Page 16 of Dark Shaman: Love Found (The Children Of The Gods #99)

Tim's face heated. He'd been trying very hard not to think about the various tubes attached to his body, and particularly that one. The thought of Hildegard handling that procedure made him acutely uncomfortable.

He would have been fine with any other female nurse doing it, or the doctor, just not Hildegard.

"Can't we wait for Julian?" he asked hopefully.

"The sooner it's out, the more comfortable you'll be," Bridget said on her way out the door. "Hildegard will take care of you. I'll be in my office if you need anything. "

And then she was gone, leaving Tim alone with the hottest nurse on the planet, possibly the universe.

"Can you put me back under while you do it?" he asked, only half-joking. "General anesthesia seems appropriate for this level of mortification."

Hildegard laughed. "You can close your eyes and pretend you're unconscious. How about that?"

"This is not how I imagined you handling that prominent part of my anatomy," he muttered, then immediately wanted to take it back. "Sorry. That was inappropriate."

"Was it?" She moved closer to him, so close that he could feel the heat coming off her body. "You've been flirting shamelessly since you woke up the first time. Why stop now?"

"Because now I'm about to be completely at your mercy in the most undignified way possible?"

Because now he had feelings for her.

Because now he was a new man and could become exactly what she wanted.

"Tim." She sat on the edge of his bed. "There's nothing undignified about receiving medical care. Besides, I've been taking care of you for two weeks. There's nothing I haven't seen." She winked and started removing the many stickers holding tubes attached to his chest.

It made sense that she'd handled his privates before, and the thought should have been reassuring. Instead, it just made him more aware of how vulnerable he'd been, and how completely dependent on her he was now.

"Ready to try standing?" she asked when she was done.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice. You could keep the catheter and spend even more time in this room. Though I suspect that's not the kind of extended stay you had in mind."

"You know me so well." He intended sarcasm but was startled by the truth of it.

She stood and positioned herself beside the bed. "I'm going to help you sit up first. Take it slow. Your body's been horizontal for two weeks, and with the added height, your center of gravity has shifted."

She'd just given him motivation to get up. He couldn't wait to see himself in the mirror.

Bracing himself, Tim let her help him to a sitting position. The world tilted alarmingly, and his stomach did a slow roll that had nothing to do with hunger.

"Breathe," Hildegard instructed, her arm steady around his midsection. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Let your blood pressure adjust."

He did as instructed, focusing on her voice, her presence, the solid warmth of her against his side. Gradually, the spinning sensation eased.

"Better? "

"Yeah." He took another careful breath. "I'm weak as a newborn kitten. How am I supposed to make it to the bathroom when I can barely sit up?"

"That's what I'm here for." She adjusted her position, sliding one arm around his waist. "I'm much stronger than a human female, so you can lean on me without worry.

In fact, I could carry you to the bathroom, but I don't think you would like that.

Besides, Bridget's condition for removing the catheter was that you make it there on your own two feet. We'll take it slow. Ready?"

"No," he said honestly, but he let her help him swing his legs over the side of the bed anyway.

The first thing he realized was that his feet actually reached the floor. Flat. No dangling, no stretching. Just...reached. The second thing he realized was that standing was going to be a lot harder than he'd anticipated.

"Easy," Hildegard murmured as he swayed dangerously. She was indeed strong, practically holding him upright as his legs trembled like a newborn colt's. "I've got you."

"I feel pathetic," he muttered, clutching at her shoulders as the room spun again. "I can't even stand on my own."

"You've been unconscious for two weeks while your body completely rebuilt itself," she reminded him. "Cut yourself some slack."

They made it three steps before his knees buckled. Hildegard caught him easily, practically carrying him the rest of the way to the bathroom. Despite his mortification at being so pathetically weak, he couldn't help but notice how perfectly they fit against each other.

She was a tall woman, and when he'd woken up before, he'd been worried about the time he would have to stand next to her and look up to meet her eyes.

When they made it to the bathroom and he saw his reflection in the mirror, what greeted him wasn't what he'd expected. "What happened to my hair?"

He tried to lift his arm to touch his scalp, but it wouldn't go all the way.

Hildegard smiled at him in the mirror. "It fell off, but don't worry. It will grow back full and rich, just like it was when you were a teenager. You look good."

"I look like a bald skeleton."

His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow, and he had stubble, but his double chin was gone, and what was more important, he was the same height as the beautiful nurse, even though he was barefoot and she was wearing sneakers.

That meant he was a little taller than her now, which was worth every moment of misery he'd gone through.

"Look," she said. "We are the same height."

"I'm barefoot, so I'm a little taller."

"You are," she agreed. "Your feet are bigger too, so you will need new cowboy boots to take me dancing."

Was she joking?

Or was she serious ?

"You want me to take you dancing?"

"Did I say that?" She affected an innocent expression that didn't fool him for a second.

"I must have been thinking out loud about those boots that Andrew told me about, and how you will need new ones because your feet are so big now.

" She waggled her brows. "You know what they say about big feet, right? "

"What?"

"They need big boots."

He chuckled. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

She pouted. "Well, yeah. Because you were expecting me to say that something else got bigger."

He hadn't, and the reminder of that something else she would be handling soon had him go even paler.

"I'd rather talk about dancing," he murmured.

"Good. I like square dancing," she said. "That's why I said cowboy boots. They also have a heel, but since I will be wearing cowgirl boots and they have a heel too, that won't give you any height advantage."

"Square dancing?" He blinked. "Like, do-si-do and swing your partner?"

"Exactly. Though I doubt you know a single move."

"I don't," he admitted. "But I'm a quick learner. Especially when properly motivated."

"And what would motivate you? "

"The chance to hold you in my arms."

She smiled. "You are such a smooth talker. Now, let's get this over with so you can get back to bed. You're shaking."

He was, his muscles trembling with the effort of remaining upright.

She practically carried him into the shower, sat him down on a specialized chair, and helped him out of the hospital gown before turning the water on and handing him the shower head.

Somehow, he managed to hold on to the plastic sprayer while she got busy with the mortifying procedure. It was made bearable only by Hildegard's gentle fingers and a steady stream of distracting chatter.

"Allemande left," she said as she worked. "That's when you turn to the person on your left and?—"

"Are you seriously explaining square dancing moves now?"

"Would you prefer I work in silence?"

"God, no. Keep talking."

"Promenade is when you walk around the square with your partner," she explained, finishing her task with her usual professional efficiency. "All done. See? That wasn't so bad."

"Speak for yourself," he muttered.

"Now to the best part," she said. "I get to wash you."

It was the best part, even if it involved further mortification when she washed his dick and backside .

"I'm always going to remember this," he murmured when she wrapped him in a large towel.

"Fondly, I hope." She wrapped her arm around his middle and propped him up. "Doesn't it feel good to be clean?"

"It feels spectacular."

On the way back to bed, his legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, and even with the adrenaline of embarrassment to fuel him, every step was a monumental effort.

"You did great," Hildegard said as she helped him back into bed. The sheets felt like heaven against his exhausted body. "Better than most, actually." She somehow removed the towel and covered him with a clean sheet at the same time.

"Most people don't have such a gorgeous nurse motivating them," he said, then winced. "Sorry. I should probably stop hitting on you. It most likely goes against the patient-caregiver ethics code."

"Probably," she agreed, pulling the blankets up to his chest. "Good thing I've never been one for following the rules." She smiled. "I'll get you a fresh gown."

His stomach growled again, louder this time.

"Right," she said. "Bridget said you could have broth if you're hungry, and I'll also get you some Jello for being such a good boy and making it to the bathroom and back."

"Can you bring two? I'm starving."

"Chicken and beef?"

"Please. "

"Which flavor of Jello do you like? Apple or orange?"

"Surprise me. I like to live dangerously."

"I'll get both." She headed toward the door. "Try not to get into trouble while I'm gone."

"Where would I go? I can barely lift my arms."

"You're full of surprises." She left him with that.

Tim lay back against the pillows, exhausted from the simple effort of moving a few feet. But underneath the exhaustion was something else. A sense of accomplishment, hope, and anticipation.

He'd survived the first stage of transition. He'd grown four inches. He'd made Hildegard laugh multiple times. And she'd mentioned dancing.

Square dancing, of all things. He tried to picture it—him in a new pair of boots, following steps he didn't know, holding hands with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. It was worth working toward.

When the door opened again and Hildegard returned with a tray, Tim felt like his sunshine had returned.

"Look what I found," she said as she set the tray on the bedside table. "Red Jello. It's my favorite."

"Mine too." He didn't even know what flavor it was.

She pulled up the chair and sat down. "Are you going to eat this yourself, or do you need help? "

He lifted his hand experimentally. It shook like a leaf in the wind. "I might need help."

"Say please."

"Please, Hildie. I need you to spoon-feed me before I waste away."

"Now you're just being dramatic." She picked up the spoon, stirring the broth to cool it. "Open wide."

The broth was the best thing he'd ever tasted, rich and salty and warm. His stomach welcomed it eagerly, demanding more with each spoonful.

"Slow down," Hildegard cautioned. "Your system needs time to adjust."

"I don't care."

She rolled her eyes but kept feeding him until he was done with both cups. "The Jello’s strawberry," she announced.

"I hate strawberries."

"You've just said that the red was your favorite."

"Because it's yours. I don't like strawberries."

"Too bad. It's all we have." She loaded the spoon with the wobbling red substance. "Think of it as character building."

"My character's built enough, thank you very much."

"Apparently not, if you're going to whine about Jello flavors."

He sighed. "I'm not going to say another word about it. "

She looked skeptical. "We'll see."

He ate it all without even making a face, and the truth was that it hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be. The artificial flavoring was only slightly reminiscent of strawberries.

"All done," she announced as he swallowed the last spoonful. "How do you feel?"

"Full," he said, surprised to realize it was true. The gnawing hunger had retreated, leaving him feeling almost human again. "Tired. But good."

"That's what I like to hear." She disposed of the empty containers and returned to his bedside. "You should rest now. And by that, I mean sleep, not the two-week coma variety."

"Will you stay?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Just for a little while?"

She studied him for a long moment, and he expected her to refuse, to cite professional boundaries or other patients—except there were no other patients, were there? He was her only one.

"Of course, I'll stay," she said finally, settling back into the chair. "But you need to sleep instead of staring at me."

"I'll try." He closed his eyes but immediately opened them again. "Hildie?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. "

"Don't mention it."

He wanted to say more, to tell her how her voice had anchored him through the darkness, how the thought of seeing her again had pulled him back to consciousness. But exhaustion was already dragging him down, his body demanding rest to fuel the changes that were still to come.