Shadow's End
Page 74
Low, over the water, the ragged presence of a single Djinn drifted, like a ship foundering at sea. It carried a dull, faint thread of Soren’s Power.
Across the beach, where medics were working on Rune, Carling stood. Her voice filled with such Power, the words rocketed down the beach. “Khalil, bring Grace! Your father needs you!”
Bel’s heart pounded. Once. Twice.
It couldn’t have been longer than a moment.
But so very much could be lived, and lost, in a single moment.
Even as the signature whirlwind of an approaching Djinn blew onto the beach, Soren’s thin, ragged presence dissipated into the night with a final sigh.
A thick layer, like cotton wool, surrounded Graydon, disconnecting him from everything else, except Bel.
Shock. Or lack of air.
The broken bones in his chest shifted as he tried to draw in a breath. He thought maybe one of his lungs had collapsed.
She cupped his face, her beautiful eyes fierce and determined. Her lips formed the words, “Hold on, love. You’re going to be okay.”
I am, he thought. I’m holding on.
He clenched one hand on her wrist, held onto Constantine with the other.
His vision narrowed as pain tried to turn the world black, but he fought it off. As he snapped back to consciousness, she was lowering him flat on the ground.
Peacekeepers ran up. Someone tried to pry Constantine from his grip. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, resisting, until Bel bent over him, her face filling his vision.
She told him gently, “They’ll take good care of him. The very best care. Please, let them help.”
His arms loosened, and they lifted Constantine away. Someone pulled an oxygen mask over his face, while another person cast a spell that took away the grinding pain.
He began to drift again.
“My lady, you need to move away and let us work on him,” said one of the Peacekeepers.
That got his attention. Rousing, he growled. Talons sprang out on his hands, and his teeth lengthened. The medics’ eyes bulged and they pulled back.
“I’m not leaving him,” Bel said. “You’re going to have to work around me.” She bent over him again. “Graydon, do you understand? I’m not leaving you.”
He relaxed, marginally, and nodded. He said in her head, Never leave.
Never again, she told him, stroking the hair back from his face. I swear it. I’ll stay right here with you every step of the way. Trust me.
He did. He trusted her completely. His death grip on her wrist eased enough so that she could twist around and thread her fingers through his.
Blurry, disconnected images blew by, like snowflakes driven on a winter storm.
The dragon arrived, along with the other sentinels. They dropped raging out of the sky. After a quick shocked assessment, they threw themselves into helping, their faces stricken. A Djinn’s presence raged along the beach, causing Graydon’s fight instinct to rouse again until he realized it was Khalil, who also helped, his energy furious and chaotic.
Then somebody said, “One, two…”
Why were they counting?
The world shifted, as people lifted him onto a stretcher. He locked his fingers on Bel’s. They would have to cut his hand off to separate them. Huddling that thought close, he drifted again.
Then several people wheeled him down a corridor. Dammit, he was in the hospital. Bel strode beside the stretcher, still holding his hand. When he realized she was still with him, he let his eyes close again.
Drifting.
Consciousness returned. Dr. Shaw came into his field of vision. The Wyr falcon’s large, golden brown gaze met his steadily. “You’re going into surgery,” she told him. “Stay calm, Gray. You’re going to be all right. Do you understand?”
His gaze cut over to Bel. She was still with him, just as she had promised, the grip of her slender hand strong on his. She said reassuringly, “I’m going into surgery with you.”
He nodded, squeezed her hand, and fell into true darkness.
After a long, formless time, he went into what seemed to be a waking dream. His eyes were closed, or very nearly so. At some point they had put him in another hospital room. Gods, he hated hospitals.
Again, he checked to make sure that Bel was with him, and she was. Still holding his hand, she sat by his hospital bed.
Dragos and Pia were also in the room. Pia’s complexion was pale and blotchy, as if she’d been crying. Dragos’s hard expression looked jagged enough to cut steel.
“You could take a quick break,” Pia said gently. “Just to take a shower while he’s still out. The staff would let you borrow a set of hospital scrubs. You could even use the shower here in this room.”
“I’m not letting go.” Bel sounded calm and decisive. “I made him a promise.”
Comfort stole into the cold dark pit of his heart.
Dragos and Pia looked at each other. Pia said to him, “I know Kathryn said he would heal on his own, but I can’t bear not helping. What he’s been through was hard enough. And anyway, Bel already knows what I am.”
Dragos remained silent, his mouth hard and tight. After a moment, he gave her a slight nod.
Pia came on the other side of his bed. Carefully, she lifted away the sheet that covered his bare, bandaged chest. She removed the gauze covering an incision, and then she did something else, he couldn’t tell what, but she must have cut or pricked a finger somehow, because the tiny scent of new blood joined the stink of antiseptic.
Then a miracle filled his numb, exhausted body. It flowed, gentle and warm like sunshine, healing and soothing the torn and broken places in him. It felt loving and clean, new like a benediction, and transformative like forgiveness.
Because I never want you to feel a moment’s pain, Pia murmured in his head, as she tenderly tucked the edge of the sheet back across his chest.
Across the beach, where medics were working on Rune, Carling stood. Her voice filled with such Power, the words rocketed down the beach. “Khalil, bring Grace! Your father needs you!”
Bel’s heart pounded. Once. Twice.
It couldn’t have been longer than a moment.
But so very much could be lived, and lost, in a single moment.
Even as the signature whirlwind of an approaching Djinn blew onto the beach, Soren’s thin, ragged presence dissipated into the night with a final sigh.
A thick layer, like cotton wool, surrounded Graydon, disconnecting him from everything else, except Bel.
Shock. Or lack of air.
The broken bones in his chest shifted as he tried to draw in a breath. He thought maybe one of his lungs had collapsed.
She cupped his face, her beautiful eyes fierce and determined. Her lips formed the words, “Hold on, love. You’re going to be okay.”
I am, he thought. I’m holding on.
He clenched one hand on her wrist, held onto Constantine with the other.
His vision narrowed as pain tried to turn the world black, but he fought it off. As he snapped back to consciousness, she was lowering him flat on the ground.
Peacekeepers ran up. Someone tried to pry Constantine from his grip. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, resisting, until Bel bent over him, her face filling his vision.
She told him gently, “They’ll take good care of him. The very best care. Please, let them help.”
His arms loosened, and they lifted Constantine away. Someone pulled an oxygen mask over his face, while another person cast a spell that took away the grinding pain.
He began to drift again.
“My lady, you need to move away and let us work on him,” said one of the Peacekeepers.
That got his attention. Rousing, he growled. Talons sprang out on his hands, and his teeth lengthened. The medics’ eyes bulged and they pulled back.
“I’m not leaving him,” Bel said. “You’re going to have to work around me.” She bent over him again. “Graydon, do you understand? I’m not leaving you.”
He relaxed, marginally, and nodded. He said in her head, Never leave.
Never again, she told him, stroking the hair back from his face. I swear it. I’ll stay right here with you every step of the way. Trust me.
He did. He trusted her completely. His death grip on her wrist eased enough so that she could twist around and thread her fingers through his.
Blurry, disconnected images blew by, like snowflakes driven on a winter storm.
The dragon arrived, along with the other sentinels. They dropped raging out of the sky. After a quick shocked assessment, they threw themselves into helping, their faces stricken. A Djinn’s presence raged along the beach, causing Graydon’s fight instinct to rouse again until he realized it was Khalil, who also helped, his energy furious and chaotic.
Then somebody said, “One, two…”
Why were they counting?
The world shifted, as people lifted him onto a stretcher. He locked his fingers on Bel’s. They would have to cut his hand off to separate them. Huddling that thought close, he drifted again.
Then several people wheeled him down a corridor. Dammit, he was in the hospital. Bel strode beside the stretcher, still holding his hand. When he realized she was still with him, he let his eyes close again.
Drifting.
Consciousness returned. Dr. Shaw came into his field of vision. The Wyr falcon’s large, golden brown gaze met his steadily. “You’re going into surgery,” she told him. “Stay calm, Gray. You’re going to be all right. Do you understand?”
His gaze cut over to Bel. She was still with him, just as she had promised, the grip of her slender hand strong on his. She said reassuringly, “I’m going into surgery with you.”
He nodded, squeezed her hand, and fell into true darkness.
After a long, formless time, he went into what seemed to be a waking dream. His eyes were closed, or very nearly so. At some point they had put him in another hospital room. Gods, he hated hospitals.
Again, he checked to make sure that Bel was with him, and she was. Still holding his hand, she sat by his hospital bed.
Dragos and Pia were also in the room. Pia’s complexion was pale and blotchy, as if she’d been crying. Dragos’s hard expression looked jagged enough to cut steel.
“You could take a quick break,” Pia said gently. “Just to take a shower while he’s still out. The staff would let you borrow a set of hospital scrubs. You could even use the shower here in this room.”
“I’m not letting go.” Bel sounded calm and decisive. “I made him a promise.”
Comfort stole into the cold dark pit of his heart.
Dragos and Pia looked at each other. Pia said to him, “I know Kathryn said he would heal on his own, but I can’t bear not helping. What he’s been through was hard enough. And anyway, Bel already knows what I am.”
Dragos remained silent, his mouth hard and tight. After a moment, he gave her a slight nod.
Pia came on the other side of his bed. Carefully, she lifted away the sheet that covered his bare, bandaged chest. She removed the gauze covering an incision, and then she did something else, he couldn’t tell what, but she must have cut or pricked a finger somehow, because the tiny scent of new blood joined the stink of antiseptic.
Then a miracle filled his numb, exhausted body. It flowed, gentle and warm like sunshine, healing and soothing the torn and broken places in him. It felt loving and clean, new like a benediction, and transformative like forgiveness.
Because I never want you to feel a moment’s pain, Pia murmured in his head, as she tenderly tucked the edge of the sheet back across his chest.
