The King(87)

“Yes. Please.”
It felt so right to push everyone away and be the male who cared for her: Reaching into the SUV’s interior, he scooped her into his arms, being careful to take the sleeping bag along with so that she was not exposed—
The hiss she tried to hold in made him nauseous, but he had to get her out—and once he straightened, she seemed to find an accommodation in his arms that didn’t cause her too much discomfort.
Her head fell against his shoulder and stayed there.
“I shall carry her in,” he informed the doctor.
“It’s probably better to—ah, okay, all right.” The blond healer put her hands up as his fangs flashed again. “That’s fine. Just follow me.”
The Brother Rhage was the first into the corridor, and the other two warriors hung back, bringing up the rear along with the cousins.
Assail walked as smoothly as he could, each stiffening of Marisol’s limbs or sharp inhale communicating her pain directly into his own chest until it was his lungs burning, his breath catching, his leg that ached.
Going along, they passed by a seemingly endless number of rooms, some of which he looked into, most of which he didn’t bother turning his head for. From what little he noticed, there were classrooms, an office that was empty … something that looked like an interrogation room. Just as he was becoming convinced they were heading for another zip code, the female doctor finally stopped and indicated the way into an examination room.
The gurney in the center was directly underneath a hanging set of lights, and as he went over and began to transfer Marisol onto the sheeted, padded surface, he was glad the healer didn’t turn the chandelier on. It seemed far too bright already in the tiled room, the stainless-steel and glass cabinetry glinting at him, the rolling table with its instruments a threat even though those tools were supposed to help in the right hands.
Dearest Virgin in the Fade, Sola’s face was gray from pain and exhaustion as she sat there, her knees up tight to her chest, that navy blue sleeping bag wrapped tight as a second skin around her.
“I’m going to ask all nonessentials to stay out in the hall,” the doctor said, shooing the Brothers, the cousins, and that male healer out. “No, nope—we’ll be fine. Right, bye-bye.” Then in a lower tone, she hissed, “He’s a bonded male. You want to deal with that if I have to do an internal exam on her?”
Bonded … male? Him?
As the Brothers began to argue with her, Assail nodded grimly at the warriors and Rehvenge. “There shall be no problems from me. You have my word.”
Except then he wondered if Marisol’s privacy didn’t also deserve protecting from the likes of him.
“Marisol,” he said softly. “Mayhap it would be best if I—”
“Stay.”
He closed his eyes. “All right.”
Going over to her head, he turned his back on her body so she could return eye contact with his face, but he could see nothing that would compromise her privacy.
The doctor stepped in close to her and spoke softly. Kindly. “If you could lie back, that would be great. If you don’t feel safe, I understand, and I’ll put the top of the bed up for you.”
There was a long silence. “What was your name again?” Marisol asked roughly.
“Jane. I’m Jane. Behind me is my nurse, Ehlena. And nothing is going to happen here that you don’t consent to, okay? You are in charge.”#p#分页标题#e#
Indeed, he had a feeling he was going to like this physician.
“Okay. All right.” Marisol grabbed his hand and eased back, grimacing until she was fully prone. “Okay.”
He expected her to let go once she was settled. She did not—and her eyes didn’t budge from his. Not as the healer unwrapped the sleeping bag and covered her with a blanket. Not as questions about a possible concussion were asked, and reflexes tested. Not as that thigh wound was poked and prodded at. Not even as a portable X-ray machine was brought over and a picture taken from several different angles.
“So I have all kinds of good news,” the doctor said a little later as she approached with a laptop. On its monitor, there was the shadowy image of Marisol’s thick, strong thighbone. “Not only is your concussion mild, the bullet passed cleanly through. There’s no evidence that the bone is broken or chipped. So our main issue is the risk of infection. I’d like to clean things out thoroughly—and give you some antibiotics as well as some pain meds. Sound good?”
“I’m fine,” Marisol cut in.
The doctor laughed as she put the laptop aside. “I swear you fit in here so well. That’s what all my patients tell me. Still, I respect your intelligence—and I know that you’re not going to want to put your health at risk. What I’m worried about is sepsis—you told me in the car that you were shot twenty-four hours ago. That’s a long time for things to get cooking in there.”