Chapter 29
Zander telepathed Spencer, knowing his boy was going to argue with him, and wanting to keep things as quiet around Emerald as possible.
You’ve been awake twenty hours. I’m on my way down, and you need to go into the sitting area with a blanket and pillow so you can get some sleep on the sofa. I’ll watch over her while you sleep.
I’m fine. Really. You have too much to do.
I have everything delegated that I can for now. You need at least six hours of sleep, preferably eight. I can feel your exhaustion.
You aren’t going to let this go, are you?
Smart boy.
Fine, but I’ll go under protest, Sir.
Zander chuckled. I love you, boy. Using Sir when you refuse an order only marginally helps, you know.
It helps a lot, Sir. It shows I respect your authority even though I’m expressing my opinion. You don’t want a yes-boy, you want someone who’s honest. It’s my job to argue, sometimes.
And it’s my job to look out for all my people, especially my boy. I’m bringing you three burgers, fries, and half an apple pie. You’ll eat it in the sitting room, and then you’ll go to sleep, and yes, that’s an order.
Thank you, Sir.
Twenty minutes later, Zander sat in a chair beside the bed, his laptop on the bed so he could watch the digital whiteboard change as Lucien updated it.
The hunt was organized, with enough perks and prizes so every guest vampire had sent in their RSVP stating they would attend.
The next goal was to get every vampire companion upstairs as well.
They were showing the camera feeds of the hunt in the theater, and had lots of tantalizing foods on the menu…
He felt Emerald’s brainwaves alter. He couldn’t get inside her shields, but he could sense whether she was awake or asleep, so he was already to her when she struggled to sit, her face pale and slick with sweat.
“Bathroom,” she gasped.
Zander lifted her, carried her quickly to the toilet, and set her on it.
He didn’t leave to give her privacy, though.
He wanted to be near in case she fell. He didn’t stare at her, but organized things on the shelf, giving himself busy work to keep him occupied while he was close enough to catch her before she hit the floor, if she passed out or fell.
He’d seen a lot of sickness in his thousands of years on this planet, and he could only describe what Emerald went through as brutal. Violent.
When it felt like this round might be finished, he handed her the baby wipes, and for this, he did step away, his back to her, and pretended to look at his phone.
He lifted her and carried her back to bed when she finished, ignoring her nudity. She’d had the shirt on at one point, but it’d come off during her last round of being too hot.
He sat her up a little, with the wedge behind her, and then told her, “Let’s get some ice chips in you.”
Before she could argue, he reached into the mini-fridge for the cup.
She accepted them without speaking, too exhausted for words.
Zander watched her while she held the ice in her mouth — really looked at her. The purple shadows under her eyes. The way her skin had gone sallow. The tremor in her hands that wouldn’t stop.
All those months of avoiding her, and now she’s in my bed.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
He removed the wedge once she’d had a few ice chips, and went back to his laptop, messaging Lucien as necessary when he saw activity requiring intervention or closer watching.
Twenty minutes later, he was back in the bathroom with her, then more ice chips once he had her back in bed. At least the fever wasn’t tormenting her — for the time being, anyway.
He got a few sips of broth in her, but then twenty minutes later, he was holding the small bucket for her to puke in while she was still in bed, her entire body convulsing as she vomited up the few sips of broth she’d managed.
He gathered her hair in one hand, his other palm on her shoulder, steadying her.
When she finished, he wiped her mouth with a cool cloth and offered her some mouthwash, which she swished in her mouth and spit into the bucket.
A few more ice chips, and Emmy’s gaze met his, glazed with pain and exhaustion, but still that fierce intelligence burning beneath. Still her, even this sick and weak.
He settled her back against the pillows, arranged fresh ice packs around her head since the old ones had gone warm, and returned to his laptop.
He’d ordered more meat to be flown in right away, and had set up security details for the food storage areas as well as the kitchen.
Cameras, too. It pissed him off he had to protect the flock’s fucking food, and that brought him back to who had done this, and what the fuck he was going to do to them to make a motherfucking example of them that wouldn’t be forgotten for centuries. Maybe longer.
He lifted his hand from the mouse before he accidentally destroyed it, and went over the facts as he knew them. Again.
Someone in the silo had used topical poisoning to start, and had escalated to poisoning the food supply, focusing on mammals first, then reptiles.
He figured only the truly ancient had access to the recipe for the poison to kill dragons, or to at least make them really sick.
It was almost certainly a Concilio member.
The list of suspects was distressingly long.
And when he found the motherfucker — not if, when — he would take his time.
Flaying to start, but he’d have to get more creative.
Death would be too easy. Oh no, nothing so simple for this bastard.
Permanent slavery, perhaps, because he needed to be certain no one considered harming his people again.
He sensed Emerald awake again, and she whimpered before he could get to her. She was curled into a ball, knees to chest, arms wrapped around her middle. Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps.
“What can I do for you, brave little dragon?”
“Everything hurts. Fuck, make it stop.”
“You’d have to let your shields down, and even then, I’m wary of doing so. We need to know if you start hurting worse, or in a different way.”
“How are the others doing?”
He telepathed the traveling nurse he’d brought in after the last bout of illnesses, a hawk shifter who usually works emergency rooms and intensive care units, and then told Emerald, “The king cobra is hardest hit, and they’re giving him an electrolyte mixture via enema to try to keep him alive.
His heart is irregular, and that’s concerning.
Apparently, Galapagos Turtles have a terribly slow metabolism, so he isn’t as sick, but will apparently be less sick for longer.
You and the monitor lizard seem to be on a similar trajectory. ”
Emmy was quiet for a long moment, her eyes closed, breathing carefully through what was probably another wave of nausea. Then, “That would work for me, too.”
Zander paused. “What would?”
“Enema hydration to get liquids into me, and it might help flush residual toxins from the lower GI tract.” She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with that sharp intelligence he’d come to expect from her.
“I can’t keep anything down. This makes sense.
The extra fluids will help my kidneys get rid of the toxins faster, it’s just an all-around good idea. ”
Zander studied her face. The circles under her eyes had darkened to bruises, her skin was pale and slick with sweat, and she trembled with exhaustion. But her mind was still working, still problem-solving, still fighting.
“You’re already weak. You’re certain?”
“I’m a biologist. Yes, I’m certain.” A ghost of her usual fire flickered in her expression. “My bowels are already empty, so I might be able to hold more than usual. Prepare two quarts, warm water with electrolytes, and … do you have baking soda stocked?”
If they didn’t, he’d send someone to the general store to get it.
He telepathed the traveling nurse to be certain of how many electrolyte packets should go into two quarts of water, and how much baking soda, then telepathed a runner to bring him what he needed — and was happy to hear the kitchen had baking soda.
“Everything’s on the way,” he told her, and he listed the items he’d requested, so she could tell him if he’d forgotten something.
“I assume you have lube in the nightstand, so yeah, I think that’s everything.”
The runner telepathed less than five minutes later to let him know he’d handed the items over to the guard, and Zander stepped to the door to retrieve the package.
“Just a few minutes,” Zander told her on his way through the bedroom.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Her attempt at humor fell flat, exhaustion pulling her back toward sleep.