With Everything I Am (36 page)

While Sonia, who’d thrown off the covers, looked to be fighting the battle of her life in the bed, Callum went through the rigmarole of phoning the on-call doctor who was not, regrettably, Sonia’s physician. This man took too long (in other words, more than ten seconds) to promise to contact Sonia’s doctor and they would be in touch urgently. The only positive thing that came from this was the fact that the on-call doctor seemed familiar with the lethal importance of Sonia’s illness and didn’t sound like he was fucking around.

Unable to touch her even to soothe her, Callum went to the bathroom and threw a towel in the tub, drenching it with cold water and not bothering to ring it out. He carried it to the bedroom and carefully threw it over her back.

“Yes,” she whimpered her relief, falling down to child’s pose under the large, wet towel, her arms stretched out in front of her.

Her phone rang and Callum snatched it from the receiver.

“Dr. Mortenson?” he clipped into the mouthpiece.

“You’re Sonia Arlington’s husband?” a man replied.

“Yes,” Callum ground out. “Is this Dr. Mortenson?”

“Yes, son. My colleague said she’s having a turn?”

A turn? He called this a fucking
turn?

“She’s boiling to the touch and says she’s coming out of her skin.”

“Did she teach you how to administer an injection?”

“Yes,” Callum bit off curtly.

“Then give her an injection.”

“I did that five hours ago.”

“Do it again,” he replied calmly. “I’ll stay on the line.”

Callum wasted no time. When he returned to their bedroom, she’d thrown off the towel and was on all fours again, keening low as she battled the pain.

“It’s okay, baby doll, just hold tight for me,” he cooed and sunk the needle into the flesh of her buttock as swiftly as he could.

She cried out, arching her back, her neck, her hair flying over her shoulders. Then she shifted, rounding her back, her head falling between her arms, her moan going low, distinct, guttural and absolutely terrifying to hear.

He snatched the phone to his ear. Frustrated beyond anything he’d ever experienced at his impotence in the face of his mate’s agony, Callum clipped, “She’s worse.”

“I’m counting down, son, stay with me, one minute, thirty-five seconds,” and then he counted down in Callum’s ear, every five seconds, as Sonia dropped to the bed and started writhing.

“Doctor –” Callum’s voice was vibrating with fury.

“You can probably touch her now,” the doctor said quietly then went on. “Forty-five seconds…”

Callum dropped the phone and cautiously approached his mate who had stopped twisting. Reaching out slowly, he touched her skin which was clammy with sweat but no longer scalding to the touch.

He slid his fingers across her skin to touch her with his full hand and she didn’t cry out so he carefully gathered her into his arms and sat with her in the bed, his back to the headboard, Sonia cradled against him.

“I’m okay,” she whispered into his neck and at once his hand snaked out and snatched the phone.

“I’ll want to know why this happened,” Callum said into the phone.

“She’s better now?” Dr. Mortenson queried in response.

“I said, I’ll want to know why this happened,” Callum repeated.

Dr. Mortenson sighed. “Bodies are magnificent and terrible things, son. It could be Sonia’s built up a tolerance to the drug; she’s been using it for years. But there are changes in life and in your body all the time. She may be releasing more, or less, hormones. She may have suffered a shock that caused a physical response in her system which triggered a change in the efficacy of the drug. Even if she’s living under significantly higher amounts of stress and anxiety or depression, say the loss of a loved one, the body has physical manifestations to all of those and all of them will interact with the medication. I’ll want to do blood work and she’ll need two daily injections, morning and evening, until I’m happy with what I see.”

Fucking hell, now he had to give her
two
of those bloody injections?

And worse, Sonia had to
take
them?

“When can she come in for the tests?” he demanded to know.

“Anytime you want. Go to St. Vincent’s Hospital, give them my name. I’ll send the orders. They’ll draw up the blood. Is she peaceful now?”

Callum looked down at Sonia who had wrapped her arm around his body, her other hand was cocked between them resting on his chest, her cheek on her hand. Her eyes, though, were on him. They were troubled but not fevered and delirious.

“She’s peaceful.”

“Smart girl, teaching you to give her injection. Well done, son. We’ll meet soon, I hope. Merry Christmas.”

Then the bastard hung up on him.

Callum used all of his control not to throw the phone across the room. Instead he touched the button for off and slid it into its receiver.

Then he slid his fingers through Sonia’s hair, took in a deep breath to regain his composure and asked, “You okay, my little one?”

“Um… outside of being scared out of my mind?” she queried dryly. “Yes.”

He had no response to that so didn’t make one.

“What did Dr. Mortenson say?” she enquired.

“He wants tests,” Callum replied, deciding to share the happy news that she needed two injections per day later.

She nodded.

“He also said it was a smart that you taught me how to give an injection,” he teased with mock arrogance, wishing to lift the mood and soothe away the troubled look in his queen’s eyes. Giving her a wary squeeze of his arms, he went on, “It’s lucky you were so keen to do that, baby doll.”

“Shut up, Cal,” she muttered in mock annoyance, not able to hide her relief.

But he froze.

She’d called him Cal and she’d done it more than once.

Something about that made him want to howl with victory as if he’d won an epic battle.

Instead, he gave her another careful squeeze.

Her head tilted down and she snuggled closer.

Then she shared, “All my life, that’s been my greatest fear. All my life, I feared that would happen. When I didn’t take the injection as a teen, I had to crawl to the bathroom. It seemed to take forever, it probably did. I had to stop and breathe, over and over, to get control of my limbs again. It hurt so much.”

Callum so disliked her words he wished she’d stop talking but he kept this wish to himself.

“I’d always been so scared.” Her voice hitched as if she was fighting tears and he wanted to tip her face to his and comfort her but he let her go, sensing she needed to get this out but sensing more it was something he was going to want to hear.

He wasn’t wrong.

“You want to know what I feared the most?” she whispered brokenly.

“What, baby doll?” he asked quietly.

“That it would happen when I was alone,” she turned, lifted up and tucked her face into his neck while her other arm curled around him and she pressed to him tight. “I’m so happy I wasn’t alone.” She tilted her head back until her lips were at his jaw and she whispered, “You knew what to do. Thank you, my handsome wolf, for taking care of me.”

He felt like howling his victory at that moment too.

Again, he didn’t.

Instead, he tipped his head down and he kissed her, softly and tenderly, tasting the tears on her lips.

He broke the kiss but didn’t break the connection of their lips when he muttered, “Always, my little one.”

She closed her eyes tight and nodded.

He picked her up and walked to her guest bedroom, throwing back the covers, placing her in bed, joining her there, turning her to his body and pulling the covers over them.

“Um…” she muttered. “What are you doing?”

“The bed’s drenched, the towel –”

“Oh,” she mumbled before he finished.

“Sleep, baby doll, and when you wake up, it’ll be Christmas.”

She nodded, her head sliding on his chest.

He waited until her breath evened out which took some time and he wasn’t surprised. She’d been through an ordeal. Waking from sleep in the throes of it, she wouldn’t be eager to go back regardless of the fact that she drifted off quickly every night since the claiming.

For Callum, who only needed five hours of sleep a night normally, he sacrificed a few to lay alert for another episode.

And as he did so, he allowed his mind to process the fact that she called him “Cal”.

And he replayed, again and again, her voice whispering, “my handsome wolf”.

And when he finally allowed himself to join Sonia in sleep, regardless of their recent drama, he did it with a smile.

* * * * *

Callum’s fingers brushed Sonia’s hair away from her neck.

Then he leaned to her ear and said, “Wake up, honey. It’s Christmas.”

Her eyes fluttered but stayed closed. Then he watched her sniff and they opened.

She came up on an arm, her fingers clutching the covers to her breasts and stared at the coffee mug in his hand.

She looked at him sitting beside her on the bed and breathed, her voice husky with sleep and surprise, “You made coffee?

He grinned at her and replied, “I was a bachelor for many years, Sonia. I know how to make coffee,” and he handed her the mug.

Her eyes grew wide but she sat up in bed, tucking the covers around to conceal her body, and took it.

He put his hands in the bed on either side of her hips and lowered his face so it was close to hers. “Now, my queen, say ‘Merry Christmas’ to your king.”

She blinked then whispered, “Merry Christmas.”

He touched his lips to hers and whispered back, “Merry Christmas.”

Then he pulled away, leaned down and picked up the lavishly wrapped box he’d brought into the room.

Her eyes didn’t go wide this time. They nearly popped out of her head.

“What’s that?” Sonia uttered on a choked cry.

He set it in her lap and reached for his own mug which he’d placed on the nightstand, saying, “Telling you, I think, would break about fifteen Christmas commandments.”

She watched him sip from his mug like she’d never seen him before.

When she seemed unwilling to move, he prompted, “Open it.”

She hesitated a moment, as if she’d never had a present bestowed on her and had no idea what to do, then set aside her mug and opened the box.

She pulled out a wisp of dove gray satin, shook it out along the bed and stared at it.

It was a full-length nightgown with thin straps that criss-crossed at the back and a full skirt that settled on the bed luxuriously.

“It’s… it’s –” she stammered.

Callum cut her off, informing her, “Every Christmas morning, when we were pups, Mac and Regan left pillowcases stuffed full at the end of our beds.” Her mesmerized gaze slowly swung to him as he kept talking. “We were allowed to tear into them immediately. In them was candy, toys, all sorts, but always a new pair of pajamas that we had to put on before going downstairs to unwrap the presents under the tree.” He gently pulled the soft fabric from her fingers and ordered, “Lift your arms, baby doll.”

Almost dreamily, she lifted her arms and he slid the nightgown over her head then put his hands under her arms and lifted her free of the bed, placing her on her feet in front of him. The nightgown glided down her body to swirl elegantly to her ankles.

A perfect fit.

His mother could definitely shop.

He allowed his hands to slide across the cool material that covered her warm, soft body then he bent down and picked up another box wrapped in the same extravagant manner, bigger than the first.

He gave it to her murmuring, “Now this.”

She gazed at him looking baffled a moment before she took the box, placed it on the bed and tore off the wrapping. She pulled it open and gasped. Her fingers fisted in the material in the box and she lifted the winter white cashmere robe to her face. She was holding it in both hands against her nose and mouth so, when she turned to him, all he could see was the amazement shining in her green eyes.

He couldn’t stop his chuckle as he pulled her into his arms, looked down at her and teased, “Honey, are you going to eat it or wear it?”

She pulled the robe from her mouth and muttered worshipfully, “Wear it. Definitely wear it.”

Still chuckling at the tone of her voice, he touched his forehead to hers and released her so she could don her robe.

Clutching the lapels across her chest, she raised bright eyes to his, “I… this is so… I… I don’t know what to say, Callum.”

He felt disappointment nag at him when she used his full name. She’d called him Cal last night.

He beat the feeling back, hoping, in time, it would come again.

He curled a hand at her neck, using his thumb to stroke the underside of her jaw and prompted, “Do you like them?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

He grinned and finished, “That’s all you need to say.”

She moved forward the step that separated them and slid her arms around him, her cheek at his chest, her arms going tight.

His hand at her jaw shifted into her hair and held her face against him.

“Now this is definitely better than a nod,” he told her, his voice gruff.

She emitted a short, happy giggle, keeping his body tight in her arms and tipped back her head to look at him. “I’m being very rude. I should say thank you.”

“I don’t know. This doesn’t
feel
rude,” he teased and she giggled quietly again.

“Can I give you your gifts now?” she asked and his eyebrows went up.

“Do you think that’s all you’re going to get?”

She blinked again, adorably, and then breathed, “There’s more?”

Callum used her hair to tip her head back, bent his own and against her lips he murmured, “Yes, baby doll, there’s more.”

Then he gave her a Good Morning Merry Christmas kiss.

She was blinking again when he lifted his lips form hers.

He was chuckling again when he let her go, reached beyond her to nab her coffee cup and he handed it to her. Then he grabbed her hand and guided her into their bedroom.

Callum had been up awhile. Long enough not only to make coffee but also to deal with the mess the soggy towel made of their bed and collect the presents his mother had stashed in the garage yesterday while they were sledding and place them under the tree.