Page 132 of Spark of Sorcery
I’m quiet for sometime, mulling over his words as voices murmur in the room behind and machinery somewhere deeper in the clinic whirs away.
“Okay,” I say finally, “I think we should work together.”
“Does that mean,” he says, eyes locked on me, “that if she wants to be with me, you won’t stand in our way?”
“Are you asking me if you can sleep with her?”
“It’s not your choice.” He hesitates. “But I’d like to know you were okay with it all the same?”
I scoff. “It’s hard enough knowing I have to share her with two other men as it is – and they are my bond brothers–”
“I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea myself,” he mumbles.
My hands are damp with perspiration and I rub them along my thighs.
“But then sometimes I think about what it would be like to share her …”
I let that idea hang in the air and we’re silent again.
“It’s her choice,” the professor repeats.
Chapter Fifty
Briony
I’m dozing when the door opens again and the doctor comes in accompanied by two nurses.
“Ahh, you’re awake,” she says, striding to the machines above my head and checking the readings. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I say, “very ready to leave.”
“Are you?” She laughs. “Most of my patients appreciate the opportunity to rest and have a break from the academy.”
“I’d rather get back to my friends.”
“And we’ll get you back to them as fast as we can.” I nod eagerly. “But not until we’re 100% satisfied that you’re better.”
“You know the treatment isn’t quite so thorough over at the commoners’ clinic.”
“Yes,” the doctor says, stiffly, “but this is theshadow weaver clinic. You’re very fortunate Professor Tudor brought you here. That the Princes are your protectors. I’m not sure they would have had the resources or the skills to have saved you over at the commoners’ clinic.”
“That hardly seems fair, does it?” I say, just as stiffly.
The doctor ignores my comment, taking my arm in her hand and feeling for my pulse. “Much stronger.” She closes her eyes and I feel her magic penetrate under my skin and into my body. “The healing is working,” she murmurs, “although there is still some damage to that ruptured spleen,” one of the nurses scribbles down notes on a clipboard, “and some bleeding on that right kidney.” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “They really gave you a thorough kicking.”
“Uh huh,” I say, despite all the healing the doctor has done, my body is still littered with bruises and cuts from the attack.
She closes her eyes again. “I’m going to work on healing these some more. It may feel a little uncomfortable.” She mumbles something under her breath, her brow crinkling with concentration, and a peculiar sensation crawls under my skin.
I was unconscious for the previous healing by the medical staff and she is right, it isn't exactly pleasant. Not like when Beaufort has healed me. That was incredibly pleasant, bordering on seductive. This is not. I grit my teeth and try to think about something else.
The minutes tick by and a sheen of sweat appears on the doctor's brow as sweat trickles down my neck. I want to ask her to stop but she must already think I’m a complete pathetic weakling.
Finally, however, she does, releasing my hand with a loud exhale of air.
She wipes the back of her hand over her brow.
“There,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. “The spleen is healed and the kidney has stopped bleeding. I may need to do some more work on that. I’ll check again in a few hours.” She smiles at me. “You did well.”
