Stepping away a little, he sucked in a cleansing breath and grinned. “Have a good rest, Rook, and make sure Lucien wakes soon. I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter Twelve

I WOKE TO SOMEONE TAPPING MY CHEEK.

My eyes flew open, clear and focused, locking onto the older doctor who risked his life to rouse me. Straining over Whisper, his body was as far away from the grumbling panther as he could get, his fingertips barely grazing me.

Licking my lips, I went to sit upright, only to find every muscle had seized from fainting in wet clothes. A whimper escaped as I rallied my strength and pushed upright, shrugging out of the soggy rucksack still clinging to my shoulders.

Whisper took my sounds of pain as a battle cry. Launching himself to his paws, he snarled at the doctor.

The man backed up, almost tripping in his haste.

“It’s okay.” I held up my hand to stop him. “He won’t hurt you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you.” Eyeing Whisper, the doctor cleared his throat and stood next to the desk that was now covered in bloody towels but...empty.

Leaping to my feet, I wobbled on the spot. “Where is he? Is he okay? Where did they take him?!”

The doctor’s face softened. “He’s fine.” Arching his chin at the bed crowned in soft light from the two bedside lights shaped like pinecones, he sniffed. “Well, he’s alive. I think fine is probably an exaggeration.”

The blond doctor came out of the bathroom, drying his hands with meticulous attention. His short hair looked damp with sweat, his white smock smeared with blood that wasn’t his.

His eyes flicked nervously to the panther pressed tight against my legs, vibrating with lethal intent. Both men seemed as weary and as wired as I felt but they were suddenly the most incredible people I’d ever met in my life.

I wanted to throw my arms around them and hug them in gratitude.

“So...he’s not in danger anymore?” I stepped toward the bed, drawn to Lucien who lay unmoving beneath the covers. The lavender quilt had been drawn to his waist, leaving his bare chest on display, bound tightly with fresh white gauze. That awful metal disc peeked out, inhuman and sadistic.

“He’s stable and that’s all we can do in a situation like this,” the blond doctor said, tossing the hand towel onto the littered desk. Leaning his backside against it, he crossed his arms and focused on me. “We’ve done our part as physicians. We didn’t fight when we were accosted at the hospital—we were commanded to come and we did. We didn’t refuse to do our duty in saving someone’s life, despite everything we’ve seen. However...this is the part where you give us answers.”

“Easy, easy.” The older doctor scowled. “She’s just woken up after being unconscious.” Eyeing me, he added, “You were out cold for almost three hours. Are you feeling okay?”

“Wait. Three hours?”

“Who are you?” the blond doctor cut in again. “Who’s he? What the hell is going on?”

Whisper’s growl increased in volume, his tail lashing left and right. I stepped forward, placing a calming hand on the panther’s prickly scruff. “My name is Rook Snowdon and he’s Lucien Ashfall. As for what’s going on...it’s hard to explain. He’s been imprisoned for twenty years, and I was taken almost seven weeks ago.”

“You mean...” The older doctor lost his standoffishness, his shoulders sagging. “You were stolen? You’re not here of your own free will?”

I just nodded as my eyes returned to Lucien. “We need to leave. Before it’s too late.”

“We’re free to go once we’ve finished,” the older doctor said. “A guard is stationed outside the door and popped in to check how surgery went. But you...” He shrugged. “He said you two had to wait until arrangements could be made. What does that mean? What arrangements? What exactly is going on?”

I glanced at Lucien again. The need to go to his side was a visceral yearning. I needed to touch him—to feel his unnatural heat and know that he was still alive.

Another bash of vertigo had me staggering sideways.

The older doctor came bravely toward me. Gritting his teeth, he ignored Whisper’s warning growl and cupped my elbow. “Come, let’s get you sitting down.”

I let him guide me to the linen couch they’d pushed aside to make way for their temporary operating theatre. Sitting down with me, he ran his hand from my elbow to my wrist.

I tried to pull away but he pressed two fingers against the paper-thin skin on the underside of my wrist and stared at the floor.

“What are you—?”

“Hush.” He closed his eyes. “I’m checking your pulse.”

Awkward silence fell as Whisper decided that despite his dislike of these men, I wasn’t in any immediate danger, and padded toward Lucien. Leaping onto the bed, the giant cat stepped nimbly over his unconscious master and lay down like a shadow.

“Your heartbeat is a little irregular,” the doctor finally said, letting me go. “Are you okay? Any chest pain? Shortness of breath? Have you passed out like that before?” He glanced at his colleague. “Grab the blood pressure cuff.”

The blond doctor kept a wary eye on Whisper and pushed off the desk. Rummaging in one of the bags, he found what he was looking for and headed toward us.

He passed it over, watching me closely.

“I’m not sick.” I shook my head, my fingers straying—just like they always did—to my necklace whenever I spoke of my highly inconvenient condition. “I get vasovagal syncope, thanks to something that happened in the past.”

“Ah.” The doctor nodded, wrapping the pressure cuff around my arm and pumping it. “Have you found a treatment that works?”

“Not yet.” I let my necklace go, placing my hand in my lap. “But once I’ve passed out, I wake refreshed. I’m fine now.”

“You still have a headache though.” He studied me closely. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Rubbing my temple with my free hand, I admitted, “It can linger or build again. Depending on if I’m still dealing with the stress that knocked me out in the first place.”

Releasing the cuff, he read the numbers. “You’re running a little low. Not alarmingly so, but enough to explain the fainting.”

I just nodded.

“I have some electrolytes in my bag. I’ll give you some.”

“Thank you.” I sat taller and pushed the conversation away from me. “So...” Glancing at Lucien, I shivered—partly from my wet dress and partly from fear of him surviving the night. “He’ll be okay now, right? He’s no longer in danger?”

“Depends on what exactly is going on,” the blond doctor cut in. “What’s that implant in his chest? What are the vascular access ports for? Why does that other guy have power of attorney over his living situation and what the hell is with the cat?!”

“Calm down, Harry,” the older doctor muttered. “Look at the poor thing. Does she seem like she has those answers? Besides.” Patting my hand, he added kindly, “Even if she does know...that sort of information can get someone into a lot of trouble.” Standing, he started packing everything away. “We’ve done what was asked of us. We’ve kept him alive. And in answer to your question—” He turned to look at me. “Yes, he should be okay. As long as he rests.”

“But he coughed up so much blood...”

“He most likely had pulmonary contusions which would explain the bloody sputum.” The doctor smiled gently. “It’s nothing too serious, and his oxygen saturation is stable. We’ve sewn up the wound, which wasn’t particularly deep or complicated. His leg is merely bruised, not broken, and the cuts on his neck have been disinfected. He’s not at any risk. However, someone needs to monitor him while he recovers from substantial blood loss. If we were in a hospital, I would’ve ordered a blood transfusion but...here we are.”

Standing, I shifted toward Lucien. Whisper’s glowing golden eyes watched the doctors’ every move, his claws unsheathing on the covers as if he wanted to rake them into pieces. “When he wakes, will he be able to run?” I asked quietly.