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He closed his eyes, nestled back into her firm, warm bosom. “Consider me one of those…”
She pinched his arm, manually forced both lids open, peeling them off his unfocused eyes. “You’re not and you will not be again! You will drink and then I will take out the chest tubes, sew you up then take you for examination.”
“And then you’ll take me home?” Home. That was her place to him now. Where was that around here? Now, that was something to keep awake for, to be in it, with her—but he’d just rest for a while first…
No such luck. She nudged him again. “C’mon. Open those eyes. Up, up!”
The woman was pitiless. “Gulnar! I’ve been shot, for heaven’s sake!”
“So? Nothing was really damaged. I examined you thoroughly while I was trying to find out where all the blood covering your right side was coming from.”
It was only then that he noticed. His blood-soaked shirt was closed over two large pads, one on the entry wound in his back and one over the exit wound in his chest, with slits through it for the chest tubes. Immaculate as usual. She must have taken his shirt off, examined him, performed the tube thoracotomies and put the shirt back on to preserve body heat. With his blood loss and shock he was still a prime candidate for hypothermia even in this heat. She’d done everything to the letter of the most advanced life-support protocols.
And to think she’d done it all, so thorough and efficient, minutes after surviving such horrors! What she must have felt, dealing with it all while coming to terms with having to kill another human being to save him, then still having him shot and possibly dying on her hands…
He needed to purge all her terror and helplessness, her stress and rage. But how, when he was the focus of her dissatisfaction? “You’re angry with me, bella mia, aren’t you?”
“Wow. What insight! Angry is too mild a word, Dr. Dante!”
“Oh, no! You’ve already called me Dante. You can’t go back to calling me ‘Doctor’ now!”
“You don’t want to know what I want to call you right now!”
“You mean beside idiot, insane and stupid?”
“Oh, that was the censored version of what I think of you for exposing yourself to needless danger, for—for…” Her voice choked, her tears flowed again. “I kept screaming for you to get down, to just get the hell down! It was as if you wanted to get yourself killed!”
Which could be an interpretation not too far from the truth. “Says the woman who refused a sure chance of survival!”
She wiped an angry hand across her eyes, adding another shade of smudging to her face. “I accepted death. I didn’t invite it! Do you know just how lucky you’ve been?”
“Yeah. It’s so weird. I thought I’d used up nine lifetimes’ worth of luck in my life so far. Amazing to find out I still had some left over. I bet my luck has run dry now.”
“It will if you don’t shut up and drink!” She turned, grabbed a bottle up off the ground, put it to his lips.
He took an experimental sip. “Ugh. What’s that?”
“A local drink.”
“Tastes like the local refuse.”
“Drink!”
“Tyrant.” Her smile felt like a spotlight had been turned on, illuminating his heart. He gulped another mouthful. It tasted even worse. “Just thank God you don’t have to drink this swill…”
She stroked his cheek, her smile widening. “I did drink it. Two bottlefuls.”
“When you didn’t need to? When no one was threatening to keep you awake until you did? Brave woman!”
The look she gave him! His heart swelled with pride and pleasure that she appreciated his lame jokes. “It’s a potent folk remedy called Suakiri, made of an assortment of fermented seeds and molasses. High-calorie drink, packed with vitamins and minerals, all the things you need right now. The Azernians swear by it.”
He mumbled something under his breath.
“What?”
He sighed. “Don’t mind me. I’m just swearing at it.”
Her bone-melting smile blossomed into a giggle. She resumed stroking his cheek and watched him as he gulped the first few swallows. It felt as if he’d forgotten how to drink. He had no co-ordination. Whether due to her touch, or with depletion, he had no idea.
