Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Shit, to think he could do so much with magic. Half his skills as a surgeon would be obsolete, really, but for the benefit of the patient, it was a trade-off he was more than willing to make.
Although, dammit, he’d meant to ask about colds and had gotten so distracted he’d forgotten to. Well, he’d text Sora his question in a second. He wanted to check on Gregori first.
Too excited to sit still, he popped up and headed for the bedroom. He and Sora had been talking for nearly three hours, but Gregori still hadn’t come out. Could be he was just sleeping his cold off still, but Salem had a million things to talk about, and it was time for him to get up. For more meds, if nothing else.
Pushing the door open, he singsonged, “Rise and—oh shit.”
Gregori lay in a fetal position on the bed, making a barely audible low groaning sound, more felt than heard. He looked awful, and every doctor instinct Salem had kicked into overdrive in a flat second.
Diving for him, Salem knelt on the bed, first taking a rough temp with his hand. Gregori was cold and clammy to the touch, which wasn’t great.
“Gregori. Gregori, can you answer me?”
Those dark brown eyes fluttered open before closing.
“Hurts,” Gregori whimpered. “Can’t…can’t feel it.”
“Can’t feel…what? Can’t feel your dragon form, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yeah.”
Salem could not find a word accurate enough to encapsulate his terror. There was nothing, for all his training, he could do to help Gregori right then. He didn’t know enough about dragons to begin to even guess.
He was in well over his head and the nearest help he could call was in Brazil. DAMMIT.
His phone dinged in his pocket. Salem jerked it free, not caring who was trying to reach him. He’d call Sam, get Sora back on the line—oh. It was Sora who’d texted. So he had his number, thank god.
Punching Call, he put it on speaker and laid it on the pillow, grabbing the extra quilt on the end of the bed to tuck around Gregori, as he didn’t like at all how cold he felt.
“Hi,” Sora answered, sounding surprised. “Did you already have another question—”
“Sora, Gregori’s crashing,” he interrupted. “He’s in a fetal position, cold and clammy to the touch, and in pain. He said he can’t feel his dragon.”
“Shimatta,” Sora breathed. “That’s really not good. Give me your address, we’ll fly up immediately.”
“Thank you, and is there anything I can do in the meantime?”
“Get him on the roof, if you can. Outside. He’ll do better outside, and you might be able to coax him into shifting. If he can shift, all the better.”
“Got it.” Salem had no idea how he’d heft Gregori’s ass up to the roof, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to manage it somehow. “Do you have any idea why he’s like this?”
“Only a guess. We worried, honestly, about him being up there with you. He’s so very far removed from his clan, and a dragon has never done what he’s done. His dragon could very well be in withdrawal right now.”
So this was Salem’s fault. For being stubborn, for refusing to leave, knowing Gregori would never separate from him. For a full second, he hated himself.
“Text me his condition on the hour. It’ll be impossible to call while we’re in flight, but I want updates. We’ll leave as soon as I can throw a saddle on somebody. I’ll bring Dimitri and Sam up with me.”
“Please and thank you.”
He hung up, then looked helplessly at Gregori. As fast as they would fly up here, it was still a good eight hour wait. Maybe ten. He wasn’t sure how fast a dragon could fly. It had taken him fifteen hours to get back, but that had involved a layover, so Salem wasn’t sure how to calculate it.
Gregori made a defeated sound. “Sorry.”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me for this,” Salem choked out. Everything in him burned with regret, with shame, because Gregori had pushed himself this hard so he could stay with Salem. It should never have come down to this. “I’ll be very mad at you later for not answering me honestly and telling me something was wrong, but right now, we’re getting you on the roof. Uh. Can you stand?”
Gregori gave a slow shake of the head. “Hurts.”
“Everything hurts, huh. All right, what’s your password for your phone?”
“Same as…same as day we met.”
This fucking romantic. What the hell was he supposed to do with him?
Salem snatched up Gregori’s phone from the bedside table, only to find a picture of himself as the background on the home screen. Seriously, this romantic. Shaking it off, he pulled up the contacts and typed in fire. Sure enough, the number for the firefighters Gregori volunteered with was right in the contacts.