn’t know the bonds required for such liberties and he had no intention of informing her that between accepting his blood mark and unspooling his braids, she had essentially declared that she was his mate. Her eyes narrowed. Really, she was too good at reading the layers of his amusement.
“I don’t like that look.”
“But I adore yours. Let’s call it even.” On impulse, he kissed the majestic slope of her nose, and she blinked at him like a startled bird.
“Don’t,” she muttered.
“Adore your face? Kiss your nose? It’s too late. That ship has sailed, the port is ablaze, and the enemy is at the gate.” He kissed her brow, both her cheeks, her chin, and then her ears. “Prepare to do battle, I shall show no mercy.”
A little whimper escaped her and she hung her head, adorably downcast. “Hell.”
“What’s the matter?’ A tinge of worry flickered to life.
“I’m starting to find you endlessly amusing. Endearing, even.”
His heart split wide open and possibly grew wings. “My darling Sheyla, that’s the best news I’ve had, possibly ever.”