“That should work.” Schaeffer placed the silvery-blue satin over her back, and Davian eased her down to the mattress, draping a towel over her breasts.
As the doctor prepped the syringe, Davian cautioned, “Not too much. She has to be able to feel something specific beyond the combination of all her wounds, but be sedated just enough to reach past the pain to heal.”
“Yes,” she concurred, though her eyes remained closed and her voice was barely audible.
Davian delicately removed her pants and Morgan handed him another towel so he could pat down her wet skin. Then he pulled the sheet and comforter over her, up to her ribcage, trying to warm her.
“I’ll tend to the fires,” Morgan said. “Then I’ll alert Sheena.”
Schaeffer told him, “I’ve never taken care of Jade before. Or her father. He’d never been sick a day in his life, nor has she.”
“She possesses some exceptional gifts. Her secrets must stay within these walls.”
The physician’s chest puffed. “I’ve been practicing medicine for nearly fifty years, your Majesty. I value doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Good, because you’re going to get an eyeful this evening.” He dragged a chair over to the bed for the doctor. “Just be extremely gentle with her,” he warned.
Schaeffer looked duly advised—and now a bit unnerved.
Davian sighed. Bring it down a notch. Don’t scare the hell out of someone who can assist Jade.
But he was on edge. So much so, he paced the foot of the bed as the doctor tightened a leather strip around Jade’s upper arm and then rubbed alcohol on the inner crook of her elbow. Locating the vein he wanted, he pricked her with the needle.
Jade screamed bloody murder.
Davian pinched the bridge of his nose. The physician did not give up his post, but administered the drug, tidied up and then stood. That was when Davian saw how pale he’d gone.
“It was just a needle,” Schaeffer said in his defense.
Davian fought the wave of protectiveness that made him want to strangle anyone who caused Jade pain.
“She feels sensations acutely,” he explained between clenched teeth. “Probably more so tonight because of the multitude and severity of her wounds.”
“I had no idea.”
“I know.” He waved a hand dismissively, more so to help calm himself than the doctor. “I should have told you. Or thought about…a drinkable form?” Damn it, dealing with human painkillers wasn’t his forte.
“I’ll leave something with you,” the other man said. “In the meantime, I have to stitch the chest wound. Immediately.”
Davian could see by the look in Schaeffer’s eyes that he was reluctant to hurt Jade further—especially when it might set-off Davian—but that he ultimately refused to be sent away before he’d finished what he’d started.
Davian continued his pacing. But hastily made his decision. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
He toed off his boots before reaching for the towel he’d discarded. After drying his black leather pants, he hauled off his drenched shirt so he didn’t soak the linens. He climbed into bed next to Jade, on the opposite side of where the doctor prepared to work on her.
The prospect of tapping into her mind wasn’t an appealing one at this point. Already knowing she was in extreme pain, he didn’t relish the idea of experiencing exactly how much pain she was in.
He stretched alongside her, vigilant about neither jarring her nor touching her. His eyes closed and he pushed past her suffering, which clouded his own mind. Her agony was nearly debilitating for him—because it was Jade’s. The woman…the human…he loved.
It took some effort on his part to conjure a soothing mental image in which to engage her. The key was to occupy her subconscious and create some sort of peaceful state for her, as he’d done the last time she’d been badly injured.
Choosing a gorgeous locale, he envisioned them in a lush, tropical hideaway. A tepid, turquoise pool at the bottom of a tall waterfall, surrounded by rich, vibrant foliage—knowing her love of color. She swam toward him, though the pool was shallow enough for her to stand in it when she reached him, the water rib-high for her.
He visualized her with her beautiful face completely healed, not a scratch on it. Her long, raven hair was wet and slicked back. Droplets rolled down her throat and between the valley of her bare breasts. The cut on the left side of her chest had sealed and her skin was flawless. He reached a hand out to her and lightly trailed his fingers along her collarbone.
“You’re perfect,” he told her.
She smiled at him.