Worse, because it felt as though the flames from earlier had moved into his abdomen. They were making a concerted effort to consume him from the inside out, and he feared they would do just that.
When he finally managed to open his eyes, which was a feat that felt like it took hours to accomplish, pain lanced through his head. Had someone been hanging pictures in his brain before? Now there were hundreds of mallets being thrown in synchrony against the confines of his skull.
Gods above. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in such pain. Maybe he never had been.
In an effort to distract himself, Nikhail groaned and took in his surroundings. Well, damn. This was definitely worse than being hit by the truck.
Bright pot lights were nestled in a suspended ceiling, the kind found in two places: schools and hospitals. Since Nikhail hadn’t set foot in a school since he graduated from high school when he was seventeen, he knew it had to be the latter.
The stiff white sheets, glistening tiles, and machines on either side of his head confirmed his suspicions. He lifted his left hand, frowning at the needle in his hand. It was connected to a clear tube, which led to a bag hanging on a hook near the bed.
“Fuck,” he groaned, the word raspy as it slipped from his dry throat. His mind swirled, and he struggled to hold on to reality.
Everything was… a lot.
How had he ended up here?
Nikhail couldn’t remember the last time he’d been injured badly enough to warrant a stay in the hospital. Even after the mess with the rebels during the Reunion a couple of years ago, when Ryker and the other men who’d participated in the Choosing had been in danger, Nikhail hadn’t needed to go to a hospital for healing.
It was rare for fae to require medical attention, and rarerstill for them to require medicine delivered through an intravenous line.
Nikhail’s skin crawled, and he shuddered. Ignoring the way his vision spun and his head swam, he tried to push himself up. He needed to get out of here.
The black wall was still in place over his memories, but it was cracking. He’d been at work when something went wrong. He wasn’t entirely surewhathad gone wrong, only that something had.
He could figure that part out later, after he left. That was his first priority—his only priority.
Pulling back the thin hospital blanket and sheet, Nikhail shivered. The air was cool, and as he swung his legs to the left side of the bed, a breeze tickled his bare feet. He glanced around the room, frowning when he realized he had no shoes. In fact, all his clothes were gone. He wore a blue-and-white hospital gown that seemed less designed for modesty, and more for ease of access.
Well, that would make leaving awkward. Even so, he couldn’t stay here. He’d been hurt at work, which meant his team could be in danger.
He had to help them.
First things first, the IV would have to go. Ripping off the clear tape holding the needle in place, Nikhail cursed and yanked the instrument out of his hand.
That probably wasn’t the smartest move. Pain radiated from his hand, a sharp spear cutting through the hammering in his mind.
“Gods above,” he groaned. That fucking hurt.
Blood welled where the needle had been moments before, and the machines started yelling at him. He ignored their ire, placing his feet flat on the ground. His lack of footwearwas less than ideal, but once he got out of here, he’d find a phone and call his assistant. She’d bring him everything he needed.
A low groan escaped him as he found his balance. It felt like daggers were being stabbed into his stomach, and his knees were buckling beneath his weight.
Muttering a slew of curses that would have even the most battle-hardened soldiers blushing, he placed a hand on his side. It was softer than normal, and he traced the rough edges of a large bandage beneath his hospital gown. The material was damp, and when he pulled back his hand, it came away red.
“Fuck,” he groaned, apparently incapable of saying much else.
He took a step, the doorway swimming in front of him. His hands shook, and lifting his foot took far too much effort.
“Mr. Galebringer!” The shout came from outside his room, but the distraught voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. “Stop! You need to remain in bed.”
“No.” He tried to say it with confidence, but the word was far too quiet as it slipped from his lips.
What was happening? Why wasn’t his fae body healing? He had a job to do, people relying on him. He had a mission to complete, even if he couldn’t remember exactly what it entailed.
Determined to get out of here, Nikhail ignored the shouting and the pain. Placing his hand on the growing wet patch on his side, he walked out the door.
Or at least, that’s what he meant to do.