The Savior (Black Dagger Brotherhood 17)

“I’m not dead yet, you know.” Murhder smiled. “Let’s not plan my …”

Funeral, he thought. The word was “funeral.”

For some reason, he couldn’t get the syllables out. He tried again, forcing his mouth to move while he pushed air up his throat and through his voice box.

Dimly, he was aware that that metronome tied to his heart rate had sped up suddenly, the sound it released more like beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeepbeep. And right after his brain registered that increase in intensity on a strange kind of delay, a wave of heat flooded his arms and legs: Starting at his fingertips and toes, the blaze rode his limbs as if they were the wicks for dynamite sticks … like somebody had put a match to his extremities and the TNT they were charged to ignite was stored in his torso.

His body jerked up from the table. Fell back.

So much thrashing came next.

The human man raced over and threw his heavy weight across Murhder’s seizing muscular load, and straps, black and wide and linked around the table, were added before the doctor could remove himself.

A ring of fire.

Murhder was consumed in a ring of fire.

His last conscious thought was that he should focus on his Sarah. But it was too late for any kind of coordinated anything. He was riding a bucking bronco … and holding on for dear life.

Sarah wanted to get in there. Do something to ease Murhder’s pain. Give him chest compressions—even though he wasn’t in the kind of cardiac distress that would benefit from that kind of thing.

And that last impulse was why she needed to hang back. Scientists who studied the immune system were not medical doctors, even if they had an MD after their names courtesy of their joint degree program back at uni.

And as for the cardiac arrest, she feared it was a case of “not yet.” That heart monitor was practically tap dancing.

Sinking back against the wall, she covered her mouth in her hand and gripped his necklace with the other. Murhder was pulling against the arm restraints, great veins snaking down into his clenched hands and standing out in stark relief under his skin. His neck was the same as his head craned up off the pillow, the cords on either side like ropes pulled taut in the effort of securing a vessel against violent seas. Under the sheet she had pulled up over his legs, he was kicking and not getting far with it, the restraints down there keeping him on the table.

Jane shouted something. Ehlena rushed over with a syringe. Dr. Manello looked at Sarah.

“We need to stop. Right now. We can’t take him any further without risking damage.”

“I agree—”

“No!”

They all turned to the word that exploded out of their patient. Murhder’s eyes were wide open and locked on Sarah. Through gritted teeth, he let out a growl of pain.

And then he said, “You keep going. You keep going … you keep … going.”

The force of his will had a physical impact on her, sure as if he had stood up off the bed and rushed at her.

“You don’t stop this, Sarah …”

His face was beet red, sweat beading on his brow, his jaw so tight, it seemed like it was going to snap free the tethers of its joints.

“Last … thing … I do.”

Sarah looked deeply into his peach eyes, searching for the right thing to do. But then she knew that any calculation of hers was wrong. The choice had been, and was, his to make.

“Ehlena,” she said roughly. “What are the blood results showing?”

“His white count is rising.”

Are you sure, she asked Murhder in her head.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she could have sworn she heard his voice in her mind, clear as day.

Yes, I’m sure.

“Do the final dose,” she said. “Now.”

Sarah stayed right by Murhder’s side. After the last push of the somatropin, he disappeared into the suffering, no longer able to meet her, or anybody else’s, stare or respond to anything. His heart rate was all over the place. His blood pressure was sky-high. The seizures were so bad, he snapped two of the restraints.

Eventually, the big blond warrior with the bright blue eyes had to bring chains.

It was shortly after those metal links got put on that Sarah felt herself crumble on the inside. A trembling overtook her, as if she were following his lead in that regard, and then she couldn’t breathe.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled as she lurched for the door.

Out in the corridor, she wobbled and started to fall.

Hands caught her. Strong hands.

She looked up into the face of the female commando.

“I’ve got you,” Xhex said.

Sarah wasn’t thinking right. Wasn’t thinking at all. She grabbed onto those shoulders, and felt herself get hugged in return.

John was standing behind his mate, his arms crossed over his chest as if he were hugging Sarah as well, just virtually. His eyes were dark with emotion, and she could understand why. With the chains rattling as they were, it was clear Murhder was suffering—and either the male in there was going to die or John was going to have to go through it.

Calling on her professionalism—because it gave her a job, something to focus on other than the nightmare in that operating room—Sarah pulled back and cleared her throat.

“The blood tests are showing what I was hoping to see. So don’t focus on how hard it is going to be for you—think about how the cure—”

John’s brows dropped low, and he started to sign, furiously.

A male voice spoke up behind her. “He says he doesn’t care about anything other than if Murhder is going to be okay—”

Sarah cut off whoever was translating. “I know what he said.”

She turned around and was shocked to find that … there were a dozen males standing around in the corridor. She hadn’t even noticed them, which was a surprise, given how big they all were.

In the back of her mind, she marveled at how so many different faces could show the exact same expression.

Grim terror.

“We’re not giving him any more,” she told the crowd. “So now we have to see how he rides it out. The white blood cell count is doing what … it’s what I thought.” She looked at John. “It’s what I believe you need.”

“Is he going to die?”

She glanced over at the male who had spoken. He was the one with the military haircut and the white streak in the middle of his cowlick. The one that, if she remembered correctly, she had called Sergeant Know-It-All.

“I don’t know.” Abruptly, she threw her shoulders back. “But I can promise you this. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he lives through this.”

Amazing how being in service to others gave you strength you didn’t know you had. Repurposed and refocused, Sarah pushed open the door and went back to the bedside.

The chains were cutting into Murhder’s ankles and she grabbed two towels from a stack. Waiting until his legs went loose for a split second, she slipped them into place on both sides so the metal links wouldn’t chafe his skin.

Then she resumed her watchful pose up against the wall. As he continued to seize, the medical staff monitored everything—and even though she didn’t doubt their competency, nothing felt like it was enough. o;I’m not dead yet, you know.” Murhder smiled. “Let’s not plan my …”

Funeral, he thought. The word was “funeral.”

For some reason, he couldn’t get the syllables out. He tried again, forcing his mouth to move while he pushed air up his throat and through his voice box.

Dimly, he was aware that that metronome tied to his heart rate had sped up suddenly, the sound it released more like beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeepbeep. And right after his brain registered that increase in intensity on a strange kind of delay, a wave of heat flooded his arms and legs: Starting at his fingertips and toes, the blaze rode his limbs as if they were the wicks for dynamite sticks … like somebody had put a match to his extremities and the TNT they were charged to ignite was stored in his torso.

His body jerked up from the table. Fell back.

So much thrashing came next.

The human man raced over and threw his heavy weight across Murhder’s seizing muscular load, and straps, black and wide and linked around the table, were added before the doctor could remove himself.

A ring of fire.

Murhder was consumed in a ring of fire.

His last conscious thought was that he should focus on his Sarah. But it was too late for any kind of coordinated anything. He was riding a bucking bronco … and holding on for dear life.

Sarah wanted to get in there. Do something to ease Murhder’s pain. Give him chest compressions—even though he wasn’t in the kind of cardiac distress that would benefit from that kind of thing.

And that last impulse was why she needed to hang back. Scientists who studied the immune system were not medical doctors, even if they had an MD after their names courtesy of their joint degree program back at uni.

And as for the cardiac arrest, she feared it was a case of “not yet.” That heart monitor was practically tap dancing.

Sinking back against the wall, she covered her mouth in her hand and gripped his necklace with the other. Murhder was pulling against the arm restraints, great veins snaking down into his clenched hands and standing out in stark relief under his skin. His neck was the same as his head craned up off the pillow, the cords on either side like ropes pulled taut in the effort of securing a vessel against violent seas. Under the sheet she had pulled up over his legs, he was kicking and not getting far with it, the restraints down there keeping him on the table.

Jane shouted something. Ehlena rushed over with a syringe. Dr. Manello looked at Sarah.

“We need to stop. Right now. We can’t take him any further without risking damage.”

“I agree—”

“No!”

They all turned to the word that exploded out of their patient. Murhder’s eyes were wide open and locked on Sarah. Through gritted teeth, he let out a growl of pain.

And then he said, “You keep going. You keep going … you keep … going.”

The force of his will had a physical impact on her, sure as if he had stood up off the bed and rushed at her.

“You don’t stop this, Sarah …”

His face was beet red, sweat beading on his brow, his jaw so tight, it seemed like it was going to snap free the tethers of its joints.

“Last … thing … I do.”

Sarah looked deeply into his peach eyes, searching for the right thing to do. But then she knew that any calculation of hers was wrong. The choice had been, and was, his to make.

“Ehlena,” she said roughly. “What are the blood results showing?”

“His white count is rising.”

Are you sure, she asked Murhder in her head.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she could have sworn she heard his voice in her mind, clear as day.

Yes, I’m sure.

“Do the final dose,” she said. “Now.”

Sarah stayed right by Murhder’s side. After the last push of the somatropin, he disappeared into the suffering, no longer able to meet her, or anybody else’s, stare or respond to anything. His heart rate was all over the place. His blood pressure was sky-high. The seizures were so bad, he snapped two of the restraints.

Eventually, the big blond warrior with the bright blue eyes had to bring chains.

It was shortly after those metal links got put on that Sarah felt herself crumble on the inside. A trembling overtook her, as if she were following his lead in that regard, and then she couldn’t breathe.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled as she lurched for the door.

Out in the corridor, she wobbled and started to fall.

Hands caught her. Strong hands.

She looked up into the face of the female commando.

“I’ve got you,” Xhex said.

Sarah wasn’t thinking right. Wasn’t thinking at all. She grabbed onto those shoulders, and felt herself get hugged in return.

John was standing behind his mate, his arms crossed over his chest as if he were hugging Sarah as well, just virtually. His eyes were dark with emotion, and she could understand why. With the chains rattling as they were, it was clear Murhder was suffering—and either the male in there was going to die or John was going to have to go through it.

Calling on her professionalism—because it gave her a job, something to focus on other than the nightmare in that operating room—Sarah pulled back and cleared her throat.

“The blood tests are showing what I was hoping to see. So don’t focus on how hard it is going to be for you—think about how the cure—”

John’s brows dropped low, and he started to sign, furiously.

A male voice spoke up behind her. “He says he doesn’t care about anything other than if Murhder is going to be okay—”

Sarah cut off whoever was translating. “I know what he said.”

She turned around and was shocked to find that … there were a dozen males standing around in the corridor. She hadn’t even noticed them, which was a surprise, given how big they all were.

In the back of her mind, she marveled at how so many different faces could show the exact same expression.

Grim terror.

“We’re not giving him any more,” she told the crowd. “So now we have to see how he rides it out. The white blood cell count is doing what … it’s what I thought.” She looked at John. “It’s what I believe you need.”

“Is he going to die?”

She glanced over at the male who had spoken. He was the one with the military haircut and the white streak in the middle of his cowlick. The one that, if she remembered correctly, she had called Sergeant Know-It-All.

“I don’t know.” Abruptly, she threw her shoulders back. “But I can promise you this. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he lives through this.”

Amazing how being in service to others gave you strength you didn’t know you had. Repurposed and refocused, Sarah pushed open the door and went back to the bedside.

The chains were cutting into Murhder’s ankles and she grabbed two towels from a stack. Waiting until his legs went loose for a split second, she slipped them into place on both sides so the metal links wouldn’t chafe his skin.

Then she resumed her watchful pose up against the wall. As he continued to seize, the medical staff monitored everything—and even though she didn’t doubt their competency, nothing felt like it was enough.