by Raven Dark
Hawk stood, turning to him. I rose to my feet quickly, only realizing I was still naked when the blanket dropped away from me. “Is Steel awake?” I asked scrambling to cover myself. “How is he, sir?”
Doc didn’t bat an eye at my nakedness, his face remaining unaffected as only a trained medical professional’s could.
“He’s still out cold, but sometimes he’s been talking in his sleep. He said your name. It would be good for him if you were there.”
“I’ll bring her, Doc.” Hawk turned to me. “Get dressed and we’ll go.”
“Yes, Master.”
Doc left, and Hawk helped me find some of my clothes in the bags stowed against the wall of Sheriff’s bedchamber. The General must have had them brought in at some point.
“Sheriff wants you to wear one of these.” Hawk held up one of those white frocks I hadn’t worn since I’d first come to the Grotto.
A slave’s frock.
Sadness and guilt at the reminder of my lower status stabbed at me, but I took the frock and slipped it on. I’d have to work my way back up to whatever role I’d somehow obtained since those first days with the Legion.
“Master, where’s Sheriff?” I asked, partly to get my thoughts off the dream, whatever it had been. I looked over at the bed where Sheriff had been holding me last night.
“He’s outside. Talking to Utar, I think.”
Disappointment pricked at me, but I hid it by putting my head down as I straightened the skirt of the frock at my waist. The style left my shoulders and throat bare, an empire-lined bodice upping my breasts.
Hawk didn’t offer me underwear. Knowing him, he wouldn’t allow it any more than Sheriff, so I didn’t ask for them, especially since they might only chafe against my sore backside.
Even in the time since last night, which by the early morning light couldn’t have been more than four hours, I could feel that the welts and bruising from last night were already beginning to heal. Yet another product of my Violet abilities, but the skin still stung a little and felt tender to the touch when I ran my hand over my bottom.
Once I was dressed, Hawk took up the end of my leash and slipped it around his wrist. He’d never held my leash before. The realization jumped out at me, and my belly fluttered at the ownership with which he carried it.
He led me toward the entrance of the tree before turning to me. His gaze went to my throat, dark brows furrowing with concern.
“Your neck is scratched up.” His fingers caressed the front of my throat, running over the scratch marks I must have put there while I dreamt.
At least I hoped I’d been the one to put them there and not someone else.
A shiver raced up my spine, cold as ice.
“What was happening to make you do that to yourself?” Hawk pressed. “Was someone choking you again?” His gruff voice held a note of protectiveness.
“I really don’t remember, Master.”
But someone must have been. I wasn’t about to tell him, but I had an unsettled feeling this time it had been Sheriff’s hand there. Sheriff’s, before he turned into…
Hawk nodded, but I couldn’t tell if he believed me.
I noticed the scratches I’d left on Hawk’s cheek from the last time I’d dreamt were all but gone. The gorgeously bronzed skin there was almost smooth except for a faint dusting of dark stubble, half a day’s growth. As usual, he wore a dark shirt under his leather cut, this one black, covering the cigar scars I knew marred his arms and chest. A silver chain around his neck disappeared into the neck of his shirt, the strange symbol that I knew hung off the end of the chain probably hidden beneath. With the shirt on, I couldn’t see the scratches I’d left on his chest, but when he dropped his hand from my throat, I caught a glimpse of the fading scratches on the back of his hand.
I wanted to take his hand to my lips, kissing those marks.
We stepped out of the tree and made our way around the fire toward the infirmary used for Steel. The camp buzzed with early morning activity that immediately reminded me of the Grotto.
The Dark Legion men and the Lone Rebels moved about the camp carrying out this task or that. Two of Utar’s women carried armfuls of laundry across the camp, probably to that pond where Sheriff had me bathe him, preserving the limited supply of drinking water. Marna was shaking out a fur blanket from her and Utar’s tree. Two men carried small wicker traps with fresh-caught fowl for the evening meal later. Seated on a bolder near the fire, Striker’s sister carefully sewed up a hole in a shirt, her fingers moving deftly with a needle while Diamond and Emmy talked and laughed with her. Her empty eye socket was still covered with a bandage, though the skin around it looked better, bearing only a faint hint of redness. Striker chopped wood for the fire near her, his bare chest slicked with sweat while another man piled the wood in stacks.
The bustle and babble of cheerful talk from men and women filled me with a warm, homey feeling.
Before we reached Steel’s infirmary quarters, Utar stopped us near the fire. “Everything all right, Captain?”
A little ways away, Sheriff looked up from inspecting one of the birds someone carried over for dinner, raising a brow in concern.
Both of them had heard me screaming, I knew.
“She’s fine, Generals.” Hawk’s nod included both Utar and Sheriff. “Just a nightmare.”
Utar nodded, and I thought I saw sympathy in his eyes before he went to talk to one of his men. He probably thought all that had happened with Saketh was giving me bad dreams. I hated that I couldn’t remember if Saketh had been part of the last one or not.
“We’ll be having breakfast soon,” Sheriff called over. “I expect you to be out here helping with meal prep as soon as you’re done visiting Steel, Setora.”
“Yes, Master.”
On our way over to the infirmary, I took a look around the camp again. Crash sat by the fire, cutting up vegetables for tonight’s stew. Pretty Boy put a couple of fresh logs on the fire. A motorbike engine growled, and ten feet away, T-Man revved the engine, probably doing some kind of maintenance. Doc came out of the infirmary, dumping out the basin of water. One and all, the Dark Legion men looked up from what they were doing, nodding or smiling at me in greeting.
I stared. All of them were as casual as if the previous night had never happened. There was no accusation or blame. Sheriff had spoken to me as if he owned me, as if his men did, but his voice had carried only the sternness of a master who was upholding his role, nothing more. The almost continual mockery I’d seen in him since waking in the infirmary last night was gone. The conqueror who’d taken me last night was nowhere to be seen; he was only my general now. My master.
Leading up to my punishment, and even after, I’d worried that my actions in the Dreg camp had done irreparable damage to the relationship we’d all shared, a crack forever marring the trust that held us all together. Looking around at them now, I knew I needn’t have worried. Now that last night’s punishment was over, and the men had each given me what I needed, the world had been put to rights, the score settled.
A deep sense of belonging wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I’d been absolved of my transgressions, and all was forgiven. I truly did not deserve these men.
Hawk led me into the hollow where Steel still lay. Crates of Doc’s medical supplies were stacked against the inside of the tree trunk walls, and torchlight gave the room the bright glow of a real infirmary. Trax sat on a crate, reading from what looked like one of Doc’s medical books.
“Hawk. Setora.” Doc nodded to us when we came in, gesturing for us to join him at Steel’s bedside.
“Hawk, get out here and help me.” Sheriff called from outside the tree.
“Always something.” The Captain of the Guard handed Doc his end of the leash, claimed my lips in a quick kiss, patted the sleeping Steel on his big shoulder, and waved at Doc before departing to help Sheriff with whatever he was doing.
I started toward Steel.
“How’s your bottom, S
etora?” The grin Doc fought to hide made my eyes widen. Especially when Trax chuckled and then covered it with a cough.
I shook my head at him, unsure whether I wanted to smack him or laugh. “Fine, sir,” I mumbled.
He nodded, bringing my focus to Steel.
At my master’s side, I looked him over. Sadness threatened to consume me, drowning out the pleasant bubble I’d been living in for the past several minutes.
Doc had said Steel had been talking in his sleep, but he wasn’t saying anything now. His lids were closed, his eyes moving behind them. At least the rise and fall of his chest was even now.
Someone must have shaved his face, because it was smooth and clean. Though I’d never seen Steel with a full beard, when he didn’t shave for half a day, he ended up with more stubble than Sheriff, dark whiskers that matched his short-cropped hair. Hair which was too short to be tousled, even if someone hadn’t brushed it.
The IV pole still stood by his shoulder, but the bag of saline solution that hung there wasn’t hooked up to his arm anymore.
I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought there was a slight yellow tint to his smooth face, a tint that could have been a trick of the firelight.
“Has he woken up at all, sir?” I asked Doc, slipping my hand into Steel’s huge one. It was nice and warm.
“Not once.” Doc took the stethoscope from around his neck and set it on a crate that served as a table. “Even when he’s been talking, he’s still remained in that deep sleep. Other than that, nothing’s changed.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated.
“What’s he been saying?”
“I can’t make most of it out, other than your name. I think he’s dreaming.”
I leaned over and stroked Steel’s brow, beaded with a few drops of sweat from the warmth in the tree. Was he in pain? I wished he’d wake up and give me that lazy easygoing smile I loved. “Is there anything I can do for him?”
“Yeah.” Doc turned and opened one of the small coolers of ice on the crate where he’d put the stethoscope. He took a mug and spooned a few ice chips into it, handing it to me. “Wet his lips and let him have some water.”
I took a small chip of ice and caressed Steel’s lips with it, wetting them and letting the melting drops of water trickle into his mouth. “Are his eyes still yellow?”
Doc nodded and opened them long enough to let me see the whites of Steel’s eyes, still tinted with yellow. He examined the skin on his cheek with his fingers, bending close.
“I don’t understand why his skin is jaundiced. His liver seems fine. His lymph nodes aren’t swollen. There’s no bruising or swelling of the liver, no signs that anything punctured it, and no signs of infection. His liver’s definitely working to filter something out. I just don’t know what that something is.”
So the color of his skin wasn’t just the light. I shut out thoughts of the dream I’d had where his face had been that terrible yellow and then slicked with blood. Once again, nothing in that dream would have helped him.
Doc shook his head again and started pacing back and forth while he talked. “Steel hasn’t come into contact with any unknown drugs, or consumed an unusual amount of alcohol, so it’s not poisoning. His liver wasn’t damaged in the fight. So…” He trailed off and ran a hand through his dark, silver-streaked waves.
“Could it be the acrin?” I asked, taking more ice and placing it to my master’s lips. “I don’t know much about the affects of acrinite gas.”
“No. Acrin doesn’t affect the liver. It does wreak havoc on the body, and Steel was affected worse than the rest of us, but its effects should be gone now.” Doc returned to his patient’s side and took his shoulder. “Come on. Talk to me, pal. What’s going on with you?”
“Well.” Trax closed the book he’d been reading with a snap, catching my attention. “Let’s talk it through again. Tell me everything you can about Steel’s medical history.”
At this, my ears perked up. None of my masters had been overly open about their pasts, except Hawk, who had only done so the other night when he’d told me about his abusive father.
Doc blew out a breath and crossed his arms. “Steel’s family didn’t have any serious medical issues that I know of. His parents both died when Mount Dire blew. He had one sibling, a brother who died with them in a landslide. His brother didn’t have any health issues either.”
“He was a Gladiator, right?” Trax asked. “Isn’t that what Saketh said?”
I nodded without thinking, affirming the only thing Steel had ever told me about his past.
“Yes. For two years,” Doc said. “I treated him for a head injury when he was rescued from the ring and brought back to the Grotto.”
“How long ago was that?” Trax asked.
“Three years ago.”
Trax nodded. “Any lasting effects?”
“Just one, other than a concussion. Vizic and his men pumped all the Gladiators in his fucking fighting ring with steroids to make them stronger.”
“Vizic?” I asked?
“The jackass that ran the fight club. Steel told me the fucker always said Steel was his biggest and best. He won the most fights, which meant he was given more steroids than the rest.”
I sighed, laying my cheek against my master’s forehead, feeling a surge of empathy for him.
“Wait.” Trax stood up slowly, making me sit up. “What kind of steroid was he given?”
“Staminine. It’s supposed to bulk you up, but it’s also got something in it that keeps you awake, keeps the adrenaline going longer. That’s not the problem, here, though. He hasn’t been addicted to Staminine for some time, and it doesn’t affect the liver, either.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I looked between the two of them. The name—Staminine—wasn’t familiar to me. “Forgive me, sirs. I don’t know anything about steroids, but…” When they both looked at me, waiting, I continued. “Do steroids like that interact with other substances? Other drugs or alcohol? Steel was drinking moonshine the night the Dregs attacked.”
“Yes. They do,” Doc admitted. “But the Staminine’s been out of his system for years. But…” He paused. “Hang on.”
He went across the hollow to a bag and rifled through the books inside, taking them out, flipping through pages, closing the books and grabbing others.
“Where’s the book with the list of drugs?” he growled. “Don’t tell me I forgot it.”
A moment later, he picked up the last book from the bag and opened it.
“Aha. Let’s see.” He came back to us, running his finger down one page. “Here. The active ingredient in Stamanine is drexol. There is a list of chemicals drexol interacts with.” He lifted his head and shook it. “But I don’t see anything listed here that Steel would have ingested recently. Even if somehow the drug was still in his system, it shouldn’t be doing this to him.” He closed the book and stroked his chin, his hand on Steel’s shoulder again. “Come on, brain. Think. What’s missing?”
He paced again, muttering to himself while I stroked Steel’s forehead and fed him more ice.
“Stamanine. It can’t be that. What else did he eat or drink?”
I knew the question was rhetorical, but I shook my head anyway. “May I see that book, Doc?” I pointed to the one he’d been looking at.
Trax raised a brow. “You can read, Setora?”
“Er, yes.” I couldn’t help feeling the habitual unease I always felt when anyone brought this up, even though deep down I knew none of the Rebels would cause trouble over it. “There might be something in that book that can help us figure this out,” I added taking the book from Doc.
“Have at it,” Doc said.
I flipped through the pages. The listed drugs were in alphabetical order, so I quickly found the drug he’d mentioned, drexol. The list of substances that interacted badly with it didn’t have anything I recognized, so I wouldn’t have known if Steel had come in contact with one of them anyway.
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“Doc. Hang on.” I looked at him. “Don’t some drugs have more than one name?”
He cocked his head, his eyes asking how I knew this.
I shrugged. “Damien sometimes gave his slaves different drugs to make them more docile. Some of the drugs had more than one name.”
He looked thoughtful. “Drexol does have another name. Um…” He snapped his fingers. “Zeprin.” His eyes went big and he slapped his forehead. “Gah! This is what I get for working with my brain half asleep!”
He whipped around to his bag again and picked up another book, flipping through pages. “That other book is older.” His words came out in an excited rush that made my heart race. “It doesn’t have the newer names for some of the substances in it.” He spun back to us and looked at a page. “Well, fuck me.”
“What is it?” Trax and I asked at once.
“It’s right here. Zeprin.” He turned the book around and showed me the listing. “That’s it. And look at what’s at the top of the list of substances it interacts with.”
I leaned over and read it out loud. “Prenamine? I don’t understand. What is that?”
Doc snapped the book shut and took my shoulders. “Setora, I know what’s wrong with him. The active ingredient in acrinite gas is acrin, from the Dreg mines…”
“Right?”
“But the secondary ingredient is a drug. It’s what causes the dizziness, the nausea. Prenamine. On its own it doesn’t do much else, but when mixed with even the smallest amount of drexol, it causes one primary medical problem. Slow and gradual liver failure.”
Questions chased themselves through my mind, chief among them how in the Maker’s name the Prenamine in the acrinite gas could still affect Steel’s liver if the steroid Steel had been given would have been long out of his system. I asked, but Doc didn’t seem to hear me as he rushed around Steel, stripping the blanket off of him and then hunting up another book.
“We need something to counteract the Prenamine’s effects,” Trax said, helping him.
“Is there anything I can do?” I piped up.
“There is something that might work.” He found a listing in another book. “There is a mushroom that produces a particular type of drug. It reverses the effects of Prenamine and promotes healing. Hawk!”