Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(22)

“No,” Tiago said. He bent over her and took her hand, lacing her fingers with his. His hand was huge and enveloped hers. “You will have all the time you need to convalesce, and the world will wait for you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You are perfectly safe.”

She gave him a blank stare. Perfectly safe. She had no idea what that meant.

She closed her eyes. “Do whatever is best then,” she said in a listless voice.

There was a pause. The doctor pulled down the blanket, pulled up the loose outer shirt and folded back the camo T-shirt. His touch was gentle and efficient. She could tell the moment the local anesthetic charm was laid on her stomach. She sighed with relief as at least some of the pain eased.

She kept her eyes closed and listened without interest as the men talked.

“She’s going to lose more fluids when I use the extraction spell. I don’t like her level of dehydration. What can I do to convince you that the bags of saline solution I have are safe?” the doctor asked Tiago.

The Wyr warrior said, “Do you have more than one IV needle?”

“Yes.”

“Use one on yourself. After five minutes, you can transfer the rest of the bag to her.”

“Fine, done.” Weylan raised his voice. “Scott?”

The manager hurried into the room. “Yes?”

“Would you please get some towels from the bathroom?”

“Certainly.” After bringing in an armful of towels, the manager disappeared again.

She flinched as a warm hand came down on her forehead and smoothed back her hair. Tiago’s hands were much larger than the doctor’s, rougher and more calloused. She rested her fingers on his muscle-corded forearm. He thrummed with so much latent Wyr Power he felt like a current of electricity wrapped in a tree trunk.

She opened her eyes briefly to see that he had knelt by her head. He was bending over her while he watched with a sharp raptor’s gaze as the doctor removed the sodden dressing and wiped the puncture wound clean. The doctor had to work with care as he had attached his right hand to a bag of saline, which he had hung from a picture hook on the wall.

Tiago continued to stroke his fingers through her hair. It felt so good she might have nuzzled his hand just a little bit. He murmured to her, “You’re no fun when the stuffing’s been knocked out of you, your listlessness.”

Did that require an answer? She sighed.

“You’re like a rubber ball with no bounce,” he said. He cradled her cheek in one large palm. “A worm that’s lost its wiggle.”

A worm? “Oh, please, the hyperbole.” She put a hand to her forehead. “It’s too flowery.”

Somebody snorted nearby. The doctor said, “It’s been five minutes.”

Tiago told him, “You can use the IV on her. That bag only.”

“I understand.”

The doctor inserted the needle into her left hand, which was closest to the wall, taped it into place and hooked her to the IV. Then he tucked rolled towels along her side and cast the extraction spell. She made a sound and clenched her right fist.

It was instantly swallowed in Tiago’s larger grip. “You all right, faerie?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. She opened her eyes and gave him an unhappy look. “It just itches deep inside where things aren’t supposed to itch.”

He frowned and asked the doctor, “Can you numb her any more?”

The doctor was busy blotting the bright trickle of blood and fluid that had begun to spill from the puncture wound. He shook his head. “Not without resorting to medication. And I’m not injecting myself or anybody else without good reason.” He looked up at her. “This is as bad as it gets. I promise. It’ll be over with in just a few minutes.”

“All right,” she said in a flat voice. She shifted her legs in an effort to get more comfortable.

Tiago began to stroke her hair again. She stilled, and everything inside her focused on the warm comfort he offered. He met her gaze and said, “Guess what you get for being such a good girl at the doctor’s?”

She was still flush with fever, and she hated the itchy-crawly feeling deep in her wound. She didn’t want to smile at him. She didn’t. One corner of her mouth lifted. She asked, “What?”

He crinkled at her. “How about some pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream?”

Her eyes brightened. “You promise?”

“Of course I do.”

Her smile deepened. A dimple appeared in one cheek. “Well, now that you’ve promised I guess I’m getting pancakes whether I want them or not.”

Even as she said it, she knew it was true. A certain knowledge settled deep into her bones. She may not know Tiago very well in some ways, but after decades of living with and interacting with Wyr sentinels, in other ways she knew him intimately. Once he set his mind on something, nothing would stop him. Once he gave his promise, he would never give up, never stop, until he had achieved whatever it was he said he would do. It might be infuriating at times, but it was something she could rely on, wholly and completely.

“Oh, come on, faerie. You’re just being cranky.” His white teeth flashed in that hard, rugged face. “You know you still want them.”

A miserable, lonely and unsettled part of her eased into something resembling peace. She turned her cheek into his hand.