Page 62 of Heart of the High King
Chapter 26
“Well, Dermot, we’ve got you scheduled for another surgery in the morning so, unfortunately, that means no dinner for you tonight,” Dr. Odocoileus said, sailing into Rafferty’s room. It’d been several days since he’d first learned about Mortis and how long he’d been gone from D’Vaire, but thus far the doctor had been very evasive about telling Rafferty anything regarding his condition, and he’d already signed a consent form for one trip to the operating room. “We just need to get your signature on the consent form.”
“I’m not signing anything until you tell me about my condition. Why am I having surgery again, and why the hell am I still such a mess?”
The doctor’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You’re still very weak and while you might think we’re being cruel to you, it’s imperative that you aren’t given any stress.”
“It’s stressing me out not knowing.”
“You need more time.”
“Fuck your form and your surgery. I’ve cooperated and done your daily tests and gone under the knife. I’ve been poked and prodded as well as hooked up to all this shit,” Rafferty said and had to stop to catch his breath.
“You need this surgery. You’ve got open wounds on your hips, and you need another skin graft.”
“Why haven’t you used druids? I know hospitals are staffed with them.”
The doctor stared at him strangely. “Because you are intolerant to druidic magic. It’s one of the reasons you are in such poor condition. You weren’t wearing anything to alert people to that, and we pulled every druid we had in to try and heal you. The damage was pervasive.”
“How can I be intolerant to druidic magic?”
“Have you ever been teleported through Dérive?”
“Yes.”
“Did you experience any strange symptoms? Although less than one percent of shifters have this rare intolerance, the literature has a list of common complaints—dry mouth, sometimes itchy eyes, upset stomach, bloating, gas. If they have more than one or two spells cast on them per day, they can cause internal bleeding as the organs swell or grow irritated. It’s quite serious.”
Rafferty remembered clearly experiencing a similar reaction when he traveled to D’Vaire, but he was unaware that anyone could be intolerant to spells. “I’ve only been teleported a few times, but I had that stuff.”
“You really must get a bracelet or necklace to alert people of that.”
Since that was the least of Rafferty’s concerns, as he could barely move, he just nodded. Without magic, he’d be cursed with the scars his father and brother had carved into his flesh. “I can’t be fixed, can I?”
“I’m afraid not, Dermot. I don’t think it’s appropriate to get into everything that you’re going to have to adjust to, but your life has been significantly shortened. It’s highly unlikely you will ever walk again and to seize whatever slim chance there is, you’re going to need extensive surgical repair to your legs. We put a rod in, but your body has essentially rejected it, which means we’ll need to try again. You’ve got pins in your ankle but again, your lack of healing isn’t working in your favor.”
“Iwillwalk again.”
“I can tell from your injuries that you endured something horrific, and I realize that in order to survive you must have incredible courage, but you need to come to grips with reality, Dermot. Your life will never be normal, and it’s impossible to say how long that even is right now. Will you please sign this form, so we can proceed with trying to get these wounds covered with skin? It took weeks to get the infection under control, and we had to remove a great deal of necrotic tissue. I would hate for all that work to be for naught.”
“I’ll sign it,” Rafferty said, and the doctor handed him the form. “My wolf doesn’t like being tranquilized.”
“Well, no one here can see to his care, so until you’re ready to leave this facility, I’m afraid he’ll just have to suck it up.” The doctor stalked out, and Rafferty couldn’t decide if he didn’t like the man because he still didn’t know his complete condition or his attitude about what he had told him.
For one second, Rafferty considered asking someone to call Aleksander and let him know that he was here, but it faded quickly. A complete mess, he had to do Fate only knew what to manage to even get on his feet again, and without knowing why his life expectancy was so shortened, Rafferty had no real idea what his future held. From the moment he woke up in the hospital, he’d been in misery despite the steady funnel of medication and care from the staff.
If there were no changes to his condition, what right did he have to alert Aleksander to his survival? Hurt squeezed his chest and he shoved it aside. No matter what was wrong with him, Rafferty hadn’t survived just so he could sit in a bed. Somehow…some way…he would be healed and walk right back through the doors of Aleksander’s mansion. Until that happened, his mate would have to live with just a little more separation. The last thing Rafferty wanted was for Aleksander to have to take this horrific and scary journey with him. It was his desire to return to his mate whole, and he needed to be strong enough to do that.
As for the scars, the gray hair, and the missing dragon—Rafferty had no answers for that right now. His focus had to be on getting better; then he could deal with those issues. The puffy marks that littered his arms would diminish and hopefully be barely noticeable. Although he’d yet to see the rest of himself, it was just a matter of time before he was at least presentable. Closing eyes as exhaustion tugged at him, he used thoughts of Aleksander to put a smile on his face.
∞∞∞
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Aleksander told Larissa while D’Vaires scurried around his bedroom suite, filling it with the new furnishings.
“You literally haven’t updated anything in here since the house was built. It should’ve been redone years ago, and since we’d already finished Kitchi’s, there was nothing holding us back once you gave me the okay,” Larissa argued. He helped her put a stunning brocade coverlet on the enormous four-poster bed she’d selected. When he had shrugged at a concept for his space, she’d decided it needed to suit a man who was the only High King. They’d stuck with Aleksander’s preferred format of having the bedroom in front and the side room, which he’d basically thrown a couch in two decades ago, now featured not only a gigantic sectional in his dragonskin but a kitchenette and dining area.
The solid oak king-sized centerpiece stained a dark walnut that Aleksander was loading up with beaded throw pillows anchored the room, but Larissa had also insisted on having a fireplace installed. Together, they’d selected stacked stones under a thick mantel that matched the bedframe. An oversized chaise was plunked down in front of it, and there were televisions in both rooms so he could watch in bed or stretched out on the sofa. The plain door separating them had been replaced by a gorgeous set of French ones, and even the bathroom had gotten the extravagant treatment.
There was a shower built for maybe five and a giant soaking tub he would probably only use a time or two a year. Larissa hadn’t asked him because if she had, Aleksander would’ve preferred a single sink, but there were a pair of them, and acres of white marble with veining in gold and silver were everywhere. As someone who would’ve attempted to describe himself as simple, Aleksander had to admit he liked the elegant surroundings Larissa had put together.
