Page 19 of Shielding Instinct

“Words, emotions, sensations, tastes.”

“Tastes?” A reluctant smile slid across his face.

“Yes. You, for example, taste like black coffee and an airplane cookie.”

He grinned.

Two nurses hustled around the corner.

Hawkeye jumped to his feet.

One nurse kicked the brakes off her bed while the other swung around behind Petra’s head. “We’ve cleared the imaging room. Sir, if you could wait in the waiting area, no one except for the patient is allowed in that room.”

“Okay.” Hawkeye kept pace as the women took off at a fast clip, propelling Petra down the corridor. “I’m only going as far as the waiting room. I won’t leave you. You’ve got this.” He leaned down, kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, and was gone.

Petra lay on a bed speeding down the corridor on the way to find out whether she

Might. Just. Die.

Chapter Eight

Petra

“You look loopy.”

She blinked at the man standing there, looming over everything. Broad shoulders, slender hips, and legs that went on and on. Basketball player, probably.

“How are you feeling right now?”

She blinked again, focusing on his face. Nice nose on the smallish side with a little bump in the middle—it might have been broken at some point. Solid jaw. Rugged. Obviously, someone who was outside a lot. He had laugh lines, and she liked that about his face most of all.

All in all, a good-looking man.

“Petra?” He touched his chest. “It’s Hawkeye. Do you recognize me?”

Petra stilled. Did she know him? Yes, of course. “Yes. I’m… They gave me…” Petra looked around at the nurse, doing something off to the side.

“We administered a sedative. Miss Armstrong was having difficulty being still in the machine.”

“She’s neurodivergent. That makes sense,” Hawkeye said matter-of-factly. And Petra was grateful. He was right. It did make sense.

The nurse handed him a baggie, sent him a professional smile, and left.

Hawkeye snagged the leg of the visitor’s chair and dragged it over, sitting so Petra could see his face without straining.

Petra reflexively reached for his hand. “The sounds from the machine were very electric. While I laid on my back withinstructions not to move, it was like nails on a chalkboard and more than my nerves could handle.”

He put the baggie beside him and wrapped her hand in both of his. He was an anchor.

“They gave me a helper drug. They told me the name, but I can’t remember it.” Was that English? Did those words make sense?

“I’m glad you got some relief from the stress. Do you remember talking to the doctor?”

“Me?” Petra didn’t feel drunk or high. But she didn’t feel normal either. Relaxed.

“You spoke with the doctor. Do you remember the conversation?”

“In the hall when they said you should hold my hand?” The more she moved her mouth, the more limber her thoughts became. She was feeling a bit more in her body, a bit more like herself.

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