Chapter 3 - The King's Awakening
On the third morning, the fever struck.
Roman’s temperature spiked to 103.4 degrees at 3:12 a.m., his body thrashing against the linen sheets, his skin burning to the touch. The private surgeon was in Cicero, dealing with two of Dante’s men who had been shot in a warehouse ambush, leaving Ava alone in the medical wing with only Leo standing guard outside the door.
"Get me cold water and clean sheets, Leo!" Ava shouted, her apron already damp with perspiration as she worked to change the intravenous antibiotic bag. "He’s going into septic shock from the peritoneal contamination."
She didn't wait for the guard to return. She grabbed a basin of ice water and a stack of washcloths, soaking them and placing them across Roman’s broad chest, his throat, and the crook of his large elbows. His muscles were rigid, his tattoos—a massive black dragon that coiled around his right shoulder and disappeared down his arm—gleaming under the fluorescent light.
"Let go," Roman muttered through cracked lips, his head shaking from side to side. "Dante... get the girl out... the harbor is clear..."
"The harbor is fine, Roman," Ava said, her voice dropping into that calm, rhythmic cadence she had used with Lily during the long nights in the oncology ward. She pressed a cold cloth against his forehead, her fingers gently sweeping his dark hair away from his temples. "You’re at home. Sophie is safe in her room. You need to fight the fever now. Breathe with me. Slow down."
He gasped, his large hand suddenly snapping out of the sheets like a striking snake. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, his grip so tight Ava felt the small bones in her arm grind together. His eyes flew open—they were a striking, unnatural amber, clear even through the haze of the delirium.
"Who are you?" he growled, his voice a gravelly, terrifying rasp that rattled the oxygen mask hanging around his neck. "Where is Victoria?"
"Victoria is gone," Ava said, refusing to pull away despite the pain in her wrist. She leaned closer, her blue eyes locking onto his amber ones with an intensity that seemed to catch him off guard. "My name is Ava. I’m the nurse who’s keeping you from dying. Now let go of my wrist before you blow your central line."
Roman stared at her, his breathing heavy and ragged. His eyes moved from her face to her gray scrubs, then to the basin of ice water. Slowly, inch by inch, his fingers uncoiled from her flesh, leaving deep red marks behind.
"A nurse," he whispered, his head falling back against the pillow as the exhaustion reclaimed him. "Dante’s getting soft... bringing children into the house..."
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"I’m twenty-four, Mr. Black," Ava said, soaking a fresh cloth and placing it over his burning chest. "And if I hadn't been at the diner when your daughter called, you’d be sitting in a drawer at the county morgue right now. So stay still and let me do my job."
He didn't answer, but his amber eyes stayed open for a long time, watching her move around the bed, his gaze heavy and calculating even as the fever began its slow, reluctant retreat into the dark.
