Page 534 of Fated Mates of Breeder Prison
He shoved my hands away, pushing himself to his feet.
He limped painfully towards his cot, grunting with each agonizing step.
The air around him was a mixture of sweat and blood, a pungent aroma that told a tale of pain and perseverance.
I watched him from a distance, my fingers itching to help, to ease his suffering.
But I knew I needed to respect his boundaries, even if it felt like I was failing in my duty.
His restless shifting was a testament to his discomfort.
He groaned, his body thrashing on the thin mattress as he tried to find a position that would offer him some relief.
His pain was almost palpable, a tangible entity in the room that I desperately wanted to banish.
As I studied his agonized movements, I realized what I had to do.
I knew he wouldn’t let me touch him while he was conscious, so I had to wait until he was unconscious.
The medical device hummed softly as I dialed up the required medicine.
My eyes widened at the dosage recommended for Ceara’s size and species.
It was enough to knock out a large horse!
The vial in my hand was filled with a deep, purple liquid.
I felt the cool glass, the ridges on the cap, and the dull edge of the needle.
My hands were steady as I filled the syringe, my years of nursing training kicking in despite the circumstances.
I looked over at Ceara, his body finally still in an uneasy sleep.
His rhythmic breathing was loud in the quiet room, a soothing cadence that did little to ease my nerves.
I moved quietly, my feet silent on the cold stone floor as I made my way over to him.
His body was a mass of hard round scales.
No way the pathetic little needle was getting through that shell!
I noticed the area where his scales met were much softer.
That was where I would have to go in, I thought.
I took a deep breath and placed a hand on his colossal muscular back.
I might have been placing my hand on an elephant.
As I injected him, I hoped that this medicine would give him some respite from his injuries, that it would allow his body to recover while he slept.
“Get better, Ceara,” I whispered into the cold, empty room. “You have to get better.”
I withdrew the needle.
And that was when Ceara reacted.
It was immediate and primal, his body jerking as the needle left his skin.
