Dragon’s Curvy Patient

by Daniels, Mychal

  “Am I naked?” she asked.

  “No,” he allowed himself to laugh. “You’re still clothed.

  “Oh. I think I want to be naked. You know like in that hip-hop lion beast card.” She looked at him as if trying to focus through dirty glasses and added, “Yep, I think you’re my lion. No, you’re a beast. I can tell. I’m talking epic. Look at that beard—it’s the best.” She lifted a hand and clumsily tried to pet his beard. “So manly. I love it. Come here,” her eyes were completely unfocused now. He leaned in, loving her scent. Sabra placed a palm on his cheek and ran light fingers through his beard. He shuddered at the sensuality of her touch. “Hey, Cole?”

  “Yes?”

  “Cole… bae, are you my bae?” she asked with an obvious struggle to form words. “Can I ride on your back naked, like in that strength picture?”

  “What?” He stopped himself realizing her concussion was showing its handy work. He leaned back to break her spell before adding, “Maybe later, after we get you back on your feet.”

  He wasn’t mad that she called him a beast or bae—a term of endearment that had become popular of late, too. She was at least five years younger than him, and that could account for the weird turns of phrases. He was mad that he had to pull away from her touch, though.

  Colson willed the errant thoughts to the back of his mind. He placed a light hand on the back of her thigh and sent waves of healing magic into the tender muscle tear.

  “Wow, that feels good. Your hand is so big and warm. Thank you, my big Pentacle Papa.”

  “Huh—you’re welcome?” He didn’t want to laugh, but she was too funny, even with possible head trauma.

  Urgency driven by the need for healing overrode his enjoyment as Colson worked to relieve some of her discomforts. Sabra’s hamstring was torn. Even with his healing ability, she would still be incapacitated for at least a week or two.

  When the torn area calmed down enough for her to get a break from the pain sensors’ barrage of attacks, he moved to find the source of the blood. Colson’s previous scan revealed that she didn’t have any spinal issues. Her healthy spine allowed him to move her body.

  He positioned her head onto his lap and slowly tilted it away from him. Caked and clotted, a patch of blood pooled in her hairline behind Sabra’s ear.

  Colson parted the hair to get a closer look when she spoke. “Did I give you permission to touch my hair?”

  He had to strain and concentrate on understanding all her words.

  “What if I had decided to wear a wig or weave wonder tonight?” she asked, words even more thick and jumbled. “That’s a woman’s prerogative, you know.”

  He kept working to see the injury. Sabra lay limp across his lap like a rag doll. When she attempted to swat his hand away, Sabra lost her balance and almost rolled off his lap.

  “Stay still Bria. I need to find out how bad you hit your head.”

  “Hard. That’s your answer.”

  “I know my love, but you’re bleeding.”

  “No, I’m not,” her words slurred as she mumbled. “I don’t feel like I’m bleeding.”

  Colson let out a breath of relief that she hadn’t picked up on the fact that he called her his love.

  He went with the flow and decided to keep her talking while he worked to stave off any more bleeding. Her hair was a thick mass of coils and curls that made it almost impossible to see her scalp.

  His hands weren’t sanitized, and that made it challenging to work without possible infection from germs. She tried again to swat his hand away before Colson was able to part her hair enough to see the wound.

  There was a vertical cut from the side of her nape’s hairline down to the back of her ear. It was a little over a couple of inches and deep enough to require stitches. Thankfully, the blood had already started to clot.

  “What are you doing back there? You say I’m bleeding, and you don’t have any gloves.”

  “You’ll be fine. I don’t have any transmittable diseases, trust me,” he cooed the assurance to keep her calm and still.

  She tried again to swat his hand away.

  “You never know, I could have something.”

  “Even if you did, I’d be fine as well. Bria stay still. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Yes, there is. You’re fishing around in my hair. Stop it. I assure you I’m not wearing weave. Get out of my hair.”

  This time Cole was quick enough to stop her hand from trying to swat him away.

  “Let me see your wound. Hold still.” He used the voice that meant he wasn’t playing, or so he hoped. Ava never paid any mind to it.

  Sabra settled down to allow him to finish his investigation. Thankful her cut was manageable but concerned about her degrading speech quality, Colson weighed his options.

  “Bria, I need to get you to a hospital. You need stitches. Who’s your next of kin?’

  “Me, I mean, I don’t have any relatives alive.”

  “Is there someone close you’d like to meet us at the hospital?”

  She laughed. “Tilar is out of town for the next week, and Chloe is working and the reason for that damn ball on the floor. Nope, let them be.” She giggled like a little drunk. “I’ll use this as leverage and guilt.”

  “That’s not nice, but I’m not going to argue with you. We need to get to the hospital now.”

  He maneuvered her body in his lap and prepared to stand when she looked up at him.

  “Wait, I can’t go to the hospital.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” she paused and shut her eyes. He gave her a shake fearful of her slipping into unconsciousness before he could get a head scan. She opened her eyes and turned away.

  “Because why? Bria, I need to run tests and get your leg braced.”

  “Damn it, man, because I can’t.” Sabra let out a soft huff as if embarrassed. “I had to let go of my health insurance a few months back. I can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover the costs.” He wanted to shake and kiss her at the same time. “Now, where’s your phone and ID?”

  Her eyes were closed. He didn’t move her for fear there might be more going on, like internal bleeding. Colson looked around to spy where she’d put that purse she’d come in here with. A deep burgundy line caught his attention.

  The corner of the table he’d moved sported a thick line of drying blood. His insides curdled with dread. Bria must have hit the back of her head on the table when she tripped over that fucking glitter ball.

  His timeline to get her to better care sped up.

  “Bria, open your eyes for me, please.”

  Nothing.

  “Bria? Listen to me and open your eyes.”

  Unresponsive.

  The coldness of the industrial concrete floor did nothing to offer her comfort. He had to get Bria off this hard floor and properly treat her injuries.

  Racing thoughts of how to proceed crowded over each other. The nearest hospital where he had credentials was Piedmont, but they didn’t have the technology he liked to use for head scans. Those machines were at Northside, and too far away. On the rare occasion he still treated fully human patients at a hospital, Colson always felt limited in what he could do with his Dragon-gifted healing ability while there.

  “Hurry up and make it happen,” he scolded himself.

  Take her home, his Dragon wisdom nudged.

  That’s right. He had the medical wing he used for select clients at home. It was outfitted with all his must-have equipment.

  He was about to transform into his Dragon side when more of its wisdom invaded his stress-induced foolery. He couldn’t chance someone seeing him as a Dragon crossing the late-night sky while clutching an unconscious woman.

  Colson fished his phone out of his pocket and called Mac’s right-hand man, Danny. He’d get there fast and take him home. A quick text confirmation later and he was up looking for Sabra’s personal effects she’d need.

/>   With her phone, purse, and keys in hand, he lifted the unconscious woman with the utmost care. She whimpered as the muted pain of her leg let itself be known.

  Colson’s sharp mind had figured out a suitable plan. He’d pay Danny to come back when the movers arrived, to make sure they moved everything while he worked on Bria at home.

  Danny drove up in an SUV. Then jumped out and opened the back to reveal a flat surface with a cushioned mat. Colson nodded and got in with Bria. She was short enough to fit as he laid her down on the cushioned surface.

  “Here, take these and figure out which one locks the door to her studio. Once you figure it out, take it off her key ring and hold onto it.” Colson’s orders came out methodical and calm as Danny nodded.

  He watched as Danny did his bidding.

  Back in the driver’s seat, Danny tossed the keyring back to Colson.

  “Now what?” Danny asked in that thick Tennessee drawl of his.

  “Now, you drive us home.”

  10

  Bria

  “I don’t know her size. I’d gander a guess that she’s a little taller and bigger than you.”

  All-encompassing and dark, the formless void stingily allowed hearty but low whispers to penetrate Sabra’s awareness.

  Someone spoke nearby.

  The mysterious words pricked at her previously dormant thoughts. They snaked through Sabra’s fog of slumber and created a serpentine trail of curious attention.

  The voice spoke again.

  “Not going to happen. Why? Oh, let me see—because it’s creepy to take pics of her like this, not to mention an invasion of privacy.”

  Sabra’s now piqued attention registered a brief silence. Then, more words transversed the gulf between her and the voice.

  It continued, “That’s different, and you know it. All that was medically necessary.”

  Her intrigue ignited to produce a hunger in Sabra to hear more. Robust and husky, the voice wove a spell that captured her interest as even more utterances emerged.

  “You have the personal feminine items on your list too, right? She’s run out.” A momentary pause ensued. “Because she didn’t have enough with her. Why would I have something like that here? She needs a new supply.”

  She? Were the words referring to her? What—no who—was this? And, where was she? A collage of questions threatened to yank Sabra in too many directions.

  Swirling dream-infused fancies fought to reclaim their preeminence. Powerful tendrils of sleepiness won. The sensory dulling haze pulled Sabra back into the fog of subconsciousness.

  Sometime later low rumbles of words pricked her awareness once more. Blank nothingness crumbled as new sounds sprang up. Impressive in the quality of their tone, the new words rolled in on clouds of mystery. Sabra compelled herself to listen, but the commitment was so hard. The pull of slumber fought her for every second.

  A protracted pause swelled until her desire to hear the voice again fueled Sabra’s awareness. The endeavor was enough for her to concentrate on the search. When Sabra’s stamina to continue was near collapse, words drifted back in the nick of time. They were close enough for her to understand with minimal strain.

  Deep and male, the voice was imbued with an intriguing combination of sincerity and power in its tonal makeup. Its mellow delivery still managed to project and speak with great authority.

  The volume of his words rose a little as she heard him say, “Bron, don’t come. I can handle it. I have so far. Yes, really, I’m serious.” A heavy exhale of breath punctuated the words with great effect. “I’m fully capable of feeding her. Hah—and what exactly is Mac going to do? It’s my house, my call.”

  Surprisingly, the voice didn’t sound angry or upset with the other person—determined merely to prevail.

  If the pauses were any indication, his words were meant for someone whose voice she couldn’t make out. Whoever it was wasn’t in the mood for backing down or taking no for an answer. The point proved itself with the next set of words that bounded into the air.

  “See here, I’m the medical professional—not you. Bronwyn, I swear, you’re not going to win this one.”

  So, the other voice belonged to a woman. The revelation didn’t sit well with Sabra’s soul.

  “Well, as you like to say, you’re doing the most—I’ve got this.” Paternal concerned wrapped itself around the words as they filled the air. Instead of producing acidic angry energy, the voice held admiration and respect for the listener as it continued to mount its defense. “I see. No… because you’ve already got your hands full, that’s why.”

  Silence crowded in to quench the volley of word-based defenses he’d erected. One thing was clear. The voice wanted its recipient to obey his wishes. This Bronwyn was a formidable opponent. Success meandered and made the voice work hard.

  The verdict wasn’t ready to give him the win—yet. Wasn’t that a bastard break if there ever was one?

  Sabra’s interest grew as tiny threads of coherence slowly threaded themselves together.

  Who was the other party? Who was this Bronwyn woman? Sabra’s ire rose at the person unwilling to give the voice whatever he wanted. Her instincts to help, support and back him up spiked as another heavy masculine breath exhaled in the distance.

  How dare this—woman—deny him anything? Couldn’t she hear how sincere, dreamy, and sexy he was?

  Petty jealousy crept into the void to fuel Sabra’s capacity for anger. An irrational sense of ownership pushed its way forward to stake claim on the voice.

  Why?

  Sabra’s subconscious churned. Her recollection failed to place the owner of the utterance. Contrary to this failure, there was a familiarity that enticed her to continue down the path of curiosity. In answer to her pursuit for more words, the disembodied voice spoke again through the void.

  This time the voice infused mirth into its words as they formed questions. “How about this? Are you staying off your feet like I asked, huh?” The sound trailed off again.

  Sabra strained to home in on the source. She had to know who this was. Then, he rewarded her pursuit when he spoke again. “Thanks, and yes, you keeping her for another day helps a lot.” There was reluctance in the vocalized wonder as it continued. “Yes, I agree. That would make things easier,” the voice halted as if interrupted. A pensive tone accompanied the next statement, “I see, well fine—we’ll switch out at school tomorrow.” More silence taunted her as Sabra strained to follow the voice through the void. “Do what you can to find something appropriate, but don’t overdo it,” the vocalization said in an authoritative tone.

  Another pause interrupted the audible enchantment but not for long. The deep, rich timbre of that voice cut through the formless darkness to reclaim her attention.

  “Because, they’re ruined,” it continued. An exhale of breath seemed to punch down frustration as the voice waited to speak. Concession, mingled with a last stand to wrangle out a bit of obedience, shrouded the next words. “You stay put—I mean it—and send Danny over with what you can put together, that is, if he has time, agrees, and Mac can spare him. … Please?”

  It was the “please” on the end of the response that had her interest sensors straining for more of the voice’s addictive stimuli.

  Elusive with the most appealing virile tone, that voice lulled her out of the dark. Consciousness crept closer as Sabra’s brain worked to come back online.

  Her eyelids subdued their soreness enough to open in slits. Sabra continued to battle against the void. Her eyes contended with a murky film plastered over them. Once free of the ocular impediments, dim surroundings cloaked her in disoriented frustration. Unable to make sense of the visual input, her mind scrambled to investigate.

  Who was that talking and where was she?

  The next presence to make itself known was the sterile, chilly air. Absent was any hint of scents she’d been used to occupying her world. This air hung flat and discomforting as if trying to subjugate her to its bland, but dis
orienting will. The surroundings cast cool, foreign vibes. This place wasn’t her home or any place she’d ever been.

  Sabra didn’t know much about anything at the moment, but she did know when she was on an accelerated path to losing it. A recall of what led to her current location yielded no results. It wouldn’t take much to send her into an impressive episode of tripping the hell out.

  Determined to compile an inventory of events leading up to now, Sabra relaxed her eyes to close again. She concentrated on reconstructing her recent memories. There was Chloe antagonizing the hell out of her all day. Flashes of glitter streaked across her memories and intersected with all the wigs she needed to catalog and pack.

  Dull but present enough to be a bother, a headache lurked along the edge of her understanding. Her eyes managed to open a little more. They hurt like sand was their primary resident. Wherever she was, it was too dark to make out much.

  “Where am I?” she tried to ask.

  Her throat might as well be rusty serrated blades grinding against each other for the pain and quality of sound she managed to generate.

  “Hey, I need to go. I think she’s awake,” the male voice said.

  Leaden and uncooperative her weak limbs attempted to move to no avail. Her body didn’t cooperate. Try as she might to assemble a workable understanding of where she was and how she came to be here, vague phantoms of flimsy recall scattered about.

  Faint snatches of a familiar scent inched into her world. Imprinted on her senses like a primary recall trigger, the smell taunted her to know its origin and importance. Where did she know this fragrance signature? It boasted virility, power, optimal health, and vitality. Her compatibility receptors flared with a primal attraction, so intense Sabra fought back risqué bodily urges.

  There was more at work beside the scent of this man. Her senses ignited to embrace the experience. Through the fuzziness of her world, Sabra followed the magnetic pull.