Page 13 of Dark Shaman: Love Found (The Children Of The Gods #99)

HILDEGARD

T he warrior pose had always been Hildegard's favorite, though performing it in a hospital room next to an unconscious patient probably wasn't what the yoga influencers she was following had envisioned.

She held the position, arms stretched wide, front knee bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle, breathing steadily through her nose.

The monitors beeped their familiar rhythm.

Tim's heartbeat was steady at sixty-two beats per minute, and his oxygen saturation was holding at ninety-eight percent.

For sixteen days, she'd been practically living in this room, watching Tim's body remake itself.

The transformation was nothing short of miraculous, even by the standards set by all the transitioning Dormants before him.

He'd grown four inches, and every ounce of excess fat had been used to fuel the change.

His face had emerged from its former softness like a sculpture revealed by chipping away superfluous stone.

He was too thin, skeletal almost, and what hair he'd had before had fallen out in clumps. He would be so pissed when he woke up and realized that instead of gaining a new head of hair, he'd lost the little he'd had.

Hildegard shifted into triangle pose, bending sideways with one hand reaching toward the floor, the other stretching toward the ceiling.

The movement stretched muscles that had grown stiff from too many hours in the uncomfortable chair, reading aloud from increasingly ridiculous fiction because she'd exhausted all the books she could find about sarcastic anti-heroes.

Surprisingly, it wasn't a wildly popular genre.

It should be, even if people like her and Tim represented a tiny percentage of the population. It was an undiscovered niche that hadn't been saturated yet, and if she'd had fun reading those stories, others would too.

Perhaps she should start writing.

"I can call my book The Cantankerous Sleeping Beauty ," she said, maintaining the pose while addressing Tim's unconscious form.

"Or sixteen days of metamorphosis. You're now officially taller than you were in those platform boots Andrew told me about.

You are my height, which should make you happy.

With those boots, you can be taller than me and feel all manly.

The problem is that your feet grew as well, so you will need bigger boots. "

As always, there was no response, and Hildegard hadn't expected any.

She'd developed a habit of talking to him throughout her activities.

It made the long hours feel less boring, and some studies suggested that comatose patients benefited from hearing and processing speech.

Still, regardless of whether Tim was actually aware of her one-sided conversations, it helped her maintain some semblance of normalcy in the abnormal situation.

Although transitioning Dormants were no longer uncommon in the clan, Tim was taking longer than most. Not the longest, though. Not yet. And she hoped he wouldn't break any records because she wanted him to wake up already.

"Today, Gertrude offered again to take over," she continued, shifting to the other side for balance. "Sweet of her, but we both know I'd just end up hovering nearby and checking on you every five minutes. I don't know how you did it, but you've gotten under my skin."

The two times she'd actually left the clinic—once to grab clothes from her house, and the other when Gertrude had practically forced her out to get some fresh air—she'd been anxious the entire time. What if Tim woke while she was gone? What if something went wrong and she wasn't there to catch it?

Hildegard knew it wasn't rational. Gertrude was perfectly competent, and Bridget was seconds away in the office building. But rationality had little to do with the protective instinct she'd developed for Tim .

It was just so sad that he didn't have anyone to care for him and was all alone in the clinic.

Other Dormants had a mate sleeping on a cot next to their hospital bed, and some even had extended family visiting.

Tim was all alone, with Andrew and Roni popping in occasionally out of guilt and obligation rather than any genuine feelings of friendship.

To them, he was just a coworker whom neither liked.

Moving into downward dog, Hildegard planted her palms firmly on the floor, pushing her hips up and back.

The position gave her an inverted view of Tim, and she studied his face from this unusual angle.

Even unconscious, even gaunt from the transformation, something was compelling about his features now.

He wasn't traditionally handsome, he would never be that, but he was interesting. Compelling.

"Bridget stopped by yesterday," she said, holding the pose. "She's impressed with your progress. Says she's never seen anyone gain so much height so quickly without showing signs of systemic stress. You're apparently setting all kinds of records."

She didn't mention Bridget's other observation—that such dramatic changes usually indicated proximity to the source, genetically speaking. Tim, the perpetual outsider who'd turned being difficult into an art form, might be one of the closest descendants of the gods they'd found.

Who knew? Maybe he was one of Toven's descendants, just lacking the good looks. Not entirely, though .

He was good-looking in his own special way, and when his hair grew back, he might even become borderline handsome.

Not that she cared all that much about his physical attributes. It was his sharp mind and even sharper tongue that appealed to her.

Hildegard transitioned into the child's pose, kneeling with her arms stretched forward, forehead touching the floor. It was meant to be a resting position, but facing away from Tim made her uncomfortable. She held it for thirty seconds before sitting up.

That's when she saw it.

Tim's index finger twitched.

It wasn't the random muscle spasms that had occurred throughout his transformation. This was different. Deliberate, almost as if he were trying to signal her.

Hildegard was on her feet and next to him in an instant, scanning the monitors.

Heart rate up to sixty-eight. Respiratory rate increasing. Brain activity…

"Holy shit," she breathed.

The EEG showed increased activity across all frequencies. Not quite normal waking patterns, but far more than the deep unconsciousness of the past two weeks. He was swimming up from wherever his consciousness had been hiding while his body rebuilt itself .

"Tim?" She kept her voice calm despite the excitement thrumming through her. "Can you hear me? It's Hildegard. Your favorite nurse, remember? The hottie you can't wait to impress with your sharp remarks?"

Another finger twitch. His middle finger this time, which made her laugh.

"Are you trying to flip me off while unconscious? That's Tim to a double 'T'."

She checked his pupils, lifting each eyelid carefully. Still dilated, but they contracted slightly at the penlight's beam. Another good sign. He was responding to stimuli.

"You've been out for over two weeks." She sat on her chair and took his hand. His fingers were longer now, elegant in a way they hadn't been before. "Your body's been doing some serious renovation. You're going to be shocked when you see yourself."

His fingers curled slightly around hers. Definitely voluntary movement.

"That's it," she encouraged. "Take your time. There's no rush."

Yes, there was, for her, but he needed to do this at his own pace.

The monitors showed another spike in brain activity.

REM sleep, maybe? Or the precursor to actual consciousness?

She'd seen other Dormants wake from their transitions, but each one was different.

Some came up slowly, like swimmers rising from deep water.

Others snapped awake as if they'd only been napping.

"Did you enjoy the stories I've been reading to you?" she asked. "I finished that entire series about Marcus the Magnificent Bastard. In book three, he totally should have let the villain win. Would have been a better ending."

She was babbling, but the sound of her voice seemed to be helping. His breathing had changed, becoming more natural.

"Andrew has been by every day, and even Roni came to visit. The two of you should have been great friends. The kid shares your sarcastic sense of humor."

More finger movement. His whole hand flexed this time, a real grip rather than just twitches. The monitors were going crazy now, displaying patterns she'd been waiting over two weeks to see.

"Your vitals are looking good," she reported, falling back on medical facts when emotion threatened to overwhelm her. "Heart rate steady, blood pressure normal, oxygen levels perfect. Your body's ready for you to come back."

She reached for the call button, then hesitated.

According to protocol, she should notify the attending physician immediately when a patient showed signs of emerging from transition coma, but a part of her, a selfish, unprofessional part, wanted these moments to herself.

She'd kept vigil for sixteen days. Didn't she deserve to be the first person that Tim saw when he opened his eyes ?

"I should probably call Bridget," she said, not moving to do so. "She'll want to run tests, make sure everything's functioning properly. But between you and me, I think we can wait a bit before the medical circus begins."

Tim's head moved slightly, the first non-reflexive movement above his neck. His lips parted as if he were trying to speak, though no sound emerged. The effort seemed to exhaust him, and his features relaxed back into stillness.

"Easy," Hildegard murmured. "Your vocal cords haven't been used in two weeks. Everything's going to feel strange at first."

Strange was an understatement. When he did wake fully, he'd be dealing with a body that was four inches taller, probably thirty pounds lighter, and proportioned completely differently than what his brain remembered. The disorientation would be monumental.