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Grabbing her shoulder, Sascha stares imploringly into her dark eyes. “Do everything you can to improve it, then.” The magic infusion is dangerous, but Sascha doesn’t care. If it hobbles him, that’ll be an acceptable casualty. He can’t let go without trying. Even if it doesn’t work, Petra would have to tie Sascha to the bed to keep him away. No risk is too great if Avery’s safety is on the line.

“Your father will kill me,” Petra says quietly.

Sascha works his jaw, then casts his eyes to the floor. Samuel is so angry, who knows what degree of that he would take out on Petra for enabling Sascha and letting him run into danger? He can’t put someone else he cares about at risk; that wouldn’t be fair. Swallowing hard, Sascha releases Petra’s shoulder and says, “I understand. Just help me get up, and I’ll… figure something out myself. Just say I ran when you went to the bathroom or something. Maybe I can shift?—”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Without pausing, Petra gets asolid grip on Sascha and pulls him to his feet. She sets him on the side of the bed, holding him steady until he’s seated and not at risk of swooning onto the floor again. Then she pats his shoulder once and leaves the room.

Alone and confused, Sascha waits, but he’s not sure for what. His head is spinning, which isn’t a good sign. Shifting would likely debilitate him for much longer than whatever time he needs to feel better now, which means there’ll be no getting to Avery without a magic infusion. Petra is right that his stores are too low—his stomach feels hollow as if he hasn’t eaten, though she has kept him well-fed and properly supplemented.

Petra moving aetheric magic into Sascha’s body to restore his depleted energy could either improve his stability, or trigger a vertigo episode and make it much worse. Bedrest and incremental treatments would be a much safer option long-term. Except that isn’t an option.

Sascha feels helpless and angry—not for the first, or even the hundredth time. This disability stole his entire birthright, but now, unsatisfied, it’s threatening to keep him from the man he loves. The man he desperately needs to protect.

As if merely considering his feelings for Avery flipped a switch, Sascha feels something sharp in his chest. Not painful, just insistent. Waiting, wailing. He nearly falls again just from the intensity, how it demands he move toward him at any cost. Sascha fights the irrational urge, knowing he’ll only collapse again if he tries to stand, and he’s focusing so hard on resisting he doesn’t notice Petra’s return until she’s standing in front of him, giving him an odd look.

“What’s wrong?” they both ask at the same time.

Petra nudges his shoulder in an ‘I have authority here’ kind of way, so Sascha answers, “I feel this weird… tugging. I don’t know how to explain it.” He looks toward the window, frowning.

Pressing her lips together, Petra hums, but doesn’tcomment. She puts her hands on either side of his neck. “Focus,” she says. “The situation you’re in is exceptionally dangerous. You need to promise that if your condition does not improve, you won’t keep fighting me on proper recovery protocol.”

Sascha blinks. “Are you?—”

“Yes; I’m going to do the infusion.”

Exhaustion renders the tug of his smile fragile, but immense relief is surging in his chest even if he’s struggling to show it. “I can’t thank you enough for?—”

“Don’t. Just lie back. We don’t have much time.”

Sascha obeys, closing his eyes as Petra carefully unties the side of his medical gown, pulling it open just enough to expose Sascha’s chest.

“You remember what this will feel like?”

Due to Petra’s reluctance to perform the risky procedure, Sascha has only received a handful of magic infusions in his life. Still, he nods. If nothing else, the discomfort—major understatement—will distract him from the weird lump that’s migrated into his throat, a pulsing anxiety that doesn’t feel like his own.

Petra rubs a conductor in a thin layer on his chest, the cool, oily substance not exactly pleasant. She doesn’t say anything to prepare him before pressing the fingers of both hands over his heart, gathering all the force into one spot until Sascha can feel their pulses align. When the pressure comes just shy of pain, Petra inhales slowly.

Then the actual pain begins.

For the average shifter, a magic infusion is only meant to feel warm and expansive. Petra described the sensation as having a full bladder, which was funny to Sascha at the time. It stopped being funny when the spinning sickness warped what was supposed to happen, that warmth ratcheting up until it was a fire racing through Sascha’s inner channels. He feels overstuffed, not just full. Like hemight vomit up everything Petra’s putting into him, a scorching trail through his system. But he never does, which is almost worse because it leaves the burning to fester in his stomach.

Sascha moans and writhes, distantly aware of Petra murmuring comforting words that do nothing to soothe him. It’ll be worth it, he tells himself despite the feverish haze. All he has to do is get through this, and he’ll be able to find Avery. That alone makes it more bearable.

When the pressure finally eases, Sascha gags. His body is soaked with sweat, limbs shaking.

“Stay with me,” Petra says, wiping a cool cloth over Sascha’s brow before using it to clean the conductor off his skin. “You’re fine; you did good. I’ll get you water. Don’t move. I swear I’ll make that feel like a walk in the park if you budge an inch.”

Sacha couldn’t budge a damn fraction of that, even if he wanted to, which, at this point, he does not.

The next intervals of awareness are marked by glasses of water and regular checks of his temperature and blood pressure. Sascha doesn’t know how much time passes before he wakes up enough to ask. Petra isn’t even in the room, but the light from the window suggests early evening. It’s been hours.

Sascha stirs, because this time he actuallydoeshave a full bladder, and does his best to call Petra with a sore throat.

Despite the summons being quiet and scratchy, she hurries in. “More water?”

“The opposite,” Sascha croaks.

With a soft laugh, Petra eases Sascha out of bed and helps him to the bathroom. He assures her he can handle the next part, and is fortunate his limbs have unclenched enough that he doesn’t have any accidents. By the time Sascha emerges, hands and face damp, he feels much steadier on his feet.