by JD Monroe
Adjust the valve to drain the accumulating fluid.
Something pounded against the door, rattling it in the frame. Gabby’s heart skipped a beat, its rate accelerating to match Laura’s. She sucked a deep breath through her nose, held it for a three count, and let it out.
Tweak the saline drip. Bolus of pain medication.
Another hard bang against the door.
As she watched the monitors, she peeled off one glove and reached into her pocket for her phone. She dialed 911 and waited, trying to stay calm. It sure was nice of Tarek to take off and leave her with his mess to deal with.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m at Reno General. We have two shooters in the emergency unit,” she said, trying to keep the creeping note of panic out of her voice.
“Okay ma’am, I want you to stay calm,” the operator said. “The incident has already been called in, and we have the police headed your way. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you near the shooters?”
“They’re outside the door,” Gabby said.
“Okay,” she said. “I want you to get somewhere safe if you can. Don’t try to be a hero. Can you stay on the line with me?”
Gabby looked up at the monitors. The readout for the teenager’s intracranial pressure was dropping steadily into the safe range. Her heart rate was normalizing, and her respiration slowed. Assess, decide, and execute. She had control over the situation.
The banging hadn’t come for quite a while. With the alarms silenced, Gabby could hear the two talking outside. She didn’t recognize the language, but she heard the woman say something emphatically. The man gave a short response, and then it was quiet.
“Ma’am?”
“Hold on,” Gabby whispered. She crept closer to the door and pressed her ear toward the crack. From across the unit, she heard more alarms blaring. Frantic voices drew closer, and in the distance was the unmistakable sound of sirens. But she didn’t hear the two attackers talking. Were they waiting right outside for her to let her guard down?
Someone knocked on the door. She jumped back and let out a shout of surprise.
“Reno Police,” a voice said.
Gabby cracked the door to see a hint of a dark blue uniform. She opened it further, revealing a silver name plate. This time, she was happy to see the gun in the man’s hand.
“Are you all right?”
“I need a drink,” Gabby replied.
“Don’t worry, we’ve got this under control,” he said, but it didn’t reassure her. She didn’t know how to tell him that there were dragons in the sky, and that this was one scenario he definitely hadn’t been trained for.
CHAPTER NINE
Flying over the neon glow of Reno by night, Tarek was torn with indecision. Tactically speaking, the wisest course of action was to return to the Gate. But he was exhausted, and there was no way he could fly hundreds of miles with Ashariah as dead weight.
As if to remind him of his circumstances, Tarek’s head spun, and he dropped into a sharp descent. He was dangerously weak, thanks to his quick pursuit across the desert and now the unwelcome presence of bullets buried in his flesh. If he was home in Adamantine Rise, he would heal quickly, but here in the human realm, he was bleeding and losing strength at an alarming rate.
Forcing his wings back, he righted his flight path and tightened his grip on Ashariah. The princess was breathing steadily, but he could hear the irregular hitch of her heartbeat. He suspected that the human medical treatment, though well-intended, had probably caused her some physical distress on top of her significant injuries.
We’ll be home soon, Ashariah-tahn.
Tarek gritted his teeth and scanned the garish rainbow landscape. To his right was the glimmering streak of casinos that made up Reno’s Strip. He definitely didn’t need that kind of crowd. He wheeled around, looking toward the edge of the city. His gaze fell on the familiar green sign of a chain motel.
A few hours rest and recuperation would do him good, and at least ensure that he could make it back across the desert to the Gate, where he could pass Ashariah off into more capable hands.
Tarek slowly descended, using all his willpower to keep himself in flight while maintaining the mirage-like concealment around himself. His wing stroke faltered as he neared the ground, and he made an awkward landing in the open parking lot behind the hotel.
After a moment to catch his breath, he surveyed the parking lot. There were a handful of cars in the lot. Windows were illuminated in a haphazard pattern along the two levels of the motel. Tarek maintained his dragon form and followed his keen sense of smell toward one side of the L-shaped building. He smelled the scents of life—human sweat, someone having sex in the corner room, and greasy Chinese food a few doors down.
A room toward the corner was empty. He smelled only the fading scent of bleach and cleaning products. Keeping his illusion up, Tarek took a long jump across the lot, catching the air to lift him in a gentle arc.
He focused his energy on his hearing instead now, listening for signs of life. The amorous couple was definitely in the next room, and they were having a quite a time by the sound of it. The TV was on, playing a sports broadcast two doors down. Room 112 was empty and silent. Good.
Tarek shifted Ashariah into one arm, wrapped his claws around the handle and snapped it off easily. He bumped the door open, then laid Ashariah down as gently as possible in front of the door. After checking that no witnesses were around to see him, he wrapped his wings around himself and released his hold on the dragon. Heat burst through him as his bones broke and reshaped themselves.
When the pain of the transformation had passed, leaving him trembling on his knees on the concrete, he realized several things. His clothing was in shreds outside of Gabrielle’s hospital. Without his magical illusion to conceal him, he was bare-assed to the whole world. The second realization came as the cold night air nipped at his bare skin. His back and leg felt like they were on fire. Adrenaline and flight had helped him ignore the two gunshot wounds, but now his body was catching up on lost time.
He knelt to pick up Ashariah and let out a groan of effort as he picked her up. The princess didn’t stir as he hauled her into the empty room and deposited her on the bed. The bags of medicine and tubes were tangled in a knot on her stomach.
He slammed the door and leaned against it as he regarded the princess. She should have been clothed in finery and jewels instead of a wash-worn hospital gown. An unkind thought crossed his mind. If I’d been protecting you, this wouldn’t have happened. But was that true? He’d done no better to protect her elder sister, so what made him think he could have fared better?
Along the hem of the faded gown was a series of numbers. He’d barely noticed in the tumult that Gabrielle had left her phone number. He didn’t want to involve her more than he already had, but he could use the help. He had no clothes and no money. And judging by the bloody footprints he’d left heading into the room, he needed a doctor’s attention.
He sighed in resignation and went to the phone.
CHAPTER TEN
She had to call her mother and her sister. By the time Gabby merged onto the highway to get away from the insanity, the radio announcers had interrupted their usual commercial-free block with a report of an active shooter at Reno General. If Maria Rojas heard the news report, she’d turn from a staunch Roman Catholic to a worrying Jewish mother in a nanosecond.
Once the Reno police had declared the hospital situation contained, Gabby had been ushered off to a staff lounge to answer questions for a harried-looking investigator. She’d answered all his questions the best she could, except for the blown out windows and the conspicuously empty bed in room seven. When any of Detective Bennett’s questions veered in that direction, she chalked it up to stress turning her memory to Swiss cheese. Still, it wouldn’t be long before someone realized that their Jane Doe, the topic of much discussion around the hospital over the course of the day, had simply disa
ppeared.
But for now, the chaos would keep everyone distracted. The police were sweeping the hospital for the shooters. Meanwhile, there were seven staff, four patients, and six visitors who’d been affected by an unknown substance. They’d all been admitted to be evaluated for poisons and other toxins. Emergency services was redirecting all but the most critical patients to other area hospitals while Reno General pulled nurses from around the hospital and brought in off-duty ER physicians to cover for the rest of the evening shift.
Once she’d given report to the frazzled staff who’d arrived in the middle of the chaos, Gabby collected her bag and hurried out of the hospital before someone started asking her more questions.
There was a part of her that felt guilty at bolting like she had, leaving her patients behind. She always worried when she left for the day. They were in the hands of capable doctors, many of whom had far more experience than Gabby. Still, there was a certain sense of reassurance about knowing that she was there to make the right decisions. She would worry about Laura, and whether the night nurses would carefully watch her pressure numbers for signs of trouble. She hadn’t quite mastered the art of “turning it off” when she left the hospital like some of her colleagues.
But today, it was easier than it usually was. For one, barely an hour ago, she’d watched Tarek jump through a window and transform into an actual, honest-to-goodness dragon. Scales, wings, teeth and everything. And then he’d just taken to the sky and flown away like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Where had he flown off to? How was Jane Doe? Had she done the right thing in letting him take her? And who the hell was she kidding? If the guy could turn into a ten-foot tall dragon, who was letting him do anything?
And while she was on the topic of wonder, how long was it going to be until her nervous breakdown was complete? Because the day had been about as insane as it could possibly be. How exactly did one go back to normal after watching a human man turn into a dragon?
Her phone vibrated, then emitted a shrill ring. She activated the car’s hands-free system. “Hello?”
There was a pause. “Gabrielle?”
The rich voice belonged to Tarek. Her heart fluttered as she pictured him holding the phone, his amber eyes serious. She mentally reprimanded herself. This was not an appropriate reaction to the situation, no matter how dreamy those eyes were. “Tarek?”
He sighed, audibly relieved. “Yes. I got her to a hotel. I don’t like to ask for help, but I have to admit that I could use it, and you’re the only person I can ask at the moment. Could I impose upon you?”
To her surprise, excitement bubbled up inside her. She knew she shouldn’t want to get involved, but there was an undeniable magnetism that made her want to be close to him again. “What do you need?”
“Clothes,” he said. “I sort of lost mine.”
Oh my.
Nope. She was not going to imagine what he looked like naked, because there was no doubt that it was a sight to behold. Whoops. Too late. “Okay,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. “Anything else?’
“I, um…well, I’ve been shot,” he said matter-of-factly. “Twice.”
“Dios mio,” she muttered. “Where are you?”
Ten minutes later she made it through an unexpected snarl of late-night traffic and parked at the back of the Target shopping center. She sat in her parked car for a few minutes and stared at the glowing red bullseye as she asked herself, what the hell are you doing?
Was she really doing this? Was she really involving herself in this situation instead of chalking it up as the utter insanity that it was? If her mother knew that she was about to walk into a store and spend her hard-earned money on first aid and new clothes for a strange man who had split his open turning into a dragon—because God forbid she forget that part—then she would have a heart attack.
“Mom,” Gabby murmured. She reached for the phone and found Missed Call (3) glaring across her screen. Shit. It must have come through while she was on the handsfree trying to tell Tarek how to keep Jane Doe stabilized and position her so her back and neck were protected. She thumbed past the notification and searched through her contacts until she landed on Mom. She stepped out of the car, relishing the cool night air on her face as the phone rang.
Her mother answered halfway through the first ring. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Gabrielle, why didn’t you answer when I called?” Her mother’s voice was deep and smoky. Her English was precise, but heavily accented. “I saw the news and I …”
“I’m fine, Mama,” she said. She hated to lie but she knew she’d be on the phone for an hour giving her mother all the details if she told the truth. “I had already left work when it happened.”
Her mother sighed heavily. “Thank the Lord,” she said. “I was so worried. Anna and I watched it on the television and she said it was in your office.”
My unit, she mentally corrected. “How is Anna? Can I talk to her?”
“She already fell asleep. Her new medicine makes her sleep a lot. She wanted me to wake her when I heard from you.”
Anna’s diagnosis of cystic fibrosis meant years of hospital visits, taking dozens of pills a day, scares with infections and the extreme precautions to avoid illness, all of which had taken a toll on their family. Their father had taken off when they were kids and had a new family down in Florida, which was a source of much bitterness for Gabby and her mother. As if she hadn’t been dealt a tough enough hand, Anna’s liver had begun to fail in the last few years, and she’d returned home to live with Mom while treating it.
Gabby knew better than anyone what Anna’s prognosis was. She tried to keep things positive by bringing home news of research and experimental treatments that were improving outcomes for CF patients, but the fact was that Anna’s life expectancy was drastically shortened, and at thirty-one, she was already on borrowed time. With the liver difficulties, her chances were poor, and she was a low priority for a transplant.
“Don’t wake her,” Gabby said. “I’ll text her, and she can call me later if she wakes up. Are you doing okay?”
Her mother paused. “She is struggling. So am I. Are you still coming home to see us this weekend?”
“Of course,” Gabby said. She glanced at her watch. It had already been twenty minutes since she’d spoken to Tarek. Time was of the essence in dealing with a gunshot wound. Then again, he wasn’t exactly her average patient. If he’d managed to fly across town carrying an unconscious woman, he wasn’t exactly going to die if she took another few minutes to chat. “Listen, Mama, I just wanted to tell you I was all right. But I have to go, okay?”
“Okay, mija. Get some sleep,” she said. “You sound tired.”
It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d just woken from a full night’s sleep; her mother would always think she sounded tired. And if she was at home, her mother wouldn’t rest until Gabby had a plate of home cooked food in her hands and another covered in tinfoil to take home. “Te quiero,” Gabby said.
“Te quiero mucho,” her mother said.
Gabby let out a sigh as she hung up the call. Back into the fray.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Where was she? Had she forgotten him? Tarek sat awkwardly in the lumpy chair across from Ashariah’s bed staring at the phone. Now that the adrenaline of his transformation and flight had worn off, his back and leg throbbed, and he had a ferocious headache.
Furthermore, he was beginning to doubt his decision to take Ashariah away from the hospital. She was still breathing, but her usually golden skin was the dead white of the rough pillow under her head, and her chest movements were slow and shallow. A familiar dread washed over him as he contemplated standing before Halmerah to tell her that he had lost her only surviving child. His mouth went dry, his stomach tying in a tight knot.
But he’d had to do something, hadn’t he? With the Ironflight on the attack, she wasn’t safe in the care of the humans. He wasn’t much of an improvement, but at least he knew what he was
up against. Regardless of their numbers and advanced technology, the humans were no match for a full cadre of Ironflight dragons, who would burn the hospital down to charred rubble and slag metal just to be thorough.
His phone rattled noisily on the glass pane atop the nightstand. He jumped up, instantly regretting the motion as lightning struck from heel to hip in his wounded leg. Balancing instead on his good leg, he answered it. “Hello?”
“Um…Tarek? Where are you?” The sound of Gabrielle’s voice, warm and inviting even as she questioned, sent a shiver down his spine. Focus, Tarek.
“Uh,” he said. He gathered the small towel around his waist with one hand and hobbled to the door. He pulled it open and poked his head out to see Gabrielle standing on the opposite end of the parking lot. “Turn around.”
She turned slowly. Her eyes widened when she noticed him waving at her. Her eyes raked over him for a moment before she snapped back to attention and hurried toward him. He ducked back into the room and held the door open for her.
He caught a hint of mint and the strong smell of coffee as she bustled in. She was still dressed in her pale blue hospital scrubs. She carried a bright pink gym bag over one shoulder, and held clusters of white shopping bags in either hand. She glanced up at him, then tore her eyes away again.
“I have clothes for you,” she said.
“Oh, good,” he said. He released the towel. “Which bag?”
She turned back toward him and let out a hiccupping sound. Her eyes were pinned to his crotch. To his surprise, she actually covered her eyes. He looked down and asked, “What?”
“Put that away,” she scolded.
“Are you going to fix me?”
“Fix you?”
“I’m wounded,” he said. He turned to show her the bullet wounds; one high on his right side, and the other in the back of his leg. “That’s why I called you, remember?”
“Oh,” she said. Her cheeks flushed bright red. “Oh.”
