Under His Wings(47)
Tamar closed her eyes, tipped her head back and spread her arms wide.
She didn’t fear free-falling.
Not when golden-tipped wings cradled her close to cushion her fall.
Chapter Seven
Agony. Fire. Eating her alive…
Tamar jolted awake and surged upward from the floor.
Her breath sawed in and out of lips still parted on a soundless scream. Her chest rose and fell on the silent bellows.
The crash. She’d dreamed of the crash. Of burning flesh.
The terror of absolute blackness…nothingness except for pain…
“Tamar?”
Her head snapped to the side. Nicolai sat beside her, his violet eyes alert, his dark brown brows drawn into a deep vee. He stroked her curls back from her face, brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek then smoothed her hair over her shoulder.
The simple, loving caresses settled her as no words could.
Her rapid heartbeat slowed as did her erratic breathing.
“You okay?” he asked, rubbing a wide circle on her back. His concern warmed her and she sighed. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. As the fear receded, embarrassment crept in.
“A dream. About the crash. I—”
Searing pain blasted up her legs, her stomach, rounded to her back. She gasped at the torture and bent over at the waist. Her hands shot to her thighs. Both spasmed, darts of agony shooting from the soles of her feet, up her calves and splintering in her thighs.
“Tamar.” Nicolai’s voice penetrated the veil of red mist that danced before her eyes. Though his tone remained calm, unflappable, he sprang to his feet in a blur of movement, hunkering down beside her. “What is it?”
“My legs,” she panted, fingers digging into the seizing muscles. “Back.”
Taking charge, Nicolai removed her hands before laying her amid the tangled covers and sheet. He gripped her left, scarred leg and massaged the limb. His firm kneading traveled beyond the damaged tissue to the muscle, tendons and ligaments beneath. She groaned and arched into his unyielding touch.
Relief followed. Initially, it trickled in, like the first tentative drops of water from a well’s spout. But as Nicolai kept up his ministrations, it flowed steady and, God, so welcome. She groaned, shifted and groaned again. It was wonderful.
He worked the entire length of her leg then switched to the other.
“Roll over,” he said and she obeyed willingly.
Her back, from the nape to the top of her bottom, received the same treatment. By the time the convulsions quieted to negligible twinges, her body ached as if she’d just run a twenty-six-mile marathon…and had conked out at mile five.
Despair swelled inside her, a huge squall of grief, frustration and dread. This episode had been the worse yet. Not even the last two nights where she’d had to walk the spasms off had been this bad.
She squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to wail like a baby and give in to the anguish threatening to swallow her whole.
Would this be her life? Constant pain with someone always tending her like an invalid? She’d fought so damn hard. When the doctors told her she probably wouldn’t have the use of her arm or leg again, she’d proved them wrong. And when they amended their opinion to you will walk with a cane for the rest of your life, she’d pushed herself until she could stand on her own with no assistance.
Yes, when she over-exerted herself she limped, but she had overcome. Gained her independence. Didn’t have to depend on anyone for the mundane things like going to the bathroom, fetching a glass of water or getting out of the bed.
And now this.
The cramps her doctor and physical therapist had warned her about didn’t describe this debilitating pain.
“How long has this been going on?” Nicolai murmured from above her, his manipulation of her muscles never faltering. It had been a while since the fit had started and yet he worked tirelessly, as if it had been five minutes rather than forty-five.
“A few months,” she replied and wanted to cringe at the forlorn note in her voice. “My doctor and therapist told me I would experience occasional spasms for the rest of my life, but I assumed they referred to my left side. But these…” she scrambled for the correct word to describe the convulsive attack that had just occurred, “seizures take over my right leg, too, as well as my back. They didn’t mention that. And it scares me. It scares the hell out of me,” she confessed softly.
“You haven’t told them about it?”
She shook her head, her cheek brushing the pillow. “This has been the worst episode by far. In the beginning they were twinges, like small cramps. But tonight…” She swallowed hard. “I believed all this was behind me, that I was over the hump. I’d made peace with having some physical limitations like my limp when I push myself too hard. But I can’t accept this, Nico,” she whispered. “I can’t.”