Lucille
Healers with orange and purple amulets helped each of us to separate rooms. They placed me on the bed. Scissors flashed.
“Wait.” I tried to bat them away, but even with Ronen’s shadows disabling my pain receptors, my arm barely lifted. “You don’t have to cut my uniform.”
“Don’t move,” a male with too many freckles said, splitting my leathers. “This is procedure.”
The other healers stripped me down to my undergarments, surveying the dark shadows lodged in each puncture wound. Warm water and cloth followed, their touch gentle against my skin. By the time they finished, a healer with a red amulet that matched her long red hair strode in and dismissed all but freckle-face.
“I’m Amelia, a common healer. I’ll assess the damage, stabilize the punctures, and heal your smaller cuts.” She surveyed my body and clicked her tongue, then turned to freckle-face. “Please ask the general to remove his shadows from my patient.”
“Why?” I asked as the male left.
“We need to gauge how you’re responding to the healing.”
Dammit.
I closed my eyes, preparing for the pain. Ronen’s shadows slowly receded from my mind and wounds. The throbbing sifted back in, and my teeth clenched. It was worse in my arm.
Ronen’s tickling wisps coiled around my limbs, seeming reluctant to leave. They tried to weave tighter, but ultimately Ronen won, and they fled the room.
Amelia didn’t hesitate. Red power flared from her hands and plunged into each wound. I gasped as they sizzled. It burned like she’d poured alcohol into them. But the sensation lasted only a few seconds before it was replaced by warm pressure. My muscles loosened with each breath. Her glowing power replaced Ronen’s shadows before she did one last scan of my body. I tensed.
But there was no pain, only a tingling sensation that gentled my stinging cuts and pressure that touched my insides.
“Done. Take this.” She handed me a vial from her pocket. “It’ll help the pain until the elite healer sees you. Rest up.” Then she jotted a few things down on a clipboard and left.
I drank the nasty pain reliever and tried to rest in the scratchy bed. It was difficult when the scenes kept replaying, and my mind and body felt violated.
I stabbed Ronen.
The memory punched me in the stomach.
He wouldn’t let me save Aspen. But I didn’t want to fucking stab him. Ordie.
I clutched my head, pulling on my hair like I could somehow rip out the thing that took possession of me.
“Bad time?” Oliver asked, peeking his head into my room. “I’d say I could come back later, but I’ve finally escaped my prison, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell happened.” He strode in, sporting the white patient gown.
My hands flopped to the bed, and I just looked at him.
“Oh, Luce,” Oliver said gently, then added, “Scooch your tiny ass over. It’s time you fill your best friend in.”
I made room, and he climbed into the bed, his pasty cheek flashing me as the patient gown rode up. “Why are you still wearing that? Won’tSam let you put on something else?”
He shrugged. “I think Sam likes it.”
Something in his tone made me pause. “Likes it?”
He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me tight to his chest, but I didn’t miss his small smile. “Yeah, it makes him laugh…” He trailed off. “We’re not getting into this. Tell me what happened.”
Now I was more curious than ever.
“But—”
“You first, Luce.”
“Fine.” I relayed the events he missed. Well, most of them. With Oliver’s exclamations and questions, it took longer than I thought. I told him about the figure who’d been watching us. Not that there was much to tell. But I couldn’t let it go. Something about it needled me with questions. I was just about to tell him how Aspen’s hand-holding saved the day when Sam walked in.
