“Let me know when you fly the coop.” Tray crossed the small space in three long steps. He twisted the door handle and pulled it open. Before he stepped out of the room, he paused and stood there with his back to Gunnar. A minute passed. Then, another. “She’d be perfect for you. In any other circumstance, I’d encourage you to make her yours, but our culture forbids it. There’s no silver lining when you buck the conventions of our people. She’ll suffer for it. And, in turn, so will you.”
He stepped out of the room and didn’t glance back. For the first time in his very long life, Gunnar wished he was not Kan Asma.
Chapter Six
Normal, ordinary, average—her life kept going in the same old direction. Except for the little detour of three days ago with Gunnar, everything returned back to the usual mundane schedule. Weekdays at ten in the evening, she showed up for her shift. She worked through her nursing job and clocked out at six in the morning. Once home, she sat with her parents enduring tedious etiquette during the family meal. Clean-up followed, a shower washed away the stress of her work hours and, finally, her head hit the pillow for a much needed sleep.
Except, sleep was her worst enemy. When she slept, her dreams plagued her. Visions of Gunnar’s face and rough voice flashed through her mind in a kaleidoscope of scenes that made little sense but provoked her anyway. So she stayed awake or hovered on the periphery of sleep in a state of hyper-awareness, as thoughts rushed through her brain like a freight train at full speed.
She invested in good make-up to mask the exhaustion. The kind at the fancy department store, guaranteed to hide the dark circles under her eyes and give her a youthful vibrancy. It did cover the deep purple smudges and other marks she needed to hide. For Nadia, the hundred bucks she charged on her credit card had been totally worth the concealer.
A day after she walked out of his room, never looking back, Gunnar had been discharged. She tried not to think about him or if Traian Komar kept his promise to take good care of him. His hospital room stood empty. She’d given in only one time and slipped into the room, hoping for some connection. She felt nothing but regret. Regret for things left unsaid. Regret for circumstances beyond their control that kept them apart. Guilt played a small role in her feelings, too. Blaming him for needing her seemed wrong. It was her weakness that had her crawling into the bed with him. Her lack of control allowed the space between them to vanish. Hormones had kicked her sanity out the window and encouraged her to snuggle into his warmth and strength. And, no one forced her to tip her head back as he sought her vein. She could’ve smacked him upside the head or shook him or even yelled for him to stop, but she’d done none of those things.
She’d wanted him to bite her and longed to sustain him with the blood flowing in her veins, but allowing him to do something so intimate would trap him in a life-long relationship with her. The repercussions for both of them would be vast and painful. Yes, pile the guilt on your own head, Nadia’s morose thoughts chastised. Good thing Traian intervened when he did.
The phone in her scrub pocket vibrated with an alert. She retrieved it and glanced at the message. Dominic’s text outlined her schedule for the night and indicated their rounds began at midnight. The extra time gave her the chance to finish her charts and see to the handful of patients admitted in the hospital.
For the most part, Nadia enjoyed her job. The constant noise from people working, the paging system and hospital equipment surrounded her with a comforting level of white noise. She’d grown accustomed to the antiseptic scent permeating the halls and came to expect it during her shifts. The vibrant lighting chased out the darkness of night and blurred the passage of time.
The facility was an old medical center that had gone belly-up in the market crash of the late eighties. The Elders of her people acquired the building and retrofitted it with the technology they needed to treat Kan Asma patients. Rooms with windows had steel shutters added to them. The blood-bank stored bags of the genetically altered plasma and red cells. They had a modern obstetric unit that saw the most activity out of all the hospital’s patients. Since arriving in America, her people had enjoyed a baby boom. Having a safe place to give birth and access to prenatal medicine had ensured a robust new generation of younglings. Gender selection science had even allowed many of the well-off families to ensure the birth of daughters, which didn’t happen often with her people. She’d been there when Leyla Komar gave birth to her second little girl, Aliya. The uproar that followed had been squashed by the family throwing a massive celebration. Life was relatively easy when one dripped with money.
Wealth and status didn’t prevent all accidents, though.
The emergency department was set-up in the subterranean basement to keep out inadvertent sun exposures. Triage for minor issues was handled on the main floor. Reception looked drab and unobtrusive with plastic chairs facing a secretary’s desk. All potential patients had to sign in first. The Kan Asma took great precautions to prevent any normal human’s accidental stumbling into the medical center for vampires.
Because of their small and health-prone community, Nadia worked all over the hospital. In one shift, she could help deliver a baby, assist during an emergency room procedure or simply care for patients on a unit. She preferred the challenge of the surgical wing. The operations and recovery of her patients allowed for a more hand’s-on approach to care. And only once did she take the hands-on way too literally.
And, it would never happen again.
Ten rooms on the second floor served as their in-patient area. Tonight, there were only three patients who’d been admitted for round-the-clock care. One was a male awaiting his final moments after losing his mate in a head-on traffic collision. Such a sad story that tugged at her heart strings. The other was a hot-headed youngling whose aggression got him a knife wound in the spleen. Her third patient had been there the longest and he suffered from many ailments. All of them just required minimal care. It would be a quiet evening.
Nadia moved into the little nursing station. Shaped like a horseshoe, the beige counter held office supplies and a telephone. Despite the computer station at the far-left end, the technology was sorely lacking. The charts waited for her attention and she did everything by hand. Dominic had promised to get funding to update their nursing stations. So far, she still waited.
She pulled a black folder from its individual slot and thumbed through the pages to read the entry from the last shift’s notation. This patient had been on the ward for almost a month. He came in with serious injuries. Just past maturation, it was taking a long time for his recovery. Also, he must have done something wrong due to the fact his file indicated he’d come in under custody. Council guards haunted the hall outside his room.
Tonight, he had another session with the physical therapist, which meant she had the not so enjoyable honor of wheeling him to the therapy unit.
After setting his folder back in its niche, she crossed the space and grabbed a wheelchair. Pushing it down the hallway, she headed to his room. Like always, one of the brawny Council sentries stood beside the door looking very bored. He straightened as she came near and shot her a wolfish grin.
“Hey, Izak. Hope it’s been an uneventful evening.” Nadia reached for the door-knob but he got there first.
“Let me.” He winked. “Don’t want the boss thinking I’m not gentlemanly or anything.”
Since she’d recently met his boss, Aleksi, she had a deeper respect for where Izak was coming from, now. “If I see him, I’ll be sure to tell him how polite you always are to me.” Nadia pivoted on her heel and backed into the room so the wheelchair was easier to manage upon leaving.
When she turned to face the bed and her patient, she braced for his typical diatribe. He’d come in with minute signs of bodily damage, which included bruising around his throat and along his torso. On the initial examination, he presented with minor issues, except for a distinct tremor in his limbs. Mentally, he’d been inconsolable, babbling and sobbing. Something about
him gave her the willies. As the days progressed and he got better, he showed a different side of himself. While he leered at her, he’d spout off foul language and curse the Komar family.
In the first few days of his admittance, she’d waited outside the room during an interrogation session by Traian and Dimitri, a big gruff male who’d mated Traian’s sister. The rest of the details had been deemed confidential.
“Good evening, Andros. It’s time for another treatment.” She smiled in a placating manner, all business as usual.
He glared at her with dark, angry eyes. Thin and gaunt, his cheekbones stood out in stark contrast. The skin pulled tight across his long skeletal face. He looked ten times worse than he had a couple days ago. Dull, matted hair hung down his back, some of the brown dingy strands brushed his thin shoulders. The ashen color of his skin was pasty. Chapped lips pulled taut along his elongated fangs and he panted with an open mouth like an injured animal.
There was only one way for a Kan Asma male to get like that. Andros had been denied a blood source. He must’ve done something really bad to suffer such consequences. Now, she understood why his injuries had yet to heal.
No matter what he did to deserve this punishment, she still needed to treat him like a person, her patient. “Do you need help into the wheelchair?”
He lifted hands that curled inward, spastic and rigid. “I can’t do anything with these fuckin’ hands!” His scowl drifted to the side and behind her. “How can you stand by and let those royal dicks do this bullshit to people?” He hadn’t asked her, but posed the furious question to Izak. Nadia waited for the guard to respond. All he did was roll his eyes and shrug.
Nadia bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t the first-time Andros had slandered the Komar family and the rest of the aristocratic cabinet. “Maybe you can scoot to the edge of the bed and I can assist you to the seat?” Trying to redirect the patient and interrupt the rant before it got out of hand, Nadia released the side rail on the bed.
“Maybe after you can give me a sponge bath.” Andros tugged his hospital gown to the top of his thighs and stared hard at her.
“Knock it the fuck off, weasel.” Izak stepped beside Nadia and grabbed Andros’ shoulder, shaking him roughly. Nadia glowered at the guard’s rough approach. He ignored her and put off a deadly vibe. The navy polo shirt he wore accentuated his corded strength. An emblem of his guard unit was embroidered on his short sleeve, which came down just enough to cover up the Council tattoo on his bicep. She got a glimpse of a scythe blade and the end of the handle. Definitely not as sexy as Gunnar’s swirling black tribal ink, she thought privately.
She checked her watch and grimaced. She needed to get this patient down to his appointment before it got cancelled as a “no show.” “If you need help, I’m sure Izak can lift you from the bed.” Nadia gambled on the notion that Andros wouldn’t want the guard to get anywhere near him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Izak’s square jaw firm and a muscle ticked in his cheek. He brushed his wavy brunette hair from his forehead and the ambient lighting glinted off the various colors. The strands were multihued, like maybe he got a balayage dye at an expensive salon.
Izak came from a moderately well-off family. His rank, within their society, fit somewhere in the middle. He dressed and acted like a son of nobility, even though his proper place was more common. She’d probably end up with someone of his status as a potential mate. He’d be a great match for any female in her position. Wishing with all her might that Gunnar would be a choice simply wasted energy. They’d never match her with him. His blood was too strong and valuable, no matter his parentage. Plus, he had his boss pulling for him. Nadia had no one. Shaking her head, she focused on the task at hand. With a fake smile, she pushed the wheelchair flush to the bed. “Ready?”
Andros swore and struggled to scoot to the edge of the mattress. He pushed his weight forward, pitching headlong into the seat. Quick reflexes helped Nadia to keep him from face planting it on the floor. With swift motions, she set his feet onto the supports and released the wheel lock. Hurrying, she grabbed the handles and directed the wheelchair to the door eager to make up for lost time. Izak followed behind her. She heard the harsh clip of his combat boots hitting the ground as he crossed the space and exited the room.
“You sure I can’t drive that for you?” Izak never failed to offer chivalrous assistance. Even if she’d like nothing more than to hand over the duty, she always refused. Hospital rules forbade Izak from doing Nadia’s job. She shook her head. They’d been through this before because protocol ensured she never went anywhere alone with this patient.
She picked up the pace toward the elevator and grinned in triumph when it opened the second she pressed the call button. Good, the less time she spent with Andros, the better. After they went a few floors down, they headed toward the therapy wing. A bland expression hid her desire to be done with this task, especially because Andros continued to lob his verbal attacks at Izak.
Andros shifted in the chair and leaned a bony elbow on the armrest. His dingy hair slipped to the side in one long clump. He needed a shower but she wouldn’t be volunteering.
Her hands hurt from gripping the handles. As she dug in to push the wheelchair around the corner, she hit an invisible wall and stumbled. The chair wouldn’t move. Curious, she surveyed the wheels to figure out why it stopped. Nothing was wrong with the wheelchair, but Andros had allowed his foot to slide off the footrest and now it dragged on the floor anchoring them in place. Damnit!
She turned on her heel attempting to rectify the situation. Except, Izak got there first. His big hulking body filled the space as he wrapped a huge hand around Andros’ slim thigh.
“I don’t mind your bullshit, twerp, it’s a whole lot more entertaining than staring at the carpet.”
“You can’t do crap to me. Komutani’s got a tight hold on your choke chain. Aren’t you tired of being told what to do, whose ass to wipe, when to take a piss? Must suck to be you. You know your fate is to be mated to some show poodle female and you’ll end up serving those uppity dickheads for eternity.”
Izak ignored Andros’ verbal attack and shoved the patient’s leg into place on the footrest. He licked his bottom lip with a long dramatic sweep. “You’ll be a sniveling bastard with nothing.” Backing away, he looked at Nadia and inclined his head, indicating she could continue onward.
“There’s another way, sentinel.”
“Stop yapping.” Izak’s firm command was punctuated by an angry glower.
“Imagine a life free of tyranny. You can choose your job, your friends, even your female.” Andros tilted his head back and stared at Nadia.
Abhorrence wormed its way through her belly to her heart inciting equal parts disgust and curiosity. Andros spoke ridiculous drivel and it would never happen within the world of the Kan Asma. To have the freedom of choosing who she mated—to find a true love match—gave her a momentary sliver of hope. Inside her mind she called out Gunnar’s name. What would it be like if he reciprocated her desires? He could ask her to marry him. She could walk down the candle-lit aisle in a flowing white gown. There’d be beautiful flowers and satin streamers. Her father would give her….
Hell’s bells! Don’t you dare give that fantasy air time, Nadia gritted her teeth and ignored the way her mind taunted her with flights of fancy that could never ever happen.
“Imagine a world where you are put down for treason,” Izak drawled.
Andros shook with a loud nervous cough that sounded like a hoarse grunt. “Things will change. We’ll make sure of that.”
Izak’s head fell back on his shoulders with a short blown-out breath. He went silent with an abrupt shift in his posture. “Don’t know what you and your moron friends are smoking but you better quit before Kartal finds out and you get dead.”
Andros leaned into the vinyl backrest of the wheelchair. His motions were stiff and jittery. Nadia resumed her pace, impatient to finish this stressful task. Relief flo
oded her as she came to the open doorway and crossed the tiled expanse that led into the P.T. suite. A rail thin, yet very tall, male pushed from his rolling chair and jogged over to meet them. He inclined his head and Nadia stepped backward. He grabbed the wheelchair handles, shot her a lopsided smirk and pushed Andros toward a curtained area. Nadia glanced at her watch and calculated the time when the session would end.
“Think about it, Izak. You’d be a great asset to the coming battle.” Andros’ voice faded as the P.T. aide ushered him away from the lobby area.
Izak swallowed hard and the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbed as he shook his head with a concerned expression. “Every society has its wacko anti-establishment groups. Guess Andros is ours.”
Nadia chewed on the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t get the image of her wedding out of her mind. It teased her, stirring her human side, making her wonder about flowers and cake and bridesmaids and…she shook her head. It was all a collection of impossibilities. “Do you think it could happen?” She covered her mouth with her hands, embarrassed at the unguarded hope and eagerness lacing her words.
A long pause followed. Izak looked away, not meeting her eyes. “Imagine loving someone you can’t ever have and living an eternity watching the one you love irrevocably tied to someone else.”
She didn’t have to imagine it. She felt it in her bones, her marrow, in every single molecule of her being. It ached. Stung. And left her feeling a deep, yawning emptiness. “But that’s the way it’s always been.”
Izak tucked his pinky into the leather gun belt around his waist and rocked back on his heels. “Status quo has been the kindling for many wars. We live in a country notorious for bucking the system. The divide between the kraliyet and the underbelly of society has become immense. Some don’t like being stuck on the lowest rungs. They want a fair chance at wealth and status. They want their younglings to succeed, to be strong and smart. I wouldn’t doubt that’s the fuel behind Andros’ yipping. He doesn’t like being a peon and is bitching about it like a frickin’ baby.”
Mated in Treason Page 7