by fox, angie
Deny it all.
"This isn't worship," Horace growled. "This is charity. I need to bust out of this camp and find some real followers."
I eyed the pint-sized thundercloud, from his starched red uniform cap to his sparkly military boots with wings poking out the back. "You really think that's the problem?"
"Of course it is. I'm cooped up here. If I could just get out in the world, I could get my entire three-wheeled chariot cult going again."
It would be a solution to the energy crisis.
Horace brainstormed modern worship solutions the entire way to the recovery tent. "I just can't figure out how to reach people, you understand? I need to break through the clutter. Everyone is so busy these days."
He held open the door for me and I walked into the tent with my head held high and my fingers trembling only slightly.
Chapter Three
I pulled my white physicians' coat off a wooden peg by the door and slipped it on. I needed to take it easy.
Yes, he was striking and yes, I'd saved him. But that didn't mean I should get carried away. "He's just a patient," I murmured to myself. I'd done this hundreds of times.
Yeah, right.
At least the place smelled familiar—a mix of antiseptic and desert dust. I nodded to the night nurse, who acknowledged my presence from behind a brick-red metal desk, lit by a simple one-bulb lamp.
The door banged behind me and I glanced back to see Horace bugging out. How bad was it that I wanted him to stick around? Talk about desperation.
I walked down the long, narrow tent like a convict facing the firing squad. Military beds lined either side. The blue lights came on at night and cast more shadows than they illuminated.
It was important for patients to rest in order to gather their strength. I was glad to see most of them asleep. At least some people would have a relaxing night.
Commander Galen had been assigned to bed 22A, almost at the end.
Would he know?
Would he remember what I'd done?
Sharp anger speared through me. I didn't ask for this.
I could feel his eyes on me as I stopped to check my one-horned patient, who was snoring like a banshee. His chart indicated they'd found his missing appendage. I reached in my pocket and clicked open a pen, noting I'd do the reattachment in the morning.
Things had to look better once the suns came up.
Jeffe, the security sphinx, padded toward me. He was as large and muscular as a full-grown lion. His thick, tawny hair Cascaded into a long, straight mane that framed his sharp, human-like facial features. Well, what I could see of his face. Jeffe was in the process of growing a goatee and had hair sprouting everywhere from the nose down.
Sphinxes weren't allowed in the OR. They'd been bred as soul eaters for thousands of years, and, well, why risk it? But they made great night guards for our non-critical cases.
Jeffe snarled, shaking his abundant mane over his shoulders. "The one at the end is awake." He spoke like every sphinx I'd ever known, deep and guttural with a hint of Egyptian. "I'm going to go ask him a riddle."
"No. I've got it." There was a reason we employed the sphinxes after the patients went to bed.
Besides, I didn't want Jeffe around to hear what kind of questions the good commander had for me.
I caught sight of my patient through the scattered pools of light. He was even more chiseled, more raw, more breathtakingly powerful than I'd remembered.
I felt it the way a deer scents a wolf.
Jeffe growled low in his throat as he retreated. "You will call to me if you need me."
No, I wouldn't. I had to do this alone.
Commander Galen sat propped up in his bed, studying me with naked interest.
My stomach tightened.
He was seductive in a way that was almost a physical caress. I refused to react, even as warmth shot down my spine, gathering in my core. It was as if he'd already touched me in the most intimate way possible and had memorized every inch of me.
Damn, it was no wonder there wasn't another one like him. The females of the species wouldn't stand a chance. Even with my years of training, I was going to be a puddle on the floor if I didn't watch it.
Focus.
I had to think of him as a patient, and not the man who had been on my table yesterday afternoon.
Not the man whose soul I'd touched.
A small shiver ran through me.
Get it together, Robichaud.
This was no time to get personal. I needed to keep my distance and my wits.
Steeling myself, I gave him a tight-lipped smile and drew my clinical persona around me like armor. "I'm glad to see you awake," I said, taking his chart.
According to the blue ink scrawls, the nurse had changed his dressings an hour ago. Both wounds were healing well. I'd saved his life. Now we'd just have to deal with the consequences.
"What happened?" he asked, with the tone of one used to commanding attention.
My chest tightened as I flipped to the second page in his chart. "I'm not going to lie to you. It got ugly." Blood pressure normal. "But no worries. We patched you up." The rest of his stats looked good.
"I remember dying." His gaze traveled over me, as if he was waiting for me to give something away.
I kept my face blank and my mouth shut. I could feel the weight of his inspection.
"You touched me."
"I don't know what you mean," I said, my expression carefully neutral.
It had been one of the most incredible things I'd ever done, a pure, raw moment of clarity.
He trailed blunt fingers across a battle-hardened arm.
"I saw you," he said, almost to himself. Confusion flickered across his features. "I could have sworn it."
I'd been as close as one human being could be to another. I'd never touched anyone that deeply, or let him touch me back.
It was both illuminating and frightening. I'd held his life in my hands and felt his strength, his dedication. His isolation.
That last one had really gotten to me. This was a man who put his life on the line every day. Commander Galen endured death and blood and pain. He was willing to go through hell so that people like me didn't have to.
It saddened me to think he was alone in the world. He at least deserved to have someone care.
I took a deep breath. "You were very heavily poisoned."
He stared at me, into me, calculating every breath, every stuttering blink. I felt exposed, laid bare, as if he could see and comprehend even the smallest emotion that flickered across my features.
"Tell me what happened," he said, as if he already knew.
I found myself wanting to open up, craving the connection. "You didn't die," I said quickly. "Or you wouldn't be here."
Galen drew himself up on his elbows. "I remember standing outside my body. Watching you."
Part of me wondered what he'd seen in that moment.
Seven hells.
"You need to lie down," I said. He was going to pull his stitches open. I forced myself to once again touch his smooth, tanned skin as I eased him back onto the bed. His heat soaked into my hands as I checked his vitals.
"What aren't you telling me?"
I felt myself flush. One slipup and he'd have me. So I did what I'd always done to keep my emotions in check. I focused on my job.
"Doctor," he began.
"You got lucky," I said. It was the truth and then some.
"You had a serious knife wound, a poisoned bloodstream, and an acute reaction to the one hundred twenty cc's of toxopren we pumped into your system." I hooked my stethoscope around my neck. "You're going to be fine. But it's normal to feel out of sorts after what you've been through." Normal for him and for me. We both needed to relax, let it go.
His eyes narrowed, trying to remember.
I glanced back at the shadow-drenched unit and fought the urge to pull a repeat of my dash from yesterday. This entire conversation was making me feel claustrophobic.
"Why don't I have Father McArio stop by to see you?" I asked, standing. "He's a good guy." The kind without deadly secrets.
A muscle in Galen's jaw twitched. "Dr. Robichaud."
He would have to pronounce like a true Cajun.
Still, I'd stood my ground. I'd secured my distance and it would take a lot more than that for me to give it up. I replaced his chart at the foot of the bed. "Get some sleep." I buried my hands my pockets and walked away.
"Tell me you didn't see it."
And in that instant he tore it all down.
I turned. Sure enough, the clean-cut, square-jawed commander was trying to get out of bed, naked.
"Oh, for heaven's sake." He couldn't follow me. If he tried to stand, he'd end up on the floor.
Jeffe rushed to my side. "Patient out of order!" He thrust his chin at Galen. "What's the capital of Saskatchewan?"
"Pipe down, Jeffe."
The rest of the patients needed their sleep.
"Commander Galen," I protested, ready to catch him as he stood. He couldn't have been steady on his feet. It was too soon. It was also impressive as hell to see at least six and a half feet of pure muscle and man unfold right in front of me.
Galen held his sheet around his waist, not tight enough in my opinion. It slung low over his narrow hips. I felt my throat go dry before I caught myself staring.
"You want me to eat him?" Jeffe snarled.
If he didn't, I would. I gave myself a mental shake. I was not going there.
Jeffe danced at the foot of the bed on massive paws. "Or I can suck out his liver, maybe boil his ears in oil. You know, give him the full Egyptian treatment."
I cleared my throat. "Thanks, Jeffe. I'm fine."
If only that were true.
Galen loomed over me. I could tell he was having a devil of a time standing, but it didn't stop him. He squared his shoulders and I felt it down to my core. He was too solid, too wide, his jaw too set to be considered classically handsome. No, he was something more. He was unapologetically male. It was as if he commanded the recovery tent and everyone in it. Never back down. Never surrender. If he was this impressive injured, what would he be like when he was healthy enough to fight?
"I'll let you go," he said, "on one condition."
"Name it."
His mouth curled up at the corner. "Give me five minutes." Oh my. "You got it," I said, ignoring that little voice in my head that told me I was sinking in deep. Too deep. "That wasn't so hard," he said in an all-too-familiar tone as he eased himself back into bed. This man was going to be trouble on wheels.
Get a grip.
Jeffe plopped down at my side. "I think he needs another riddle."
"No." Because if Galen got it wrong, Jeffe would be honor-bound to eat him, and that had about a zero percent chance of working out.
The sphinx wrinkled his long, Egyptian nose. "Puzzle?"
"No."
"How about a game of Parcheesi?"
"I think I have it handled."
"Right. Sure. Who cares what I think? I've only been doing this since Ramses was in diapers."
"Give us a break, Jeffe." I'd promised the commander a conversation. If I kept my wits about me, I might be able to convince him to back off.
The sphinx rolled his eyes and sat down next to me, his lion's tail swooshing against the leg of my scrubs.
"Away, Jeffe."
"Fine. I get it. You don't have to tell me twice," said the sphinx, lumbering off.
Lovely. I wiped my brow with my sleeve. I'd owe him my last Tootsie Roll for that one. It was amazing how easily the sphinx's feelings got hurt, and how much chocolate seemed to help.
At least my encounter with Jeffe had allowed time for me to gather myself—and for Commander Galen to adjust his sheet over those abs of his. I was a professional, but even I had my limits.
I leaned over him, bracing a hand on the back of his metal hospital bed, the sleeve of my white coat nearly brushing his ear. "You need to relax and take care of yourself."
Besides the fact that he was naked and injured, I didn't see what he had to gain by following me out of the tent. I'd already told him as much of the truth as he was going to get.
He met me halfway, the sheet pooling at his waist. The air between us thickened.
"It's the damndest thing, Doc. I can almost see what happened, only my mind won't let me. It's like I had something right here." He held his wide hands open, palms up, empty. "I had it."
Hellfire and brimstone. I fought the urge to glance at Jeffe, who would zip to my side the moment I did.
I tucked my hair behind my ears. There had to be an answer that would satisfy him. I tried to look at it intellectually. Forget what happened and focus on normal, everyday fears. No doubt the concept of death was tough for these so-called immortals. "Look, I'll go get Father McArio myself."
Galen sat up straighter. "I don't want him. I need you."
Lord help us. I knew what this soldier wanted even if he didn't. Galen craved that bone-deep connection we'd shared in that operating room. He ached for it like I did.
I gave him a cockeyed look. "Of all the immortals in limbo, you had to show up on my table." He grinned at that. "I'll stay," I said, ignoring the glint of victory in his eye.
"But lie back down," I added, mindful of his injury. I pulled up a cramped military chair next to his bedside. Galen leaned in close. The scent of the harsh astringent we'd used on him wasn't enough to mask the spicy male scent underneath. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea.
His breath felt warm against my cheek. "I feel strange," he said. "Like the fates have tied us together somehow." He shook his head slightly. "I can't tell you why it's there, but it is."
I knew all about it.
I worked with soldiers every day, men in pain, men who needed me. There was no reason why Galen should be different. But he was. Saving him, touching his soul had affected me in ways I was only beginning to understand.
"It's not fate," I said. It was an absurd fluke, one I wanted to forget. A short laugh bubbled out of me. It was all too much. "I don't even read my horoscope."
There was no point anyway. By the time any magazines or newspapers got down here from Earth, they were a month old.
The look he gave me cut straight through the web I'd tried to spin. "It's supposed to be a healer who ends this war."
"True." One with a forbidden power. The gods had probably killed the person already, or chained them inside a volcano where they could be dipped in lava twelve times a day.
A moment of silence passed between us.
"Do you believe in oracles?" he asked.
"No." Not anymore.
He seemed surprised at that.
I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. "I'm from New Orleans. I've heard a lot of ghost stories."
And since I'd gotten here, I'd seen a lot of soldiers. Damn, I was in trouble. I tilted my head, studying Galen of Delphi. A triple scar sliced across his lower belly, as if something had taken a swipe at him. A bandage from his recent wound covered his heart and trailed over a broad shoulder. He had legions of nicks and scratches from countless hurts. I found myself wanting to fix all of it, even though I knew I couldn't.
Instead I asked, "How many times have you been injured?"
A muscle in his shoulder twitched. "Too many to count."
I knew. I'd felt it firsthand. This man was different from the one-note, hotshot soldiers who crossed my table. Galen had the passion of an immortal, and the intensity. Yet he hadn't lost his humanity. There was no mistaking his suffering and his pain. It was comforting and disturbing at the same time.
I couldn't imagine what he'd been through. I'd never witnessed a battle up close. But I did see the men as they came off the field, injured and dying.
No doubt he wanted to bring an end to it all. It was more than our startling connection. He wanted the prophecy to come true. But in my experience, life didn't work that way.
I touched him lightly on the ar
m. His skin was sleek, the muscle underneath hard. "You've suffered." Surely he'd lost friends as well. My chest tightened. "I understand."
"No, you don't." The ice in his voice sent a shiver through me. "I wouldn't wish it on you if my life depended on it. You have no idea what's about to happen."
It was true. I didn't know what he faced. And he didn't know me. We would leave it at that.
I stood. "My time is up."
He ground his jaw, watching me as I slid a rust-colored military blanket over his shoulders and made a notation in his chart. Commander Galen would ship out tomorrow to the MASH 8071st—the farthest unit from us. I'd figure out a reason later.
"Thanks for talking, Doc," he said, grudgingly taking my hand. His touch rocked me to the core.
He inhaled sharply.
Our eyes locked and I could see that he felt it, too. I let out a shaky breath.
It was the first time we'd touched like this since the incident in the OR, and it hit me with stark clarity just how dangerous this man was.
Like an idiot, I didn't let go right away. I let him hold my hand for a long moment. His eyes searched my face, as if he was struggling to remember.
I drew back. "I've got to go."
"Right," he said under his breath, recovering. "I promise not to scare you if you come see me tomorrow."
"Sure. I make rounds at noon."
I watched him ease back onto his military recovery bed, aware that I'd gained a much-needed reprieve.
Technically, we could talk at noon tomorrow. If I hadn't just scheduled him to ship out at dawn.
Chapter Four
The wooden door of the recovery unit banged closed behind me as I breathed in the stuffy night air. The shadows of the camp slung low against the desert. Torches lined the walk, casting pools of light in the darkness.
We'd talked the new gods into a generator for the hospital, but otherwise they insisted we go old-school with lanterns and anything else we could set on fire. For progressive gods, they sure needed to get with the twenty-first century.
I rubbed a hand over my gritty eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. I wished I could do more for soldiers like Galen. I tried to make a difference. Sometimes, though, it seemed like all we did here was patch them up so somebody else could blow holes in them again.
