Jealousy

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Djamphir and wulfen both heal pretty quickly. So the infirmary isn’t a place you want to end up. If you’re hurt so bad you have to go there, it’s probably not going to end well.

Ash wasn’t in one of the curtained enclosures in the middle of the big vaulted space. He was in one of the stone-walled rooms along the sides, wrapped in white bandages and strapped down to what looked like an operating table while IVs dripped and beeping machines measured his vital signs. Heartbeat, blood pressure, brainwaves, everything.

Underneath the beeping and booping, a humming crackle ran. His fur was matted with dried blood, and the shape of his face kept changing. The slender snout would retreat, fur sliding away until you could almost, almost get a glimpse of what he would look like as a boy.

Except for the ruined jaw. You could see where the silver grains went in, and it was still seeping a weird clear fluid. His eyes were closed, and the crackle would rise in waves.

“He’s trying to change back.” Dibs had a stethoscope on his neck and the businesslike attitude he always adopted around the wounded. “Getting close to it, too. If we can keep him alive long enough to do it. We’re feeding him intravenously with five and hypodermically with fifty percent dextrose to fuel the change—”

“What are his chances?” Christophe didn’t sound impressed.

“I’m not a doctor yet, you know. They just have me attending because I’m sub enough not to set him off.”

“What are his chances?”

“About twenty percent. Better than nothing, though, right? There’s hope.” Dibs cocked his head and looked at me as if I’d been the one asking questions. “We’re doing everything we can, Dru. He’s tied down because otherwise he rips the subclavian catheter out. That’s how we’re feeding him the five percent stuff, see? And the fifty percent solution with a hypo every hour or so. He’s holding steady.”

The crackle crested again, fur running off and melting. A patch of bare pale skin showed on his chest. I held my breath. The pale spot retreated, swallowed by dark wiry hair.

Ash surged against the restraints. I found out my hands were fists. You can do it. The same thing I’d told him night after night. Come on. You can do it.

I reached forward, my fingers unloosening just a little.

“Dru.” Christophe, warning me.

I ignored him. Touched the back of Ash’s paw. Hand. Whatever. Fur flowed away, another bare patch of white skin showing like the moon behind clouds. Long elegant fingers, ending in claws that spasmodically slid free and retracted, clenched and released. It looked like the white streak at his temple was widening, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

The skin was an odd texture. Soft, like a baby’s. Like it hadn’t been exposed to a lot. It was amazing—such a kickass creature, and underneath it all, so fragile. How many times had he saved my life so far?

It was Friday, I realized. Would the wulfen do their regular weekly run tomorrow? Could I go along with them?

And when Sunday came around, would I be able to go down into the cafeteria and act like a normal girl on a coffee date or something?

Good luck with that, Dru.

“I wonder why he’s doing this.”

“Broken doesn’t mean stupid.” Dibs stared at the machines keeping track of the rhythms, his fair blond face creasing. “Maybe he knows you want to help him.”

“I shot him in the face. With silver. And then after that he wanted to kill me too, but . . .” I replayed the scene in my head. So much had happened, but I was sure of one thing—Ash had been after me before Christophe drove him away, there in the snow.

Christophe stepped closer warily. “Maybe the silver interferes with Sergej’s call. I would give much to know if he went limping back to his master and was given a new directive, or if he went to ground and the silver changed him.”

“That’s the sixty-four-dollar question, ennit? He can’t tell us yet.” Dibs eyed the Broken werwulf. It was by far the least afraid I’d ever seen him. I guess with Ash strapped down and technically a patient, Dibs could handle it. “Although I think it’s the second.”

“Why?” Christophe glanced up, his eyes turned lighter and more thoughtful. They were still cold. Dad’s eyes had been that blue, but never so freezing. Christophe’s were a winter sky, on a day when the wind knifes right through whatever you’re wearing. Eyes that can turn you numb when they’re looking at you like a butterfly on a pin.

Christophe’s interest made Dibs pull his head down like a turtle. “Just a feeling, that’s all.”

“Well, your hunches are good, Samuel. If he can be saved, you’ll save him.”

Dibs didn’t believe it. At least, he didn’t look like he did, and I didn’t blame him. Some of the white bandages began to show spots of crimson. Like angry flowers. And I was too drained and numb to react much, smelling the copper salt of blood.

It was a blessing. My fangs didn’t tingle.

Dibs sighed. “What worries me is what’ll happen after we’ve got him recovering, not just stabilized. What are they going to do with him?”

“Same thing they have done, I’d bet. Make him Dru’s problem.” Christophe let out a sharp breath. “Have you seen the loup-garou?”

“Graves? No. Nobody has. Shanks saw him yesterday, heading away from a sparring gym looking like hell. But he was on duty for Dru and didn’t follow him. Weird, huh? He’s never very far away from her.” Dibs coughed a little, maybe remembering I was standing right there. “Alphas get mad, though. Maybe he’s just off cooling down.”

It sounded inadequate, and we all knew it. “He’s still bleeding.” I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the ruin of the Broken’s jaw, and the spots on the bandages widened. The patch of skin under my fingers shrank, choked with wiry vital fur.

“Crap. He’s about to have one of his swings again. Get out of here, Dru.” Dibs turned toward a tray of various implements and bottles and scooped up a package, broke it open with a practiced flick of his fingers, and subtracted a hypodermic needle the size of the Death Star. He looked down at the Broken, and his face changed a little. “Last thing I need is you coding on the table. I’m gonna save your life, wulf, whether you like it or not.” He glanced back at me as the beeps and boops picked up their pace. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

Wow. Where had the Dibs who couldn’t even choke out his name in a crowded lunchroom gone?

Christophe’s hand curled around my arm and he pulled me away. Dibs cursed as something rattled, and a snarl shook the room. Christophe swung the door shut and didn’t slow down until we were all the way down to the other end of the infirmary. “Why that wulf was stuck in a reform Schola is beyond me,” he muttered darkly. “The Order used to be a meritocracy. Dear God.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Which one? Samuel can take care of himself. Unless Ash breaks the restraints, and even then he won’t see a submissive as a threat. Unless he’s crazed. Which is very likely.” He palmed the heavy door at the end of the infirmary open, checked the hall, and had probably forgotten his hand around my arm. At least he wasn’t giving me another bruise to add to all the rest.

“What about Ash? Christophe, slow down.”

He stopped. The hallway was deserted. Shafts of westering sunlight pierced it at regular intervals, and the velvet drapes were still and silent. The busts studding the hall’s length peered at each other, never quite looking anyone in the eye. I was beginning to feel like crawling under a bed and hiding for awhile. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed reasonable.

“It’s so quiet.” I tried to pull my arm away, but he wasn’t having any of it. “If you’re on Trial, why are they letting you run around like this? Nobody’s watching.”

“You only think nobody’s watching, skowroneczko moja. This is the Schola Prima; there are always eyes. Besides, I gave my word.” He cocked his head, listening.

“You gave your word.” I didn’t mean it to sound flat and unhelpful, but it did.

“When I say I will do something, Dru, I do it. Where would you like to start looking for the loup-garou?”

I shrugged. I didn’t have a clue. So much for Graves’s faith in me.

“Very well. Come along, we’ll start with Robert.”

“You’re going to have to let go of me.” This time I was successful in pulling my arm away. We stood there facing each other, and this time I looked away first. If there were eyes watching, I wasn’t so sure what I should be doing.

“As you like.” The businesslike mockery was back. “You’ve had a busy day or two. What happened between you and the loup-garou, Dru?”

“None of your business.” And I meant it. “What’s going on between you and Anna?”

“Touché.” He grimaced, half-turned, and set off down the hall. I had to follow.

What else was there to do?