“Ready for this, Em?” she asked.
The fire fae nodded. “Always.”
The friends shared a grin, and then, the time for speaking passed. Ember was called away, and River dried her hands, grabbing a pair of blue latex gloves. She was shoving her fingers inside them when a gust of cold wind announced the opening of the emergency room doors behind her. She turned as paramedics rolled in a stretcher with a groaning man on it.
“We need a doctor!” a bearded paramedic shouted over the chaos. “Gunshot to the abdomen. The patient is in critical condition. The bullet was laced with prohiberis!”
River’s feet were already moving, her mind already preparing to save this man’s life.
“What happened…” Her words trailed off into a half-mangled moan as she skidded to a stop in front of the stretcher. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”
River was used to seeing people at their worst, in various states of pain and injury. She was used to blood and gore. Used to thinking on her feet and being ready for anything.
But this…
Nothing could have ever prepared her for this.
Her heart stopped beating for one never-ending moment, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if perhaps this was an awful nightmare. Maybe she hadn’t gone to the temple yet. Maybe she was still in bed.
She pinched her leg. Pain shot through her thigh, and when she reopened her eyes, the scene in front of her remained unchanged.
This was real.
Oh, gods.
All River’s training fled her mind as she gripped the edge of the stretcher with trembling hands. Her eyes were wide, and her breath came in short bursts as she stared at Nikhail’s bloody, barely breathing body.
CHAPTER 8
Just Hold On
Fuck.
Bright lights shone in Nikhail’s vision, blinding him even from behind the safety of his eyelids. He groaned, trying to force his eyes open, but they were rebelling against him. Refusing to move, they stayed firmly shut.
Nikhail cursed in his mind. He would’ve done it out loud, but his mouth wasn’t listening either. That was a damned shame. His throat was incredibly dry, as if he’d had the misfortune of being outside during one of the many sandstorms that plagued the Southern Region.
On top of all that, a mallet was pounding inside his head. It was as if someone was installing a dozen paintings in the interior of his skull.
By the Black Sands, this was bad. It felt like he’d been hit by a gods-damned truck.
Well, actually, this felt worse than that. A few years ago, while on a mission, Nikhailhadbeen hit by a truck. The vehicle had been slow-moving, and he’d obviously survived, but the experience had beenawful.
This, though.
This was far worse than that. An all-encompassing pain started in his abdomen, spiralling outwards until it consumed every part of him.
Every inch of his body hurt. Every breath felt like he was inhaling fire. Every heartbeat felt strained.
Which brought him back to his original thought: fuck.
Nikhail was slightly aware that something was happening all around him. He could sense movement, even if he couldn’t see what was happening.
People were yelling, but their voices were indistinguishable. Garbled sounds, nothing more. A rushing was in his ears, like an endless gust of wind. Hands touched him, but he didn’t know who they belonged to.
Dark shadows flickered in and out of the bright lights, as if people were standing above him. He attempted to open his eyes, but they still refused to work.
A thousand curses that would have his mother smacking his arm ran through his mind. Copper was thick and syrupy in the air, and he was lucid enough to know that the scent, coupled with the pain radiating through his body, was bad.