Page 76 of Vital Signs
War's eyes met mine. "Yes. And we're doing everything we can to manage it." He drew up the medication. "This'll help with the spasms and bring the temp down. But if he hits 104, we're taking him to a hospital whether he likes it or not."
"Please," I said, not caring how desperate I sounded.
War nodded once, injecting the medication into Hunter's IV line. "The diazepam should stop the seizure activity. Acetaminophen for the fever. We'll monitor closely."
After twenty minutes, the monitor showed Hunter's temperature beginning to drop. 103.5. 103.1. 102.7. His breathing eased as the medication took effect.
Gradually, his rigid muscles relaxed, though the tremors continued, less violent but still present. His eyelids fluttered, then closed completely as he slipped into fitful sleep for the first time in hours.
"Thank you," I whispered.
War nodded and made a note in his notebook. "We'll need to watch him closely. A fever this high during withdrawal can be dangerous, but he's responding to treatment. His body is fighting hard."
I stood to sink into the chair, but my vision grayed at the edges. Too fast. Should have eaten, should have slept. I gripped the bed frame until the dizziness passed, legs too weak to hold me.
War's hand steadied my elbow. "You need to rest."
"I'm fine," I lied, the words automatic. My body betrayed me immediately, a tremor running through my hands as I pushed hair back from my face.
War's mouth tightened, but he didn't call me on the obvious lie. "I'll check on him again in two hours. Call if anything changes."
After he left, the room stretched both larger and smaller. I focused on Hunter's face, memorizing every detail.
Even in sleep, pain etched lines around his mouth, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. I reached out, brushing damp hair from his forehead, letting my fingers trail along his temple, down the sharp line of his jaw. His skin still burned, despite the meds.
"I'm here," I whispered, though I wasn't sure he could hear me. "I'm not going anywhere."
The promise hung in the air between us, heavy with everything unsaid. I hadn't forgiven myself for what I'd done. For violating his choice, for forcing him back into a body that brought nothing but pain. But I couldn't regret it either.
Morning crept in around the edges of the blackout curtains, pale light seeping into the room. The sun brought no warmth, just a gray winter glow that made everything look washed out and fragile. Hunter slept on, though his rest wasn't peaceful. Small twitches ran through his limbs at random intervals, his fingers clenching and unclenching against the sheets.
My stomach growled, a sharp reminder that I hadn't eaten since before my arrest. Hours had blurred together, measured only in Hunter's breaths and the beeping of machines.
I glanced at Hunter, hesitant to leave even for a few minutes. His breathing had steadied somewhat, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed almost normal. The monitor showed his heart rate had dropped to ninety beats per minute.
I stood, muscles screaming in protest. Just a quick trip to the kitchen. Five minutes, tops. Then straight back.
"I'll be right back," I whispered, even though I thought he couldn't hear me.
The stairs creaked under my feet as I made my way down to the main floor of the funeral home. My legs were wooden, disconnected. The building smelled of polish and disinfectant, comforting in its familiarity.
Voices came from the kitchen. I pushed through despite my disheveled appearance. War stood at the counter with a protein bar, dark circles under his eyes.
He glanced up as I entered, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he handed me the protein bar and gestured toward the refrigerator, where sports drinks lined the door.
"Thanks," I said, too tired for pride.
Shepherd loomed in the corner, coffee mug in hand, watching me with those sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle.
I braced for the lecture I knew was coming. The reminder that he'd warned me, that they all had, that Hunter was exactly the liability they'd predicted.
Instead, he sipped his coffee and said nothing.
I tore open the protein bar. The first bite tasted like sawdust. I forced it down.
"How's he doing?" War asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Sleeping finally," I said between bites. "The muscle relaxant helped. He's not seizing anymore."
