Page 23 of Dark Shaman: Love Found (The Children Of The Gods #99)

TIM

T im shifted against the pillows, noting how different everything felt in his new body. Even something as simple as sitting up required recalibration. His limbs were longer, his center of gravity different, and he was pathetically weak.

Today he was supposed to start his physical training, and he was looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.

The looking forward part had to do with having his arm around Hildegard as she helped him walk, and the dreading part was about sweating like a pig from the effort it took just to move one foot in front of the other and grossing her out.

Did pigs even sweat?

He had no idea, but he was pretty sure that he would.

If that happened, he needed to think of a way to make it up to her .

The sketchbook Thomas had brought earlier lay open on his lap, pencil moving across the page in quick, confident strokes.

His hands might shake when he tried to lift a glass of water, but apparently, muscle memory for drawing transcended physical transformation.

The emerging portrait captured the subtle arch of an eyebrow, the determined set of a jaw, the way certain blue eyes could shift from professional assessment to wicked humor in a heartbeat.

A knock at the door made him scramble to shove the sketchbook under his pillow. He wasn't ready for Hildegard to see this yet. It was supposed to be a surprise. A thank you of sorts that hopefully she would like and that would make her forget all the unpleasant moments he'd subjected her to.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened, but instead of Hildegard, Roni walked in. The kid—though he wasn't really a kid anymore, was he?—carried a bundle of clothes and wore his trademark smirk.

"I brought you some fashion choices," he announced, dumping the clothes on the foot of Tim's bed. "Hildegard said that you needed something to wear, and since you have turned into a twig, she thought my things would fit you."

That she hadn't asked to borrow Andrew's clothes was kind of insulting. She'd asked Roni, who still wore the same size he'd worn when working in his glass cage in the government building. He was seventeen back then.

"That's nice of you," Tim said. "Where's my enterprising nurse? "

"Said something about us wanting to reminisce about old times." Roni flopped into the visitor's chair. "How does it feel to be immortal?"

"Like I was hit by a tank, run over by a bulldozer, and thrown in the back of a dump truck." Tim leaned over and picked up one of the t-shirts Roni had brought, holding it up. "This thing fits you?"

"Yeah. Andrew said we're about the same size now." Roni's grin widened. "Weird, right? Before, I could fit in your belly. Now we could share a wardrobe."

"Hey, I wasn't that fat. I was pleasantly plump."

Roni arched a brow. "Pleasant by whose standards?"

"Mine. The only ones that count." Tim examined the shirt more closely. It was black like most everything Roni owned, with some incomprehensible tech joke printed on the front. "I haven't worn anything this small since I was ten."

"Once you are out of here, you can eat your way to your previous girth. Immortality will give you one hell of a metabolism, but knowing you, you will just stuff your mouth until you are back to popping buttons on your too-tight shirts."

Tim chuckled. "I see you haven't changed a bit. You are still an asshole."

Roni dipped his head. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." Tim put the shirt down.

"It's wild that I had no idea what happened to you after you disappeared from the hospital.

The rumors around the office were that the Russians abducted you to work for them.

Others said that you worked for the drug cartels, and all that time you were right here under our noses. "

"You've got it the other way around, my friend. You were all under my nose. I knew exactly what every one of you was doing."

Tim frowned. "How?"

"I left a backdoor into the system."

"And you are telling me that, why?"

Roni made a face. "You are one of us now. You can't tell anyone without exposing what you've become. Besides, are you planning on going back to work?"

"I don't know yet." Tim pulled the blanket up to his chest. "What am I going to do if not that?"

"Whatever you want. You are an artist."

Tim let out a breath. "My talent is very specific. It requires people to tell me what they see. I don't create art, I recreate memories, and working for the government brings me plenty of potential clients. I'm in high demand, and people seek me out."

Roni cast him a pitying look. "You can't go back. How are you going to explain growing over four inches and losing a third of your body weight?"

"Easy." Tim shrugged. "I'll use the same excuse Andrew did. A Swiss spa. If he could grow two inches thanks to spine manipulation, I can grow four, and the weight loss could be just as easily explained."

"Right." Roni looked skeptical. "You are practically unrecognizable. You look ten years younger."

"Wonders never cease." Tim snorted. "Who would have thought that I would hear compliments from you?"

"I know, right?" Roni shifted in the chair. "The people here are sickeningly nice and polite, and it's rubbing off on me."

"Speaking of nice, how's life here treating you?"

Roni folded his arms over his chest. "I still work endless hours, and I'm still the king of my domain. I have a sweet setup in the clan's lab. You should see my equipment. Full haptic interface, quantum processing arrays, the works."

"Sounds like heaven for a tech nerd. What about your throne chair? Did you get another one?"

Roni grinned. "I've gotten an even better one. I can work for sixteen hours straight without getting a crick in my neck."

"Sixteen hours?" Tim frowned. "What's the point of escaping government servitude if you work even longer hours?"

"What can I say? I love what I do, and I'm appreciated."

"What about your girlfriend? Did she dump you already?"

Roni's face transformed. "Sylvia is awesome, and no, she didn't dump me. She loves me, and when she misses me, she comes down to the lab and helps me, but the people down there don't like it when she comes in. "

"Why not?"

Roni grimaced. "Her special talent is frying electronics. Not something you want around sensitive equipment."

"I bet." Tim nodded. "Immortals are supposed to have paranormal talents. What's yours?"

Roni cast him an incredulous look. "Isn't that obvious? I'm a super hacker. Besides, not all of them have paranormal talents. Does Hildegard have one?"

Tim hadn't asked. Did she have a special talent?

"She's unnaturally hot."

Roni chuckled. "That's not a talent."

"I disagree."

"Whatever, man." Roni shook his head. "It's so strange to hear your voice coming out of that skinny face. You're like one of those before-and-after photos, except someone fast-forwarded through the middle part."

"I'd love to see this lab of yours," Tim said, changing the subject before they could delve too deeply into his transformation. Things were still too new, too strange to examine closely. "Once I can walk more than ten feet without collapsing, that is."

"Deal. But only if you promise not to draw caricatures of anyone."

"Why not? "

"Because you are a mean bastard, and I happen to like the people I work with. I don't want you to traumatize them."

"Fine. But only if you promise to accompany me to the gym once I'm out of here. I don't want to be the only weakling struggling to lift baby weights."

"Can't promise that. My work schedule is insane. But I'll make an effort. Maybe. If my schedule allows."

"Your schedule is whatever you make it now," Tim pointed out.

"Not really. Work needs to be done, and most of the time I'm the only one who can do it." Roni stood, stretching. "I should go. Hildegard said she'd be back to torture you with physical therapy, and I don't want to get in the way of that."

After Roni departed, the door opened again almost immediately, and Hildegard walked in carrying resistance bands.

"Ready to work?" she asked, her tone suggesting that 'no' wasn't an acceptable answer.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice. You can lie there and atrophy or you can get your ass up and start rebuilding." She set the bands aside and moved to his bed. "But first, clothes. Can't have you doing exercises in a hospital gown and flashing me with your scrawny ass."

Tim held up the shirt. "Roni brought me a few of his things. I haven't worn this size since elementary school. "

"Let's see what we have here." She picked up a pair of sweatpants, examining them. "These will work. Do you need help getting dressed?"

The question was asked professionally, but Tim couldn't resist. "I always want your hands on me."

She rolled her eyes. "Behave or I'll make the exercises extra difficult."

"You say that like it's a deterrent."

"Just get dressed, Tim."

"Help me?"

She'd seen everything there was to see, had washed him when he couldn't wash himself, and had dealt with every humiliating aspect of his human biology while he was unconscious.

There was something liberating about having no secrets from her. No pretense, no carefully maintained walls. She'd seen him at his absolute worst and still seemed to like him.

The clothes fit, which was its own kind of surreal. Roni's t-shirt hung loose on Tim's skeletal frame, but the length was right. The sweatpants needed the drawstring pulled tight, but they didn't look like he'd stolen them from a child.

"Decent," he announced.

Hildegard gave him an appraising look. "Not bad. Very grunge chic. Here." She handed him what looked like hospital slippers on steroids. "Booties. They'll grip the floor better than socks. "

"Fashion forward."

"Function over form. You can worry about looking pretty later."

He slipped them on, surprised at how even that simple action winded him. "So, what's the plan? Marathon? Triathlon? Or are we starting with something easy like climbing Mount Everest?"

"We're starting with walking to the door without holding on to furniture."

"That's it?"

"Trust me, that'll be plenty for now." She positioned herself beside him. "Ready?"

Tim swung his legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to let the head spin pass. Standing was easier than it had been yesterday—his muscles were remembering their job, even if they protested every movement.

"Good," Hildegard encouraged. "Now, one step at a time."

They made it to the door with only minimal support, Tim concentrating on each movement.

Left foot, right foot, don't think about how the ground seems farther away than it used to, don't think about how my arms feel too long and my legs too unsteady.

"Excellent. Now the hallway."

The clinic's corridor stretched before them, blessedly short .

"You're doing better than expected after such a prolonged coma," Hildegard said as they progressed slowly down the hall. "Not to mention the dramatic height change and its associated balance issues."

"I'm motivated," Tim said. "I have a hot nurse to impress."

"Flatterer. Take a left here."

Hildegard held the door open to a section of the clinic Tim hadn't seen before.

"The belly of the beast," Hildegard explained. "Most patients never see this area. But it has a long corridor that's perfect for physical therapy."

There was no one there, and their footsteps echoed off the walls, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere.

"How long have you been a nurse?" Tim asked, partly to distract himself from the burn in his muscles, and partly because he wanted to know everything there was to know about Hildegard.

"About twenty-five years."

"What did you do before?"

"Many things. I was even a bartender at some point." At his surprised look, she laughed. "Immortals don't usually stick to one thing forever. One of the advantages of immortality is the ability to change occupations once you get sick of doing something for too long."

"I just can't picture you slinging drinks. "

"I was excellent at it. It requires similar skills to nursing, like reading people, managing difficult personalities, and cleaning up messes."

"Is that what I am? A difficult personality?"

"You're definitely something." She turned them around. "But I've had much worse patients."

"Now I'm offended. I pride myself on being the worst."

"You'll have to try harder, then. I once had a Guardian who I had to tie to a bed so he wouldn't walk out of the operating room."

"Kinky."

"Medical restraints." She smiled. "Can you do another round?"

Tim nodded. His legs were shaking now, his muscles protesting the unprecedented activity. But Hildegard was beside him, close enough that he could smell her perfume and feel the warmth radiating from her body. That was motivation enough.

This deep in the clinic, with no one around, he was acutely aware of how alone they were.

He could kiss her.

The thought came unbidden, sending his heart rate spiking in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion. If he just turned his head and closed that small distance between them, he could finally do what he'd been fantasizing about since she'd first called him Sleeping Beauty .

"You okay?" Hildegard asked, apparently noticing his distraction. "Need a break?"

"No, I'm good," he lied, forcing his feet to keep moving.

They reached the door, and as Hildegard put in the code to open it, Tim leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath without being too obvious about it. His whole body was trembling with exhaustion, but there was also exhilaration.

"You did great," Hildegard said, sounding proud of him as if he had done something worth mentioning. "Tomorrow, we'll go a little farther."

"Looking forward to it," he said, and meant it.

They made the return journey slowly, Tim's energy flagging with each step. By the time they reached his room, he was leaning heavily on Hildegard, her arm solid around his waist.

"Straight to bed," she ordered, helping him sit on the edge. "You pushed hard today."

"Worth it," he managed between breaths.

"Do you want to undress?"

He didn't have the energy. "No, I'm fine. Maybe later."

She busied herself checking his vitals, fingers gentle on his wrist as she counted his pulse. This close, he could see the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks.

"Hildegard? "

"Hmm?" She didn't look up from his wrist.

He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would convey how he felt about her, but words tangled in his throat. The guy with the sharp tongue was suddenly tongue-tied.

"You smell nice," he said.

She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his, and for a moment, something passed between them—understanding maybe or recognition.

"Thank you." She helped him settle back against the pillows.