Page 95 of Sacrifice
"Don't need?—"
"Emil." I frame his face with my hands, forcing him to focus on me. "You have a raging infection. Your stitches are torn. You're running a fever that could cook eggs. So, shut up and let me take care of you for once."
Something in my tone must penetrate his stubborn skull because he stops arguing.
Just watches me with those beautiful eyes of his, unfocused but trusting.
"There's my girl," he whispers. "My beautiful, bossy girl."
"Save the sweet talk for when you're not dying."
"Not dying," he insists, but his eyes drift closed again.
"There you are." Mom bustles in with her full kit, Soren hovering behind. "Let's see what damage you've done to my handiwork."
She peels away the bandage like the professional she is, and I have to look away.
The wound is angry, swollen, seeping.
Evidence of his fight in the woods written in inflamed flesh.
"Men," Mom mutters. "Always have to be heroes. Soren, go get your father. Tell him I need the good antibiotics from the medical supplies."
"The ones we're not supposed to have?" Soren asks.
"Those are the ones. Go."
She works in silence for a moment, cleaning, assessing.
Emil bears it stoically, but I can see the pain in the tight lines around his mouth, the way his good hand clenches the sheets.
"This is going to hurt," Mom warns. "I need to clean it properly, restitch. The infection's not deep yet, but it's trying."
"Do it," Emil grits out.
"Saga, hold his hand. And maybe grab something for him to bite on."
I find a leather belt in his drawer and offer it to him.
He takes it without comment, knowing what's coming.
I take his good hand in both of mine.
The next twenty minutes are hell.
Emil doesn't scream, doesn't curse, but his hand crushes mine as Mom works.
Sweat pours off him, muscles locked against the pain.
I murmur nonsense, stroke his hair, wish I could take it for him.
"Almost done," Mom says, her own forehead beaded with concentration. "Just a few more stitches."
Emil's breathing is ragged, the belt bearing teeth marks.
But he doesn't make a sound beyond harsh breathing.
My dangerous man, reduced to this by microscopic enemies he can't fight with fists or bullets.
