Page 34

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Sascha

“No. Absolutely not.”

Sascha rakes his hands down his face, growling in frustration. “It’s been days. I feel fine.”

Petra turns from the sink to wave a tongue depressor at him. “You are not a reliable witness, first of all. Second of all, three days is not enough for you to have fully recovered from the past week.”

“How am I not a reliable witness? It’s my body.”

“I’m your doctor.” Petra throws away the tongue depressor, the sheen of magic dissipating from her hands. She flips on the faucet while aggressively pumping soap into her palm. “I will decide when you’re healthy enough to leave the clinic.”

Spending three days unable to contact Avery has been torturous.

Sascha has been trapped in the high-risk room in Petra’s apartment, above the regular clinic.

The medical space was more or less made for him, and it doesn’t always feel like a prison, but right now, it very much does—especially with the cruel addition of his dad taking away his phone, cutting off forbidden contact with ‘ that creature . ’

In order to get Sascha to rest, Petra has been using every technique she knows short of horse tranquilizers, and even then, Sascha has woken up numerous times, gasping from nightmares he can’t describe.

Every night, Petra gives him herbs to numb his mind, weaving calming magic with her fingers stroking through his hair.

This morning, Sascha woke up feeling stable at last, but Petra has thus far refused to be convinced of his wellness.

“I’m going crazy, Petra. I’m an adult, and?—”

She snorts. “Oh, are you? You’re not acting like one.”

“I— Please, just listen to me. I need to know if Avery’s okay.” For a second, Sascha thinks Petra stills, but a blink later she looks unaffected, calmly washing her hands.

“He texted me that he’s fine,” she says, turning off the water and reaching for a paper towel.

“When was that?” Petra meticulously dries her hands and doesn’t respond, so Sascha raises his voice. “When did Avery last text you?”

“I’ll check my phone in a moment, but regardless of what I find, my instructions will not change.”

Sascha grits his teeth, watching her flip absently through the same stack of papers she was perusing before she insisted on checking his vitals for the third time today. “I know there’s something bad you aren’t telling me. You’re stalling because you know if I find out, I’ll try to leave.”

“If that’s what you want to believe,” Petra responds, sounding distant and disinterested.

“Will you stop fucking bullshitting me?”

Without warning, Petra slams the dossier onto the counter beside the sink, voice rising to the loudest he’s ever heard from her. “Sascha Nikolai Madison, you are not getting out of that bed!”

Stunned into silence, Sascha frowns at his hands where they rest in his lap.

He needs to keep his wits, even if his brain is full of misfiring distress signals.

Though his heart is pounding frantically, he feigns calm and says, “The last time someone full-named me, it was Avery begging me to fuck him.”

Petra makes a scandalized sound, which brings Sascha great satisfaction. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

“You were the one who told me I had to fuck him in the first place.”

“I didn’t— Goddamn it, Sascha. You’re staying here. That’s final.”

“Petra!”

“ No. Last time you went out, you crashed my car.”

“You can’t hold that against me when you gave me the car in the first place,” he protests.

Petra pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not holding it against you, and your dad has already assured me he’s going to replace it.

That’s not the problem. My issue is that you’ve burned yourself out so severely I thought I was going to have to do a magic infusion, and in case you forgot, those are extremely dangerous for you. ”

Most shifters can be healed and rejuvenated by aetheric energy movement, but the spinning sickness leaves Sascha uniquely vulnerable to burn-out.

It’s not that Sascha doesn’t understand Petra’s concern.

His health is important to his pack, and the few freedoms Sascha is allowed right now will be affected if he is continuously reckless.

Taking care of oneself is sensible, even in the abstract.

But Sascha’s own safety can’t be his priority. Not now.

“When was the last time Avery texted you, Petra? Please.”

Just when Sascha is certain she won’t answer, Petra sighs heavily. “I have not heard from Avery since yesterday evening.”

A jolt of fear electrifies the length of Sascha’s spine, making his head spin and his lungs ache. Before his phone got damaged, Avery was a frequent texter and prompt about updates. It’s not like him to go silent for so long .

Heart pounding, Sascha throws back the blanket draped over his lap and leaps out of the medical bed. The moment his feet touch the floor his knees buckle, weakness radiating through his bones. He lands in a panicked heap, only barely aware of Petra’s gasp over his own hyperventilation.

By the time Petra makes it to his side, Sascha has gotten his arms around his knees, folding them against his chest so he can bury his face against them. Breath scrapes in and out of him, none of it seeming enough.

“Maybe something happened to his phone,” Petra says instead of asking if Sascha is okay, which he appreciates. Because no, Sascha is not okay. He won’t be until he sees Avery, knows he’s safe.

Sascha shakes as if the air conditioning in Petra’s apartment is Arctic wind. “I need to find him. Don’t tell me I can’t.”

Petra makes a helpless sound. “I promised to take care of you. I can’t let you leave in this condition.”

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 a solid 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’t comment. 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.