Page 57 of The King has Fallen

“…don’t be scared, Gall. You were right. You were right. Don’t be scared…”

Oh, dear God.

I dropped my chin for a moment, knowing she was in shock and probably not taking anything in. But there was no time. And improving her pain would help her come out of it faster.

I took a deep breath and set my jaw, gripping her face in both hands.

The moment I touched her, her eyes cut to my face and her entire body went rigid with tension.

“Yilan, listen. Your shoulder is dislocated. I need to reset it. It’s going to hurt a great deal, but only for a moment—do you understand?”

She nodded quickly and licked her lips once, her eyes bright with fear.

I prayed she took in the words, that she would remember that I’d warned her. But there was no more time to waste. I had a hunch that those young Neph had followed at a distance andwould be curious about what the General was doing with the Fetch.

I suspected if we didn’t have an audience already, we were about to. And they needed to be certain of what they were hearing.

I grunted and sent up a quick prayer for clarity. Then, with grim determination, I gripped the bad shoulder in one hand. Yilan cried out and I let myself give a low growl. I leaned over her to get the right angle, positioning my other hand on the bad arm and rotating it slightly, humming low and warm as I did so.

She cried out again when I leaned my weight on her and I cursed wickedly—and heard a snicker outside the tent.

So, my instincts had been correct.

Dropping my chin so my lips brushed her ear again, I whispered. “Make any noise you need to.”

Then without any further warning, I braced the shoulder to immobilize it, and turning her wrist, I yanked the arm to reposition it correctly.

Yilan shrieked and I roared as if I’d taken her in truth.

Then, as she slumped into unconsciousness, I continued to roar and grunt rhythmically, praying the sounds covered my footsteps as I rushed to get my soldier’s medical satchel, then stripped her shirt off to wrap the shoulder with the long, clean linen we all carried for battleground first aid.

She was bare under the shirt. It wasn’t hard to rumble approvingly—much harder to wrench my gaze away as I hurried to find a clean shirt.

But then I realized her leathers were dirty, torn, and sweaty.

I tore those off too and threw them on the ground with another low rumble of approval, praying that the witnesses outside understood what they were hearing.

Then, grabbing one of my long sleep shirts, I tugged it up her bad arm as gently as I could, then rolled her towards me to get the shirt behind her.

To lift her without hurting the bad shoulder I needed to put a knee onto the bed and half-straddle her to tug the shirt under her back.

It was in that moment that the tent flap snapped aside, and Gall rushed in—sliding to a halt at the sight of me bent over the Fetch on my bed, his eyes wide and afraid.

“GET OUT AND GUARD THE DOOR!” I roared at him.

He startled and turned so quickly he almost lost his footing before running back out of the tent still gripping the supplies I’d asked him to bring.

My heart broke for him—for the fear and confusion in his gaze. But the whole incident would affirm the story I was building for those fuckers and their lust outside.

So, while I was crouched over her, I moved as much as possible while pulling that shirt around her back, ensuring the bed creaked several times before I gave a gargling cry.

When I was done, she lay on the bed, unconscious, wrapped in my clean sleep shirt.

I was panting, I realized. My heart thudding uncomfortably in my chest—and not from lust, though there was no denying she was a beautiful woman.

It was fear, pure and simple that made my brow sweat.

But again, it was something I could use.

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