Page 27 of Healer (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #4)
“What’s wrong with her?”
Siereita might have played at disliking Agnes, but the hands that touched my mate were surprisingly gentle and filled with genuine concern.
Her long lavender fingers helped me carefully peel away the tunic and slacks Agnes wore, revealing a slender frame contorted with pain.
Other than faint bruises left by rough handling from the Aljani, there was only one other injury…
the injection site. As I traced my fingers over the mark, I could feel the heat and anger building within me.
I’d killed them too easily.
The Aljani—the one whose flesh I’d peeled from his face inch by inch as he screamed and begged, finally admitted their ultimate goal. The bastards had succeeded, but with Agnes, it caused catastrophic side effects.
Agnes’ limbs spasmed and jerked uncontrollably.
Even the slightest touch to her skin elicited a deep, guttural groan of pain that she couldn’t suppress—even unconscious.
After dispatching all the Ulkommanian and Aljani involved in her abduction, I’d carried Agnes back to Siereita’s.
Each step I took with her in my arms caused her to writhe in agony.
Every time she moaned in pain, my heart shattered into rough, bleeding fragments.
“The bastards wanted to see if they could reverse the effects of the Garoot Healer on humans,” I said through gritted teeth. The only thing that kept me from screaming in frustration was the memory of the Ulkommanian’s face, smug pride fading as I snapped his neck.
“It appears they succeeded,” Siereita murmured, stroking her fingers through Agnes’ silver strands. “The question is why? Most Ulkommanian research on humans deals with making them better slaves.”
My eyes followed the foray of Siereita’s fingers, taking in the lines etched around Anges’ eyes and mouth.
I knew this was how she looked on Earth…
before the Trogvyk took her. Despite the visible signs of age and illness, an undeniable beauty radiated from within her, the most stunning female I’d ever laid my eyes upon.
My mate.
“Are all humans like this when they are old?” Siereita asked, a tone of sadness in her voice.
“No.” I ran a finger down Agnes’ cheek, my heart shredding further as she grimaced in pain.
“Agnes is sick. Very sick. I can heal her once we get aboard the Bardaga, but until then.
... My gaze flitted over to the gray box lying atop the dresser.
“If I can get the Medi-unit working, I might be able to relieve her pain.”
“I have some tea that might help.” The Ntavian suggested.
“Get it, please.” I would try anything to afford Agnes some relief.
Siereita’s hand landed softly on my shoulder, only lingering momentarily before her hurried footsteps faded into the surrounding stillness.
On the bed, Agnes writhed, her breath coming in ragged, panted gasps, each one a desperate grasp for air.
Her chest heaved, and her skin glistened with beads of sweat, hinting at the intense effort she exerted just to breathe.
Beneath the dampness, her skin felt clammy and cool to the touch, a stark contrast to her cheeks, which flushed a feverish red.
The acrid bitterness of fear and the sharp scent of pain overshadowed her usual floral fragrance.
My chest tightened, worry becoming a physical ailment—a pain that felt like an invisible blade stabbing the organ again and again.
I dipped a soft cloth into the basin of cold water that Siereita thoughtfully placed on the bedside table.
Carefully, worried the lightest contact might cause pain, I touched the chilled fabric to Agnes’ feverish skin.
She released a moan from between slightly parted lips, a sound less like a cry of pain and more like a sigh of relief.
Moving as soothingly as possible, I trailed the cool cloth over her delicate skin, eliciting small twitches and spasms from her muscles.
I meticulously wiped every inch of her body with a feather touch, taking breaks only to rinse and re-dampen the cloth.
“Sorry.”
The word barely escaped her lips. A faint sound carried on a fragile breath.
I lifted my gaze from where the cloth hovered over her legs to meet her piercing stare.
Her gray eyes appeared sharp and focused, although tinged with pain and fear.
But beyond that, in the depths of those eyes, I saw Agnes—my Aggie—shining with brilliance and courage despite her current state.
“Sorry,” she repeated, her face scrunched as though it took an exhausting effort to speak.
“Why are you sorry, my Aggie?” I rinsed the cloth, trailing it over her forehead.
Her hand twitched and shook, lifting toward her face as tears gathered behind her lashes.
“Burden.”
Her greatest fear.
A fear so powerful it made her question the point of life itself. I hadn’t understood her fear earlier, but now it lay in my soul… a heavy stone I could neither move nor ignore. Alongside it another fear just as powerful, but for a completely different reason, twisted and groaned.
What if I could not heal her?
No.
I would not let myself consider that outcome.
I couldn’t.
Once we rendezvoused with the Bardaga, the greatest technology in existence would be at my disposal. Not to mention assistance from my apprentice Tarkas and the young Garoot my War Chief and his mate rescued.
I would heal my Aggie.
Until then, I would not leave her side.
“Burden.”
The word came again, smothered in regret.
“No.” I slipped to my knees beside the bed, meeting her gaze. How could I convey to Agnes that she was my greatest privilege and source of happiness. No matter what our future held, she would never, ever be a burden to me.
She had carved out a permanent home in the depths of my soul, filling it with warmth and light.
My mate, my heart, my everything. Yet despite the powerful feelings bombarding my heart, I couldn’t bring myself to speak the words aloud.
To claim her as mine… to issue that prayer would garner the attention of the goddess Valana and initiate the valakana, a ritual I knew Agnes could not possibly survive in her current state.
There were other words, though. Words that seemed dull and inadequate compared to the overwhelming emotions bubbling in my heart for her.
Words that felt like mere placeholders, unable to fully capture the depth of my feelings.
Words Agnes would understand, and so they would have to suffice for now.
I stroked my fingertips along her cheek... a feather’s touch.
“You are not a burden. It is my greatest honor to care for you.” I took a deep breath, pouring every ounce of my heart and soul into the words foreign to my tongue. “I love you, Aggie.”
Fat teardrops fell from her lashes, and her eyes cut to where my hand stroked through her silvery hair. Agnes grimaced, but this time, the expression held disgust, not pain.
“Old.”
I lowered my head, ever so gently brushing my lips across hers.
“Whether your hair is brown or gray, you are the most beautiful female I’d ever known. My fingertips wiped away her tears, stopping to stroke along the lines at the corner of her eyes. “I like the lines. They make you look smart.”
Agnes grimaced again, but I detected the faintest uplift to the corner of her lips this time.
“Asshole.” she quipped, fire dancing in her gray eyes.
“There’s my Aggie.”
Her gaze met mine and held. She drew a deep breath, taking her time... pushing the words from her lips slowly, with great effort.
“I love you too.”
Gingerly, barely touching, I leaned my forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. The acridness had abated somewhat, revealing her normal floral scent, although somewhat muted.
“My Aggie.”
We lingered, my hand stroking through her hair, our breaths mingling, creating a sense of intimacy and connection until Siereita returned with the tea. The concoction’s bitterness perfumed the air, but I detected the scent of analgesic properties in the mix.
Agnes groaned in pain as I shifted her into a sitting position, but a firm nod of her head bade me continue.
I slipped onto the bed and pulled her to rest against my chest since she could not sit up on her own.
I waited for the tea to cool before helping Agnes take a sip.
She had difficulty swallowing, and I trailed my finger down the front of her throat with each sip to assist. I kept each touch gentle and light, yet it still elicited a grimace or moan.
My wonderful mate proved stubborn and persisted until finishing over half the tea.
Siereita took the empty cup and promised to return with something more nourishing, scolding that it wouldn’t do anyone any good if I made myself sick.
After she left the room, I slipped from behind Agnes, carefully trying to disturb her fragile form as little as possible.
Tears glistened in her eyes as I eased her head against the pillows, the weight of her agony evident in every movement.
“I know you are in pain, my love,” I soothed her and promised. “The tea should help.”
“It does,” she insisted, her voice sounding slightly stronger. The gray eyes met mine again, shimmering with unshed wetness.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I knelt by the bed, stroking the tears away, but not fast enough to stop the growing wetness on her cheeks.
She didn’t answer, only gave a jerky shake of her head while the gray eyes flashed with something that might have been shame.
“Tell me, my Aggie.”
She glanced away, unable to meet my gaze, and her lower lip trembled with the admission.
“I have to pee.”