Page 57 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

“This is not a joke, Major.” The doctor rolls his eyes. “Stop scaring your nurse if you want to be treated.”

A guilty look crosses the male’s face.

I look between him and the doctor.

“He won’t die?” I ask in a low voice.

“He will not die,” the doctor confirms. “He is as healthy as any red-blooded male I’ve ever seen.”

With that, he leaves, going over to another nurse who requires his assistance.

I stare at Vitry.

“Red-blooded male? What does that mean?” I frown. Is that a subspecies of humans? I have not heard about that before.

“Well…” He bites his lip.

“Well?”

“That happens when the heart pumps blood faster and?—”

“Is it because of your wound? Because you’re bleeding from it?” That seems like the most probable explanation.

He clears his throat. “It’s been happening for three days. Before my wound.”

“So you’ve said. But I don’t understand. Did something happen to you when the bomb dropped? Is that it?”

He stares at me. I stare back, though more in confusion than anything.

With a sigh, he shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. If I had my powers, I could hear what he was saying. But as it stands, I’m stuck with guessing. Though even that seems to be beyond my capacities at the moment. I am toonew at this nursing thing to be able to guess what might plague him, especially since it pertains to his heart. The textbooks didn’t say anything about it.

“You should go ahead and treat my wound,” he eventually says.

“But what about your heart?”

“We can worry about that later,” he croaks.

I nod thoughtfully. Perhaps he’s not at death’s door as I anticipated.

I set about cleaning his wound once more, but for some reason, I find myself more magnanimous than before and use iodine instead of the stinging rubbing alcohol. I know, very odd.

Maybe I just feel sad for him since he has other ailments, too.

Yes, that must be it.

He’s already in pain for an unknown reason. I shouldn’t add to that.

After I’m done cleaning the wound, I survey the instruments on the table next to the bed. I need to suture his wound.

Biting my lip, I take the medical needle and thread and set about patching him up.

But as I push the needle through his flesh, I realize this is not as easy as sewing clothes. The skin is thicker and there is more resistance.

The male must sense my hesitation because he places his hand atop mine, holding it steady. I hadn’t realized it was trembling.

I give him a forced smile.

“Wash your hands first,” he adds.

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