19. Helena
Helena
Helena blinked awake.
For a brief, wonderful second, she was floating in an in-between world where multiple realities blended together.
She was in bed with Bertram, his thick arms clasped around her, the steady rise and fall of his chest a pillow beneath her head.
His dark green lashes fluttered against his cheek, and his mouth was open slightly, revealing his vampiric top fangs and orcish bottom tusks.
It made her smile. His teeth were so perfectly .
. . him. Bertram made a soft noise in his sleep.
Whatever he was dreaming of it caused him to pull Helena to him even more tightly. Like he wanted her.
Helena realized they were in a tent. The cozy, shitty kind of tent that could only mean she was on a research site, doing the work she most loved. This was the dream. The man she loved. The job she loved. Everything she had ever wanted, it was all right here . . .
No, Helena realized, it wasn’t just the dream, it was a dream. There was a time when Bertram loved her, and she gave up her dream job. And then there was now, when she was finally pursuing her research, following her dreams, but it was long after Bertram stopped loving her.
This perfect moment was just that: momentary. It would be over the second Bertram awoke and remembered he didn’t love her and they returned to tracking.
Oh, fuck.
That’s how she had ended up in Bertram’s arms.
The full events of the previous night returned to her, and Helena wrenched herself out of Bertram’s arms with a gasping sob.
Bertram sat up. “What?! What is—oh.”
As if it were second nature to him, Bertram moved to Helena and wrapped his arms around her once more. She leaned into him as she cried, and he stroked her hair.
She vaguely remembered that was how she fell asleep last night too.
She wondered if she should cry more often.
“I’m sorry,” Helena sobbed. “It’s just, when I first woke up I wasn’t sure where I was or what . . . and then I just . . . I remembered . . . and—”
Bertram rubbed her back. “I know. I know. It’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“Where is—where is . . . she?”
Bertram grimaced, as if he was unsure exactly which “she” Helena was referring to and was too concerned to hazard a guess.
“Mom is in Santa Dominica,” he finally said, “preparing for the necropsy.”
Helena nodded. Santa Dominica Zoological and Magizoological Sanctuary and Park was one of the best in the country.
Helena had mixed feelings about otherfolk or mundane animals in captivity.
But it was convenient that a facility relatively nearby could handle analyzing the body of a several-thousand-pound creature.
“I’m glad,” Helena said. “I mean, I’m not glad that V-1 is . . . I just—if there’s anyone I would trust with her body . . .”
“I know,” Bertram said, and Helena knew he did.
“Well.” Helena got to her feet and slowly looked around the tent. “Um. I guess—I guess we should check if the egg stayed warm. Oh, God, what if the egg didn’t stay warm?!”
“The egg stayed warm,” Bertram said. “I had an alarm set every few hours to check. Your sweater sacrifice was worth it; the egg never got any cooler to the touch.”
“You kept getting up?” Helena gasped. “How did I not notice?”
A smile quirked at the corner of Bertram’s lips. “You were always a very heavy sleeper.”
Helena blushed. It was too much, too intimate, this reminder of how many nights they had spent together.
Bertram seemed to have the same thought, as he suddenly looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind that I brought us back to your tent,” Bertram said.
“These shitty beds are still more comfortable than the lab floor, and I thought you probably still needed me for warmth . . . I woke you to ask permission to carry you back to your tent, and you said yes, but I don’t know how much of that you remember. ”
None of it, Helena thought, and she wished she remembered all of it. Any stolen moment she could get of Bertram taking care of her, she desperately wanted. She was jealous of her sleeping self, of that girl who Bertram had carried and cuddled and cared for all night long.
“Oh, um, that’s—you did the right thing,” Helena said.
“Good,” said Bertram, still not quite meeting her eyes.
“Thank you. I slept well. Really well.” Helena blushed deeper and was furious with herself for doing so. “So, what do we do now? About the egg?”
“Mom’s checking with SDZM if they have any griffin incubators they can spare. And she’ll send over some extra blankets for us as well, regardless.”
“Oh, good,” Helena said, hollowly. She couldn’t pretend she wouldn’t have enjoyed another night or two snuggling with Bertram, but she wasn’t going to offer him that information. “What else?”
“Permits, unsurprisingly,” said Bertram, then added: “Don’t look so excited about paperwork; it’s perverted.”
“Sorry,” Helena muttered, schooling her face back into neutrality.
“Mom is writing to Cock Vet for permission to try to hatch the egg. It’s obviously a big leap from spending six months asking to look at an owl-bear to asking for overnight permission to hatch an egg and raise a cub-chick .
. . but it’s not like there’s some better-equipped facility with actual owl-bear experience we could transfer the egg to.
I think caring for the egg in situ gives it as good a shot as anything.
Mom has to clear it with the Magizoological Ethics Review Committee and the Humanoid Being Ethics Review Committee since this technically puts us at greater risk. ”
“I hope they don’t give her too much trouble. I know Imperial Cock can be very hard.” Helena batted her lashes.
“This is serious,” Bertram admonished.
Helena lowered her eyes, feeling slightly abashed. Roasting the shit out of Sylvania’s (Cock) Vet may have been a favorite in-joke of theirs, but her timing was terrible considering how recently V-1 had been killed. She couldn’t blame Bertram for judging her immaturity.
“We need approval to handle that egg ASAP,” Bertram said. “Normally, Imperial Cock lasts way too long. We can only pray that Imperial Cock comes quickly to a decision.”
Helena let out a shocked, sputtering laugh. “I hear that doesn’t usually happen to them.”
Bertram kept his face decidedly neutral, only the tiniest raise of an eyebrow suggesting that he had deigned to indulge in her fun.
“I’m going to start the day,” Helena said. “Shower and stuff. You can be with the egg. And then you can shower and I’ll be with the egg, and we can take turns sitting with the egg—”
“The egg doesn’t need to be watched twenty-four-seven, Helena,” Bertram said, softly. “There’s not a lot we can do. And until we candle it, we won’t even know if it’s viable.”
Helena smiled. “And yet, last night you knew it would hatch.”
Bertram didn’t respond.
“Thank you,” Helena said. “For saying that when I needed to hear it. And keeping me warm. And . . . everything, really. I guess, just, thank you for taking care of me.”
“It was my pleasure,” Bertram said, and there was such sincerity in his voice that Helena thought her heart might explode.
It took everything in her power to turn and walk to the shower rather than run back into his arms.