The Heroic Surgeon

Her dazed gaze went to Emilio’s face, his words replaying in her mind. How kind he was. How she wished it could have been different. It couldn’t. She’d pushed him away, afraid of caring, of losing. But she now knew she’d been able to only because he wasn’t the one. When it was, fear had had no say, no place. Giving her heart had demanded no safety nets, no conditions.

Emilio smiled at her and she saw it. Something new. Acceptance, ease. And something gone. That sickness of longing that had long tainted his soul. God, please, let him be cured. Let him find the one who’ll be his own, for better or worse.

She kissed his hard cheek. “Thank you—my friend!”

He moved away and she swung round to Dante. Oh, Dante. Her indescribable Dante. How she loved him. Loved him. And he was here. Here.

But why had she even assumed it was her right to run to him? Did she think he was here for her? He had ended it before it had started. He’d said when it would end, hadn’t bothered to say why. And she’d sworn she’d never cling to him. Never ask him for what he wouldn’t give in total freedom. And why would he want to give her anything? What was she but another woman from an underprivileged world whom he’d met in catastrophic circumstances and who’d given him fleeting sexual relief?

The left side of her face throbbed with the woman’s blow. The rest of her followed suit, with futility.

She stopped a foot from Dante, looked way up into his beloved face. He had another hideous scarf around his head and more lines to his face. Had to be the harsh sunlight.

Throw yourself in his arms anyway. Beg him for anything, for any length of time.

No. You’ve already done that once. It’s up to him now.

“Dante…” She escaped his unfathomable gaze, made a gesture, preceded him into the tent. She turned to him the moment he followed, tears rising. Keep it light. “You always know how to make an entrance.”

His eyes dropped to his feet, studied the large sneakers with great absorption. Then he exhaled. “Is that praise or criticism?”

She huffed a failed attempt at a chuckle. “You’re no slouch in the exit department either. So, what brings you here? Passing through, looking for crises to defuse? You missed today’s crisis by mere minutes.” She brushed her hair aside, rubbed her face, winced.

He took four storming steps towards her, stopped, his fists clenched. Then he gently removed her hand, replaced it with his, examining her. She saw murder in his eyes. It did have shape and color. “Who did this? One of the men here? Emilio? Tell me who!”

“So you’ll beat the hell out of them?” She chuckled for real this time. He might not feel anything special for her, but he would still defend her to the death. Her shaved, fasting knight. “No, thank you, Dante. I just gave a hysterical speech about violence not being the answer.” It was no use. She was too weak. She pressed her cheek into his beloved palm. “And Emilio? How could you even think it? Emilio is my dearest friend. My longest lasting, too.”

His fingers, gentle, soothing, ran over what she assumed was the outline of a spectacular bruise. “He’d like to be more than that.”

“And he went into a rage and hit me because I’m not co-operating?”

His eyes darted away, his jaw clenched. “You’re not?”

She nuzzled his hand like a cat. “I already told you I never will. It’s just not possible.” His eyes swung to her, the fierceness rekindled, doubled with…uncertainty? About her words? No, she knew he’d always believe her—so was it about Emilio? “Oh, Dante, Emilio is one of the good guys. The best guys.” His eyes did that weird glowing thing again, fire in their depths. Jealous? Oh, please, let him be. She was self-indulgent enough to want him to be, however little, for whatever reason. She’d take his attention any way she could get it. “It was a woman, by the way. Contesting my right to be here after I’d killed fellow Badovnans. You’d probably upset them even more, being the Azernian national hero that you are.”

“That is a concern I’ve discussed with camp leaders at length. They assured me no one here supports Molokai and his criminal methods and everyone is just thankful to have us here. Clearly not everyone is, though. Hopefully you dealt with your confrontation diplomatically?”

“So you missed the part where I told you I hysterically lectured them?”

And he laughed. Full and deep. Peal after peal of virile laughter. “Ah, Gulnar, you unpredictable bambola!”

All her artificial lightness drained. It was just too painful.

He took her fully in his arms, anxiety blazing from his eyes. “What is it? Are you in pain? Feeling dizzy? What did she hit you with?”

“Just her hand. But let me tell you, that woman forges swords with her fist.” It was spectacular seeing his unwilling smile defeating his frown. Then he kissed her, exploratory touches, tasting her, keeping his eyes open, asking her. Her answer was instant and total surrender. A profound sound rose from his gut, filled her, shook her, relief and hunger made audible. Then he devoured her.

Dante. Dante. Being without him had to be worse than death.

“Gulnar, I couldn’t stay away…”

Oh, God, no! He was saying the lines she’d imposed on him in her fantasy. Was she hallucinating again? Had it all been a delusion again?

She snatched herself from the hands running over her in a fever, groped all over his face. He caught her hand, took it to his mouth, kissed and suckled.

She shoved her hand harder between his teeth. “Bite me!”

His laughter rang out again, his eyes melting with indulgence. “You’re way beyond unpredictable, amore mio.” And he bit her. Her whole body jerked with pleasure, with the debilitating relief of homecoming. He was really here.