Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (5 page)

I leaned over him, bracing a hand on the back of his metal hospital bed, the sleeve of my white coat nearly brushing his ear. "You need to relax and take care of yourself."
 

Besides the fact that he was naked and injured, I didn't see what he had to gain by following me out of the tent. I'd already told him as much of the truth as he was going to get.
 

He met me halfway, the sheet pooling at his waist. The air between us thickened.
 

"It's the damndest thing, Doc. I can almost see what happened, only my mind won't let me. It's like I had something right here." He held his wide hands open, palms up, empty. "I had it."
 

Hellfire and brimstone. I fought the urge to glance at Jeffe, who would zip to my side the moment I did.
 

I tucked my hair behind my ears. There had to be an answer that would satisfy him. I tried to look at it intellectually. Forget what happened and focus on normal, everyday fears. No doubt the concept of death was tough for these so-called immortals. "Look, I'll go get Father McArio myself."
 

Galen sat up straighter. "I don't want him. I need
you
."
 

Lord help us. I knew what this soldier wanted even if he didn't. Galen craved that bone-deep connection we'd shared in that operating room. He ached for it like I did.
 

I gave him a cockeyed look. "Of all the immortals in limbo, you had to show up on my table." He grinned at that. "I'll stay," I said, ignoring the glint of victory in his eye.
 

"But lie back down," I added, mindful of his injury. I pulled up a cramped military chair next to his bedside. Galen leaned in close. The scent of the harsh astringent we'd used on him wasn't enough to mask the spicy male scent underneath. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea.
 

His breath felt warm against my cheek. "I feel strange," he said. "Like the fates have tied us together somehow." He shook his head slightly. "I can't tell you why it's there, but it is."
 

I knew all about it.
 

I worked with soldiers every day, men in pain, men who needed me. There was no reason why Galen should be different. But he was. Saving him, touching his soul had affected me in ways I was only beginning to understand.
 

"It's not fate," I said. It was an absurd fluke, one I wanted to forget. A short laugh bubbled out of me. It was all too much. "I don't even read my horoscope."
 

There was no point anyway. By the time any magazines or newspapers got down here from Earth, they were a month old.
 

The look he gave me cut straight through the web I'd tried to spin. "It's supposed to be a healer who ends this war."
 

"True." One with a forbidden power. The gods had probably killed the person already, or chained them inside a volcano where they could be dipped in lava twelve times a day.
 

A moment of silence passed between us.
 

"Do you believe in oracles?" he asked.
 

"No." Not anymore.
 

He seemed surprised at that.
 

I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. "I'm from New Orleans. I've heard a lot of ghost stories."
 

And since I'd gotten here, I'd seen a lot of soldiers. Damn, I was in trouble. I tilted my head, studying Galen of Delphi. A triple scar sliced across his lower belly, as if something had taken a swipe at him. A bandage from his recent wound covered his heart and trailed over a broad shoulder. He had legions of nicks and scratches from countless hurts. I found myself wanting to fix all of it, even though I knew I couldn't.
 

Instead I asked, "How many times have you been injured?"
 

A muscle in his shoulder twitched. "Too many to count."
 

I knew. I'd felt it firsthand. This man was different from the one-note, hotshot soldiers who crossed my table. Galen had the passion of an immortal, and the intensity. Yet he hadn't lost his humanity. There was no mistaking his suffering and his pain. It was comforting and disturbing at the same time.
 

I couldn't imagine what he'd been through. I'd never witnessed a battle up close. But I did see the men as they came off the field, injured and dying.
 

No doubt he wanted to bring an end to it all. It was more than our startling connection. He
wanted
the prophecy to come true. But in my experience, life didn't work that way.
 

I touched him lightly on the arm. His skin was sleek, the muscle underneath hard. "You've suffered." Surely he'd lost friends as well. My chest tightened. "I understand."
 

"No, you don't." The ice in his voice sent a shiver through me. "I wouldn't wish it on you if my life depended on it. You have no idea what's about to happen."
 

It was true. I didn't know what he faced. And he didn't know me. We would leave it at that.
 

I stood. "My time is up."
 

He ground his jaw, watching me as I slid a rust-colored military blanket over his shoulders and made a notation in his chart. Commander Galen would ship out tomorrow to the MASH 8071st—the farthest unit from us. I'd figure out a reason later.
 

"Thanks for talking, Doc," he said, grudgingly taking my hand. His touch rocked me to the core.
 

He inhaled sharply.
 

Our eyes locked and I could see that he felt it, too. I let out a shaky breath.
 

It was the first time we'd touched like this since the incident in the OR, and it hit me with stark clarity just how dangerous this man was.
 

Like an idiot, I didn't let go right away. I let him hold my hand for a long moment. His eyes searched my face, as if he was struggling to remember.
 

I drew back. "I've got to go."
 

"Right," he said under his breath, recovering. "I promise not to scare you if you come see me tomorrow."
 

"Sure. I make rounds at noon."
 

I watched him ease back onto his military recovery bed, aware that I'd gained a much-needed reprieve.
 

Technically, we could talk at noon tomorrow. If I hadn't just scheduled him to ship out at dawn.
 

Chapter Four

The wooden door of the recovery unit banged closed behind me as I breathed in the stuffy night air. The shadows of the camp slung low against the desert. Torches lined the walk, casting pools of light in the darkness.
 

We'd talked the new gods into a generator for the hospital, but otherwise they insisted we go old-school with lanterns and anything else we could set on fire. For progressive gods, they sure needed to get with the twenty-first century.
 

I rubbed a hand over my gritty eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. I wished I could do more for soldiers like Galen. I tried to make a difference. Sometimes, though, it seemed like all we did here was patch them up so somebody else could blow holes in them again.
 

Cripes. I had to let it go. I couldn't change anything about this war or the soldiers who fought it.
 

I blew out a breath. As much as I didn't want to think about it, Galen was different. I'd seen wounded heroes before, but he was the first one who'd tried to charge out of bed after me. I wondered how many times in his life that man had ever given up command. Let himself be vulnerable. Rest, for gods' sake.
 

Talking to Galen to night had felt like running a mental marathon. Shipping him out of here would be like crossing the finish line.
 

So why did I feel so guilty?
 

I started walking. Forget about it. I'd done the right thing—the only sane thing—to do.
 

It was more than I could say for some of the generals in this war.
 

Or the gods. The original war had stemmed from an argument over where to house the capital city. The old gods wanted Atlantis. The new gods wanted El Dorado. Seeing as both cities had been destroyed in the war, you'd think they'd stop fighting.
 

But no. In a grand show of immortal egomania, both sides refused to back down. Now they were locked in a senseless, deadly game of one-upsmanship that no one could possibly win.
 

The PA speaker above my head crackled with static.
 

Attention. Doctors on call. Incoming wounded
.
 

I snapped to attention, almost ashamed to notice that it felt good to be back on familiar ground.
 

My life made sense again. I was Primary Team on call tonight. Adrenaline surged through me as I jogged to the operating tent, my sneakers crunching against the sandy soil.
 

In the narrow prep room just outside the OR, I donned my mask and scrubbed up to the squealing of ambulance brakes and the shouts of the drivers. I could hear more doctors arriving in the yard, prioritizing cases as I finished up.
 

"What do we have?" I asked, sterile hands up as I banged into the front of the OR. Nurse Hume had beaten me out to the floor. Silent and efficient, he helped me fasten my gown and gloves.
 

The immense steel lights above our tables hummed as EMTs and nurses hustled the new arrivals in.
 

"Cannon shot to the lower abdomen," an ambulance worker grunted as he and another EMT carried the patient to my table.
 

I took a look at the chart. "Good." At least it wasn't fatal.
 

The gods hadn't made a poison that could withstand the heat of an artillery shot. Yet.
 

"Get me some more light over here," I ordered.
 

I kept my head down and handled a total of two gut shots and a severed spinal cord. It seemed I was back to my normal caseload, although a broken neck can be a challenge on an immortal.
 

The trick is to get the bones lined up before it heals wrong. Otherwise you have plant your hands on either side of the neck and break it again before you can set it. The weak spot breaks first. Easy peasy, right?
 

Don't think about it.
 

The night passed quickly as I worked on case after case. I was back to handling the routine traumas, and this time I did it without complaint. Galen had given me enough excitement to last the rest of the war.
 

Afterward, I tossed my gloves into the bio waste can and headed for the surgeons' locker room.
 

At least it kept my mind off Galen for the night.
 

We changed in a square room just behind the surgical prep area. Lockers lined up on opposite walls, with a few benches in the middle.
 

I yanked the surgical cap off and unwound my hair from a tight bun. There's nothing like setting it loose after tying it too hard. I bent over at the waist, letting my hair flow as I drew my fingers against my scalp. Sweet freedom.
 

A leg scraped up against my hip. "Do you mind?"
 

I kept my eyes closed, ignoring the scratchy voice of Captain Thaïs. The man was like sandpaper.
 

"I have a bone to pick with you," he said, banging around in his locker.
 

Thaïs was from the immortals-are-superior school of thinking. Frankly, I didn't feel like dealing with it.
 

Brushing my hair out of my eyes with my fingers, I stuffed my operating gown in the bio hazard can.
 

I could practically feel him invading my personal space.
 

"Hey, are you ignoring me?"
 

"No." Yes. I couldn't help it. It was standard protocol at this point. In fact, I was surprised that tips for deflecting, ducking, or otherwise avoiding Captain Thaïs weren't included in the MASH 3063rd handbook. Maybe they were. Come to think of it, I never read the handbooks they issued every year. I just used them to prop up my wobbly bunk.
 

"It figures." He stood inches away from me. The man looked like Mister Clean, minus the earring. And the smile. Thaïs wore a permanent scowl. "You're going to have to write up your nurse for failing to retrieve the proper neck brace for your patient back there."
 

My nurse was timid enough. Writing him up wouldn't help.
 

I nudged my way around him and dialed the combination to my surgical locker. I needed a hairbrush and some duct tape for Thaïs's mouth. "The neck brace was close by. I grabbed it."
 

No big deal.
 

He stiffened. "The nurses need to learn respect."
 

"They're not the only ones," I said. I opened my locker and about fell over. I slammed it closed again.
 

"What?" he demanded, trying to see around me. "What did you just say to me?"
 

"Nothing," I said automatically. My splayed hand blocked the door. My heart was pumping like mad. There was a bronze knife in my cubby. Either it was a sick practical joke or the knife from surgery had made it onto the shelf next to my PowerBars.
 

Somehow I knew this was no joke.
 

Thaïs scowled. "Well, if you ask me, you're acting stranger than usual."
 

No kidding. I'd get the knife later, when there were no witnesses around to see it.
 

I fought to keep my voice even and even managed a halfhearted smirk. "Yeah, well, they shouldn't let half-breeds into the operating room."
 

Thaïs propped a foot up on a bench, tying his rusty red combat boots. "You said it, not me."