Chapter 30
Zander ran the water until it was slightly warmer than Emmy’s approximate body temperature, and then let the stainless enema bucket fill while he added the electrolyte powder and baking soda.
He hung the bag on one of the attachment points he used to tie his boy to the bed for scenes, approximately four feet above Emerald, but she’d be able to slow the water herself, so it should be fine.
She watched him lube the nozzle, and then rolled to her left side and held her hand up.
Zander put the nozzle in her hand, watched her insert it, and then tucked a towel under it and up tight against her, to catch any leakage. She’d be embarrassed if she made a mess, and this would make it easier to clean.
The vulnerability of her letting him help her wasn’t lost on him, so he endeavored to make it as easy on her as possible.
She blew out a breath, more shaky than he was comfortable with, so he asked her, “Do you want to manage the valve? Or do you want me to do it with your instructions?”
“I can, but thanks for offering.”
He handed her the small clamp that controlled the flow. “I’m guessing you’ve used these before?”
“Yeah, had a particularly masochistic submissive once who hated enemas, so they became his punishment.”
She released the clamp a tiny bit, then a little more, and Zander watched her face. Her breathing stayed slow, deep, and steady for the first thirty seconds, then her brow furrowed, and she gasped before clamping the valve shut.
Zander placed his palm on her lower abdomen and rubbed in slow, gentle circles. “Breathe through it. It’ll subside.”
Emmy nodded, eyes squeezed shut, and gradually the tension in her face eased. “Okay. Better.”
She released the valve again, and Zander kept his hand on her belly, monitoring the way her abdomen distended as the fluid entered. When her face tightened again, he increased the pressure of his circular massage.
“How much so far?”
“Just under a quart.”
“I can do more.”
Of course she could. Stubborn, brilliant, brave little dragon.
He’d always been fond of her, but as Spence said, he could see the woman she’d become now, and not merely the brilliant, articulate, adorable child she’d once been.
And he respected her all the more, watching her fight through this with such determined practicality.
They continued the process — flow, cramp, massage, breathe, flow again. Zander kept up the gentle abdominal massage, feeling the way her muscles spasmed and released under his palm, and Emmy controlled the valve with shaking determination.
“Quart and a half,” Zander reported when she stopped the flow for a particularly violent cramp. “That’s probably enough for now, if you just want to focus on holding what you’ve put in for a bit.”
Emmy’s breathing had gone shallow. “I … maybe a little more. Not the full two quarts. This is … a lot.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.” Her jaw set with that familiar Drake stubbornness. “But the more volume I can get in, the more absorption once I stop and hold it. Thanks for rubbing. It seriously helps.”
Zander slightly increased the pressure of his massage, his other hand coming to rest on her hip, steadying her. “You’re incredibly brave. You know that?”
A weak huff that might have been a laugh. “I’m incredibly desperate. There’s a difference.”
“No. There isn’t.” He kept his voice low. “You’re fighting with every tool you have — your intelligence, your stubbornness, your strength. Even when you can barely stand. That’s courage.”
Emmy’s eyes opened, finding his, and for a moment something passed between them, but then another cramp seized her and she gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, and clamped the valve shut.
Zander’s hand moved in firm, soothing circles. “That’s enough. You’ve taken nearly a quart and three-quarters. Much more than I expected. Well done.”
“Need to … hold it. As long as I can.” Her voice came out strained.
“It’s taken nearly five minutes to get it in, so another five minutes, and every minute past that will be a bonus.”
“Ten more minimum,” she argued, and he let it go, stroking her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead with his free hand.
She was magnificent like this — stripped of all pretense, all armor, just raw determination and practical problem-solving even when she was so sick.
This was who she’d always been, he realized.
The four-year-old who’d climbed into his lap hadn’t been some separate person from the woman in his bed.
The fierce intelligence, the stubbornness, the refusal to give up — it had always been there.
“I don’t think I can hold it much longer.” Emmy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
He checked his watch. “Twelve minutes, little dragon. Excellent. Can you remove the nozzle yourself, or do you need help?”
“I’ve got it.”
She managed it despite her trembling hands, and Zander was already moving, scooping her up and carrying her to the toilet. He set her down gently and stepped out long enough to gather the enema equipment, and he washed it while she got rid of the enema.
He moved the baby wipes so she could get to them long before she was ready for them this time, and waited patiently until she’d used them before asking if she was ready to return to the bed.
“I think I can walk.” She looked utterly exhausted, barely able to sit upright, but when she met his eyes there was something like hope in her expression. “I think that helped. I feel less dehydrated already.”
“Good.” He told her, lifting her into his arms. “We’ll save your strength for healing. No need in expending it with unnecessary walking.”
She was asleep before he finished arranging the covers.
Zander stood beside the bed for a long moment, looking down at her.
Emerald Drake: dragon princess and brilliant biologist. The girl who’d once declared that dragons love hot chocolate, and had nearly burned the house down trying to make hers hot again when she’d gotten carried away with her coloring and let it go cold.
The woman who’d just endured an enema with more grace and practicality than most warriors he’d known.
Such a brave little dragon.
The endearment settled into his mind like it had always belonged there, and Zander didn’t try to dislodge it. As part of his flock, she was his to protect and his to care for. As his best friend’s daughter, she was off limits, and yet…
He stopped the line of thinking before it started. She was here until she got well, and until he’d found the perpetrator and punished him — or her.
And then…
Well, she’d have to go back to her room on the flock level. Right?
He checked in on Spencer, who was in a deep sleep, thankfully, and then focused on where Lucien was with the hunt and associated planning, but his thoughts soon returned to what he’d do to the person who’d dared harm his people.
She slept nearly twenty minutes this time, and awakened hot, burning up.
He remembered Spence rubbing her feet earlier, and he helped her strip away all the covers, then used the lube, which was just a mixture of olive oil and coconut oil, to slick his hands before he sat below her and focused on what he’d learned about massage a few decades earlier.
He figured his cold hands on her feet might help, and it seemed to. Eventually, she grew cold, and he piled the blankets back on her.
After a while, her eyes drifted closed and he sensed she was asleep, so he returned to his work.
But his thoughts returned to Emerald. He’d spent so much energy avoiding her — changing his schedule, rerouting through different corridors, ensuring they were never in the same space.
He was uncomfortable with the contradiction — the adorable little girl was now a beautiful woman who clearly knew exactly what she wanted and how to take it.
He remembered watching her during the feeding frenzies, her sheer, brazen, unashamed enjoyment of being fucked hard and fast, without mercy, and oh, how beautiful she was during the height of orgasm.
He knew how strong Aaron Drake is, of course, but he’d been shocked that Emerald had broken free from two strong, ancient vampires who’d been trying to hold her.
Not even a centuries-old vampire could do so, but Emmy had easily managed it in order to get to her friend.
She’d heard the true distress in his voice and known something outside the scene was wrong — and she’d been right.
And he had to admit his panic when he first saw how sick she was hadn’t just been about possibly having to tell Aaron his daughter had died, but of what it would do to Zander for her to die.
He’d adored her all her life. It wasn’t fair to either of them for him to ignore her just because she’d had the bad manners to grow into a lovely, brave, strong, intelligent woman.
And seeing her like this, vulnerable and hurting and still so damned brave, was like a punch in the gut to point out how much of her life in Anchorage he’d missed by avoiding her.
She didn’t even sleep fifteen minutes before she was back up, her legs over the side of the bed. He rushed to her and scooped her into his arms, and she protested, “I can—”
“You can’t,” he said, already carrying her to the bathroom.
They did the same procedure as before, and when he was tucking her back into bed, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Zander paused. “For what?”
“For being this … for being so pathetic and…” She trailed off, too exhausted to finish.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended, and he softened his tone. “Someone poisoned you. You’re fighting to survive. There’s no shame in that.”
Emmy’s eyes were already closing, consciousness slipping away.
Zander watched her for long moments, cataloging her heart rate, her breathing, and finally returned to his laptop.