Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(42)

“It sometimes happens, Sam. You lost a good deal of blood before we operated and even with what I gave you a couple of times, you were still a little low. I really do want you to try to rest. The Zenith is helping you heal faster, but it’s possible you’re not manufacturing the blood as fast as you should. I’m wondering if it’s a side effect.”

There it was again—his opening to find out more information—but he kept silent. He didn’t want to ask and know one way or the other. If he stayed quiet, there was always hope.

“I want to get up.”

“No way, Sam.”

He grinned at her. “Haven’t you heard about me, Lily? I have this problem with the word ‘no.’ It just isn’t in my vocabulary.”

She put on her sternest look, which wasn’t nearly as stern as she thought. “I’m the doctor here, Johnson, and that means I know what’s best.”

His eyebrow shot up. “Johnson? Is that all you’ve got? I bet Ryland thinks you’re all cute when you get serious on him. Of course you know what’s best. Nevertheless, I’m getting up. My butt’s growing to this bed.”

Lily burst out laughing. “You’re impossible. You’ve been down less than a week, you nut.”

“No way.” He sent her another coaxing grin. “Are you sure? It feels more like a month. Where is everyone?”

“They’re locked up in the war room. And no, you can’t go.”

There was that word again, but he wasn’t going to point it out to her. If she didn’t take the needle out of his arm, he was going to do it himself the moment she left.

As if reading his mind, Lily sighed. “I’ll take it out, but I’ll shoot my husband if he allows you to do anything but sit in a chair. You got that?”

“Hmm. Shooting Rye. I could get behind that one, Lily. The man is annoying when he’s throwing out orders, which, by the way, is all the time.”

“Tell me about it. He orders me around as well.” But she was laughing again, her eyes soft the moment she spoke about her husband.

Sam had always loved to see that open affection Ryland and Lily had for one another; now he felt a little envious. He had never thought to want a woman to look at him like that until he’d met Azami. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her face. He could taste her in his mouth. Once, during the night, when he’d woken up in a sweat, close to screaming, the nightmare of that small child being tortured and out of his reach, he felt the brush of her hand and smelled the scent of her.

“Take this thing out of my arm, Lily.” He hesitated. “Please.” He was getting up and if she didn’t cooperate, he was going to leap out of the bed right in front of her, but sometimes one could get a lot more from Lily by being nice—and polite.

“Stop rushing me, Sam,” she snipped back, as if he was her brother.

He liked that about Lily. She rarely took offense when the men became bossy with her—which was often—but she still did what she wanted, ignoring them. Lily definitely went her own way and she always had that quiet air of confidence about her.

He deliberately made growling noises under his breath, making her laugh as she fussed over the bags hanging on the stand.

“All right. What a grump,” she added, as she took the needle from his arm. “And stay off your feet. You might heal fast, but trying to heal that hole in your body in a few days is asking just a little too much—even of Zenith.”

He couldn’t help the wince. He felt as if he might be lying to her by not making inquiries, but he was determined to find out if the Yoshiie family was in the compound and if they were, just what they were up to. He owed Azami the chance to explain the Zenith and anything else she could before he gave her up to Ryland.

Lily left him with one more admonishing look and he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want her sticking around to witness him trying to get out of bed. He knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. Just changing position took his breath away. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited until his vision cleared. His mouth still felt parched, as if he could never again get enough to drink. Breathing deeply, he put a little weight on his feet. The room spun, receded, and righted itself slowly. Gritting his teeth, he stood.

Black swirled in front of his eyes. White stars shot straight at him, great comets soaring and rolling. His stomach lurched. He’d been shot more than once. Knifed twice. He’d even had a brief stint with electric shock, but he’d never felt quite so weak. Was that the loss of blood or the crash after using Zenith? Good question for the doc. He forced more air into his lungs and waited for the world to right itself because there was no way he was crawling back into bed.

It took a few minutes for his legs to gain strength. The pain in his abdomen was easy enough to push aside, but the invading weakness wasn’t as cooperative. He took slow steps over to the bathroom, grateful the distance wasn’t far. He had to breathe deeply with every step and stop twice. Sam cursed under his breath. By the time he entered the war room with his team, he had to get this under control. It didn’t help that his body broke out in a sweat and small beads dotted his skin.

Cold water helped. He took a brief, cool shower, taking care not to disturb the glue holding him together, sitting on the chair someone had thoughtfully provided for him. They’d all had their share of wounds, so it wasn’t hard to try to figure out what a fellow wounded soldier might need. He sank back onto the bed and rested before he attempted to dress, but at least the lurching stomach and sweats had receded. His knees weren’t nearly as wobbly. He didn’t bother with shoes—bending over was too difficult to contemplate. He was a little proud of himself for walking in a straight line down the center of the hall without staggering or even listing to one side.