by A. C. Ellas
Every day, George left in time to reach the hospital when the ICU’s visiting hours started, and he stayed until the visiting hours were over and he was forced to leave. Every day, he walked back into the house with a slight frown on his face and worry lines creasing his forehead. Ellie would be waiting for him, and so would Devlin, from the next room, close enough to hear if he strained his ears.
“No change,” George would say. Once, it was, “They gave him blood today.” Devlin knew now, from having done some research, that if they had given Yeri blood, the situation was grim, indeed. Rovani blood didn’t keep well. To give a Rovani a blood transfusion, they had to first find a donor, test the blood to make sure it was compatible, then transfuse the blood from donor to recipient directly and hope for the best. Because the Rovania were genetically engineered, they couldn’t test for every factor that might make the Rovani reject the blood in the timeframe necessary.
Two days after George had announced they’d given Yeri blood, he walked in with a slight smile on his face, and Devlin’s heart did a funny little leap in his chest. George told Ellie, “He’s better. The transfusion worked. The doctor thinks he’s turned the corner.”
The next day brought more good news. “They’re weaning him from the breathing machine. They hope that by tomorrow, he won’t need it anymore.”
Devlin couldn’t stand it any longer. He eased through the archway. “May I come with you tomorrow?”
George turned and looked at him, his expression unreadable. Eventually, he nodded. “Yes, you should see him.”
The next day, Devlin accompanied George to the Rovani Hospital. It was an elegant neoclassical building that didn’t look like a hospital ought. At least, that was his impression of the outside. Inside was something else again. Soft, muted hues of blue and green kept the place from feeling austere, even though the floor and walls were entirely tiled. Plants and draperies softened the effect, but the artwork was nothing of the sort. Instead of fine art, the hospital had framed posters that detailed Rovani anatomy and genetics. George led the way to the second floor where the intensive care unit was. Yeri was in the third room.
Devlin paused in the doorway, fighting down his shock. He’d expected Yeri would look bad; after all, the Rovani had nearly died. He hadn’t expected that most of Yeri’s chest and right arm would be covered in bandages that looked soiled even though the date and time on them indicated they’d been placed mere hours before. Yeri’s left foot was also bandaged, though that one was still clean and dry. There were a lot of tubes and lines going into and out of the Rovani, who lay half propped on pillows and wasn’t moving but for the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. He moved aside, stepping into the room to clear the doorway. Two women entered, both wearing medical scrubs. “Good morning, George. We’re ready to remove that tube if you are.”
“Is he awake enough?” George gave Yeri a dubious look, which Devlin agreed with wholeheartedly since the Rovani looked completely out of it.
“He’s been on twenty-one percent oxygen all night and doing all the work of breathing for himself as well. The sedation’s been off all morning, and he’s already passed the breathing trials. He’s ready.” The nurse—it had to be a nurse—gave them a knowing smile and ruffled Yeri’s mane. “Wake up, Yeri. You’ve got visitors.”
To Devlin’s delight, Yeri’s perfect emerald green eyes opened at that. He blinked, focusing first on George. He then met Devlin’s gaze for a moment before he looked at George again. Devlin was surprised that the Rovani didn’t reach for the tube in his mouth. It had to be uncomfortable.
The two women moved decisively to the bedside, and George stepped back. The second one said, “We’re going to take the breathing tube out now. When I tell you to, I need you to cough.” She turned on a suction line and wielded it, cleaning out Yeri’s mouth. A syringe was attached to the tube and the air filling the balloon that held the tube in place was removed. The nurse had the suction now, and she made another pass of Yeri’s mouth. A towel was positioned over Yeri’s chest, the therapist counted to three then said, “Cough,” as she pulled the tube out quickly, and the nurse suctioned as Yeri coughed and gagged and coughed again. But the tube was out now, and they quickly removed it and turned off the now alarming breathing machine.
George stepped up as they backed off and gathered Yeri’s closer hand in his. “Yeri,” he whispered.
“Master.” Yeri’s voice was hoarse and raspy, but it was music to their ears. “How’s Mistress?”
“She’s fine. Her burns were mild, and they’ve healed already. You got the worst of it.” George shook his head and fell silent.
Chapter Seven
Ellie rocked Lee and did her best to stifle her impatience. She hadn’t realized just how much Yeri had done for her until she no longer had him there. Taking care of Lee was nearly a full-time occupation all by itself, and she was resenting the time away from her studies more and more. She didn’t understand how the baby could take up so much of her time when Yeri managed to not only take excellent care of Lee, but to take care of all his other duties, too. Yeri certainly never looked stressed or acted put upon.
Her thoughts turned to Yeri again, as they often did. It’s my fault. She felt horrible about the situation. If only she hadn’t dropped those nails. If only she’d been more diligent in searching for them. George had brought it home to show her after they’d cut it out of Yeri’s foot. The nail had pierced straight up into the ball of his left foot and lodged in one of the bones. That’s what had started the entire train of unfortunate events.
Yeri’s absence left a void in their lives. I was foolish, Ellie acknowledged. Yeri loved her, he’d saved her life, helped her with her delivery of Lee, continued to help her and support her even though she’d been pretty mean to him of late. It wasn’t Yeri’s fault that he had a sex drive. She’d known from the first time they’d met that Yeri and George belonged together and would always be together. How dare I resent what has always been, will always be? What’s wrong with me? Why do I hate him so much? Ellie sighed and shook her head.
“Ma’am?”
She looked over at the doorway where Devlin hovered. She studied his face, wondering if he felt as remorseful as she did. If anything, Devlin’s actions after the incident had turned it from a minor crisis into a major one. He was the sole reason Yeri had nearly died, and it wasn’t the first time he’d endangered Yeri’s life. But then, given his religious views, perhaps that wasn’t surprising. On the other hand, Devlin had been going to the hospital with George for the past several days. Perhaps he was learning. “Devlin, how is he?” She didn’t stop rocking Lee, even though she thought he might finally be sleeping.
“Better. We can bring him home tomorrow.” Devlin took a step further into the room. “Do you want me to take Lee? I know you’ve studying to do.”
Ellie shook her head. “It can wait a little longer. He’s only just settled.”
Devlin nodded. “Tea, ma’am? Or coffee?”
“Coffee,” Ellie said firmly, though with a smile. Devlin always offered tea, even knowing he resided in a houseful of coffee drinkers. It has to be a Brit thing.
“At once, ma’am.” Devlin spun on a heel and marched out. Ellie chuckled softly in his wake then stood carefully and carried Lee to his waiting crib. If she were lucky, he wouldn’t wake the moment she laid him down in it. The goddesses of motherhood were with her. Ten minutes later, she was in the study with her books, a mug of coffee at her elbow.
* * * *
They had made a sort of invalid bed for him in the unused kitchen nook. Yeri didn’t really recall the drive home, whatever the medics who’d transported him had given him, it was very powerful. Unfortunately, it was also wearing off. He wasn’t sure which hurt worse—his foot or his chest. His back was fine, the whip cuts had healed while he’d still been unconscious, but the burns on his chest were infected, and the cut in his foot was
deep, and both competed for his attention continuously.
He shifted his position, allowing himself to wince but not to whimper—he was alone for the moment, but any sound might bring his humans running to check on him. He reached a hand up and felt along the bandages covering his chest, shoulder, and upper right arm. They were damp already, and the foul odor made him wish his nose was still numbed. Firm footsteps approached—Devlin by the pace and heaviness of tread—and he stilled himself, warily keeping an eye out for the man.
Devlin entered the kitchen, went straight to a cabinet and started doing things. A few minutes later, he turned to Yeri and approached. He sat down at the side of Yeri’s pallet and cleared his throat. “Yeri.”
“Master,” Yeri replied evenly, striving for an expressionless face. He inhaled Devlin’s scent—in place of hatred and dislike, he now scented remorse and concern. The changes he smelled intrigued him, but he still didn’t trust the man.
“I have your pain medicine here,” Devlin said quietly. “I swear to god, it’s not Tylenol. I am so sorry about that, I had no idea it was poisonous to you. This is the pain medicine the doctor prescribed. They said to keep you on a schedule with it for now.”
Part of him wanted to refuse to touch anything the man gave him, but he was in a lot of pain now. The sincerity dripping off the man was the deciding factor for Yeri. He levered himself mostly upright, into a sitting position using a pillow for a backrest. He’d gasped from the pain movement caused only once, but he supposed that was better than the scream he’d kept bottled inside. He reached the position he wanted at last and stopped. He discovered that this new position caused his chest to hurt less and his foot to hurt more.
Devlin looked and smelled even more concerned than he had been when he walked in. “Are you hot? You’re panting.”
Yeri hadn’t realized he was panting until Devlin pointed it out. He made no effort to stop himself, though. It was very hot in there, so hot he thought he might have to lay back down—on the tiles. He nodded, too busy panting to speak.
Devlin handed him the glass of water then the pills. They weren’t the same pills the man had given him last time. They looked and smelled identical to the medicine the nurses at the hospital had been giving him. He took them quickly, trying not to taste them, for they were very bitter. Then, he drained the glass of water. Devlin, meanwhile, had returned to the counter.
As Yeri set the empty glass down, Devlin came back. He knelt down again and showed Yeri the thermometer. “May I?”
Yeri nodded again.
Devlin ran the sensor across his forehead and down his temple to his jaw. He checked the readout. “One hundred point two degrees. That’s a high fever for you. Okay, I’ll let George know.”
Devlin whisked off again, back to the counter. The next time he returned, he was carrying a pitcher filled to the brim with ice and water. He refilled Yeri’s glass and set the pitcher down beside it. “There. Drink as much as you can. I’m going to go speak to George.”
Yeri found his voice at last. “Thank you, master.” He wasn’t sure what Devlin was up to, but so long as the man was so clearly making an effort, Yeri would do the same.
The man nodded, stood, and strode out of the room with a rapid stride. After a moment, Yeri moved, slowly, off the bedding. Once he was sitting on the tiled floor, he carefully laid down on his back. The tiles were blessedly cool. No sooner had his eyes drifted shut than he heard two sets of footsteps approaching, one of which he knew to be George’s.
* * * *
George looked up from the proposed tour schedule as Devlin walked in. Yeri’s recovery was a major sticking point for the schedule right now, so he was looking it over with an eye to revision and postponement.
“Sir, I gave Yeri the pain medicine. He is drinking water, but he has a high fever, and that concerns me.”
“How high?” George was already standing up from his chair as he asked this. Any problem with Yeri was a potential crisis, and fever was particularly bad.
“One hundred point two, sir.”
“You’re right to be concerned. Thank you.” George strode out of the study, making a beeline for the kitchen with Devlin on his heels.
“Should I give him aspirin?”
“No. The pain medicine has aspirin in it.”
Yeri wasn’t on the pallet they’d made for him, he’d moved to the tiled floor and was laying flat on his back, almost pressing every part of himself against the tiles.
“He’s moved.” Devlin sounded surprised.
George almost smiled. “The tiles will pull the heat out of him. He’s smart enough to know what he needs.” George sat down beside Yeri as the Rovani opened his eyes. “How’s the pain?” Casually, he laid a hand on Yeri’s left arm. Their bond was strong enough that just touch alone gave them as complete empathic sharing as scent-lock did. Sometimes, just proximity to each other gave George quite a bit of info on his friend, especially when he concentrated.
“Better, master.”
If this was better, George didn’t even want to know what it had felt like before. After a few moments, he was forced to remove his hand. His sense of Yeri’s pain wasn’t gone, just... reduced. He had no idea how on earth he’d manage the dressing changes. And the dressing was saturated—foul-smelling fluid, sometimes tinted with blood, seeped from the burns continuously.
Yeri’s skin was so thin compared to a human’s that the burn, which would only have reached the top of the subcutaneous layer on a human had reached down to the Rovani’s chest muscles. The burn was also infected, so Yeri would have to stay on antibiotics for a while. If Yeri were lucky, the skin would grow back. If he were even luckier than that, the fur would, too.
Devlin set the tub of dressing supplies at his side then tucked some icepacks in around Yeri’s body. Then, the man hovered, anxiously watching. George could feel the man’s eyes on the back of his neck.
After taking a deep breath, George put on a pair of gloves then loosened the edges of the dressing, a border of silk tape adhered to bare skin rather than to the fur that should be there. The hospital had shaved that border around the burn both to give the dressing a place to adhere to but also to try to keep shed hairs from falling into the burn. Any particle was an irritant to the raw tissue under the bandage.
George pulled the loose dressing off. It was wet enough that it didn’t stick to anything, for which he was profoundly grateful. Devlin swooped in with a handy trash bag and bore the old dressing away. Yeri’s lips twitched, but the Rovani didn’t laugh. George grinned at him then made the mistake of looking at Yeri’s bared chest. Raw, red tissue, bleeding here and there, lay under patches of yellowish pus. It was painful just to look at. He didn’t want to touch it.
“Sir,” Devlin said quietly. “Allow me.”
“I can do this,” George told himself. He reached for the wound cleaner next. It was in a spray bottle. He was supposed to use it to wash off as much of the pus as would come off easily and evenly coat the rest of the burned area, too. He sprayed once.
Yeri’s soft gasp was accompanied by a wave of pain that had George reeling. He felt Devlin’s hand under his elbow and allowed the man to help him up and away from his hurting partner. “Easy, sir. You’re in no shape for this. You’re green. Go, sit down and relax. I can manage this.”
George shook his head. “Yeri needs me,” he said raggedly. Only then did he realize he was crying.
“Master, go.” Yeri’s voice was quiet. “Let Master Devlin help me, I don’t mind, master. The bond... you can’t, it’ll hurt you too much.”
“What about you?” George turned to face him, met those green eyes and held the Rovani’s gaze. “I don’t want you hurting, either.”
“This pain is unavoidable.” Yeri closed his eyes briefly.
George accepted the subtle request to break eye contact and turned his gaze resolutely to the window. “We’ll see about that.” He finally allowed Devlin to guide him out of t
he kitchen.
* * * *
Devlin saw to George first. He settled the man back in the study before returning to the kitchen and Yeri. The Rovani hadn’t moved, but his eyes tracked Devlin from the moment he entered. Devlin sat down where George had been. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, master. Is he okay now?”
“He’s better. He’s a sensitive soul, I think. I wasn’t expecting he’d have that much trouble with this.” Devlin carefully sprayed Yeri’s chest as he spoke. The Rovani flinched with each spray but otherwise didn’t react.
“It’s my fault. The contact empathy of my race... bonding can occur over time. He doesn’t even need to touch me to feel what I feel.”
“I didn’t know that,” Devlin said after a moment. But, oh god, did that explain so very much about George and Yeri that he’d wondered about. Starting with their seeming inseparableness, something he’d have thought would ease once George had been married to Ellie for a time. It hadn’t. George always seemed to know how Yeri was feeling, too, which only made sense in light of this new information. Of course, Yeri always knew how everyone was feeling thanks to his sense of smell, but the bond might give him even deeper insights into George.
Devlin finished spraying the cleaner and took out the tube of medicated ointment. “This is supposed to help your body heal.”
“Yes, master.”
Yeri didn’t move as Devlin applied a thick layer of the cream over the burned area. The layers of absorbent gauze came next, and then, he taped the whole thing down with the silk tape. He surveyed his handiwork and nodded in satisfaction. “Looks good.”
“Thank you, master.”
Devlin reached behind himself and snagged the thermometer. He held it up, saw that Yeri had noticed it, then ran it over the Rovani’s forehead. The fever was down to ninety-eight even. “Excellent,” he murmured. “Are you hungry?”
