Page 88 of Needed in the Night
I froze on the threshold of a private room.
My beautiful Isla was so pale that her normally rosy skin had a bluish tinge. Eyes closed and chest barely moving, she lay naked on her side in a blood-soaked medbay pod, draped to the waist with a thermal sheet.
A grim physician and two nurses tended to the wound in her back. Their demeanor as much as Isla’s pallor and wheezing breaths stole my ability to move.
“You are the mate?” one of the nurses, a blue-skinned Ymarian, asked.
“Yes.” My voice did not sound like my own.Isla.
With a raspy sound, Brae rose from my shoulder and settled above Isla on the ceiling. The scent of his grief added to my heartache.
“Why has she lost so much blood?” I asked.
“The knife the assassin used was poisoned and doused in anticoagulants,” the physician said without looking up. “Officers recovered the blade from a refuse chute and we were able to identify the poison. Your quick reaction to share your blood gave us a chance to fight, but she is in very grave condition.”
My hearts thundered in my ears. I held out my bloody arms. “Then take more. Take it all.”
“This is not something your blood will heal,” the Ymarian nurse said with surprising gentleness. Most Ymarians I had met were very matter-of-fact. “What is needed is the antidote,transfusions of human blood, and the replacement of flesh lost to the poison’s cytotoxic properties.”
Replacement of flesh?My Isla’s flesh wasdecaying?
My legs grew unsteady, forcing me to lean against the wall. “You have the antidote? You can counter the anticoagulants?”
“Yes,” the physician said, finally sparing me a glance. “You need to clean yourself up and change clothes. When you’ve done that, you can come back and stay with her. I don’t want a mess in this room while she’s vulnerable to infection, even with air and surface sanitization at maximum.” She returned her attention to Isla’s back. “And if she opens her eyes, I don’t want my patient to see you looking like this and worry about you. She’ll need all her strength to fight for her life.”
“The facilities for washing are at the end of this hall,” the Ymarian nurse added. “You will find clean clothing. It is best to dispose of everything you are wearing. When you come back, we will have someone treat your wounds.”
I spotted something in a bin on top of the pile of Isla’s discarded, blood-soaked clothing: her forearm sheath with the dagger still in place. My steps robotic, I went to the bin and picked it up.
“Everything in that container is hazardous and designated for disposal,” the other nurse said, her voice sharp.
“This belongs to my mate,” I said. “You will have to take it from me by force.”
Scowling, the nurse opened her mouth to reply, but the physician raised her gloved hand. My gut wrenched at the sight of Isla’s dark, discolored blood.
“He can take the knife and sheath with him and have them sanitized,” the physician stated in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’re busy with more important things.”
Holding the sheath tightly to my chest, I turned my steps to the hall, leaving Brae to hold vigil until I returned.
When I was out of sight, I leaned against the wall, raised the sheath to my nose, and inhaled to drink in my mate’s sweet scent. My vision tunneled.
Gods, Isla. I could not bear to imagine what my life would be like without her. My chest hurt as though massive talons were shredding my flesh and organs. I had to force myself to start walking again. My steps were uneven and I bumped into the wall several times.
In the cleansing suite, I threw all my clothing into a refuse chute and put the sheath and dagger into a sterilizer as I used the sonic cleanser. The full cycle took less than two minutes, but it felt like an hour before the unit shut off and the doors opened.
I found a set of medical coveralls and boots that fit comfortably and reclaimed Isla’s dagger and arm sheath. They bore no trace of her scent after medical-grade sanitization, but that heartache was only a fraction of the pain I would have suffered if I had not been able to save her treasured weapon.
When I returned to Isla’s room, the soldier who had escorted me to the medical bay was on guard in the hallway. We exchanged nods.
“Better,” the physician said without looking up when I entered. “Sit.”
I sat in the chair beside the medbay pod. Was Isla’s breathing even more shallow and labored now? Had she been this pale before?
“What do I do?” I asked.
“Hold her hands and talk to her,” the doctor said. “When the nurse comes to treat your arm wounds, let him do what needs to be done without arguing. Those are your only jobs until I tell you otherwise.”
I would have given anything to lie down beside Isla and hold her in my arms, but that was not possible as long as she was in the medbay pod.
