Bab 3: 3. Queen Of Rain.
Once again, I found myself in this unsettling state where I desperately sought solace from my emotions. I yearned to remain in a state of numbness, shielded from the painful reality of my losses. I had concealed my secrets for far too long, allowing others to make assumptions about my life. I simply did not have the strength to confront the world.
However, an inexplicable force, stronger than ever before, began to tug at my consciousness, coaxing me out of my protective shell. My feline side, attuned to this energy, resisted this awakening. She craved rest, longing for me to take charge and shield her from the fear and pain that accompanied this transformation.
In the depths of my mind, I pondered the irony that the supposedly formidable and resilient creature I was harbored the most timid feline side. Uncertain whether it was solely my feline side or some other facet of my being, it desperately sought safety, desiring uninterrupted slumber and freedom from the burden of decision-making.
Refusing to yield, I fought against this relentless pull, determined to remain in the comforting embrace of sleep.
Damon grunted softly to himself as he noticed the spell taking hold properly, ensuring that it would not slip this time. He wanted to talk to whoever this was and ask questions. He was still very curious about someone this strong and resilient, even when going feral. It would take some serious trauma, and maybe he could help.
After he had once again prepared the examination table and gathered his supplies, he saw several packets of sterile dressings, his bump, centrifuge, a few antibiotic creams, and other necessary items. He also had good, potent drugs. This would be a pretty straightforward procedure. He would start by managing her with a spell or energy, moving her onto the table, and then administering drugs as he cleaned and cut her wounds, maybe even stitching them. She would be pretty out of it, and the spell would work. It wouldn't be long before she would become human again.
He went to the next cage, took the sheet off, and crouched down. The feline looked at him with her surprisingly human eyes. Of course, they were yellow, but there was something about them that made them very human-like.
He spoke softly to the shifter, "I know you don't want to take your human form, but I am in charge here. If you offer me a decent explanation as to why you were feral, killing humans and cows, I might let you stay in your feline form. However, I will have you relocated to a farm, my brother's farm, in Europe."
The cat hissed at him. Although they weren't technically his brothers, he almost saw them as such, and it had been officially marked that they were identical brothers. The cat seemed upset.
Damon said, "Fine, I will now transfer you onto that table. I am a wizard, an energy creature too, so you are helpless and not able to do anything. I will take care of you, clean your wounds, give you a decent painkiller, and cannulate you again."
He wrapped the shifter in energy, making her unable to move. However, she somehow sucked his energy into herself. It was not unheard of, but she impressed Damon, almost. He used a spell, not so easy, and the cat growled, but she couldn't move at all. Damon carried her onto the table, took the cannula, and put it in place. He gave her a decent dose of a potent painkiller, making her sigh and go limp. Damon smirked to himself. He had not lied; it took away the pain, as well as her consciousness. He administered a strong sedative from his teeth. Now he had time to really focus on her.
First, he took several tubes of blood, their metallic clinking echoing in the sterile room, and carefully placed them into the humming machines. As they whirred to life, he observed the blinking lights and listened to the soft beeps, entrusting the machines to do their work.
Next, he guided her into the fast scanner, the cold surface sending a shiver down her spine. The machine buzzed and whirred as it scanned her body, searching for any internal damage and assessing its severity. He knew the harsh truth - this fragile creature was still remarkably weak, and it would take nothing short of a miracle for her to recover.
After the scan, he meticulously began cleaning her wound, the scent of antiseptic filling the air. With each careful stroke, he shaved away the fur surrounding the injury and removed the necrotic tissue, his eyes alternating between the monitor displaying her pulse and the task at hand. The steady drip of painkillers into her vein offered some relief, easing her discomfort.
The wound care felt like an eternity, but he persisted. Finally, he managed to clean the long, unsightly gash on her side. Though stitching it up would have to wait, he packed the wound and applied sterile dressings. A powerful antibiotic within his medical supplies promised to aid in her recovery. Taking a momentary break, he brewed a pot of strong coffee, savoring the rich aroma as it filled the room. This was one of the most challenging cases that he had had in a long, long time.
His eyes flickered in the bookcase, those volumes, and then there was one photo album. He knew she would be in those photos but he did not want to remember her, her face, he looked in the living room, his chair, the chair was still there even though he could not smell her anymore her scent in there but they had found it in Halifax, ruins of that castle, the spell still keeping it intact. He had put more magic into it.
With the steaming mug in hand, one he had pilfered from her, he returned to the computer to review the scan results. He focused on his work, not on the past, even though it felt sometimes overwhelmingly lonely. The images revealed no critical damage to her internal organs, yet there were abnormalities - multiple spleens, and an enlarged thymus. Her intestines were in pretty good condition, meaning she had not been without food long time, there was no atrophy. These findings only added to the complexity of her condition, already ravaged by a severe infection. Frustrated, he grunted, setting aside the scan results as he took a sip of his coffee. It was still piping hot. Its bitterness gave him a jolt to focus.
Turning his attention to the blood test results, he noted their erratic nature. Surprisingly, the DNA analysis showed her age to be over 1000 years younger than him. The machine responsible for the analysis had once again failed, leaving her identity a mystery. He dismissed this issue, focusing instead on the glaring fact that she had been deprived of a decent amount of nourishment for an extended period. Keeping her fed intravenously was essential, but despite the lack of significant findings in the scan, he remained cautiously pessimistic. He knew all too well that hope had a minor role in his life.
Next on his list was her injured hind leg, which would likely require a brace or splint. There would be again possible infection sites, pain, and discomfort. To prevent her from disturbing the dressings and aggravating the injury, he knew he would need to keep her heavily sedated.
He returned to her side, finding her stable. After meticulously washing his hands, he slipped surgical gloves and carefully draped the sterile fabric around her hind leg. The crisp scent of antiseptic filled the air as he focused on his work. Time seemed to stretch as he diligently monitored the screen, ensuring she remained sedated. He had to keep her fully under, painless state and he kept his eye on her heart rate, if it rose, he gave a little more drug in her cannula.
The task at hand was intricate and time-consuming. It took him four long hours to clean her leg, carefully re-break the bone, and align it with precision. he used screws to keep bones in place. He did not use his magic yet, to heal it as it might backfire. He skillfully applied a splint and meticulously packed the wound, layering it with antibiotics. Finally, he wrapped the entire leg snugly in protective dressings, shielding it from further infection.
His spell continued to work its magic, unraveling the human side of this mysterious creature and sparking his curiosity. Once he had safely returned her to the cage and administered additional pain relief, rendering her immobilized, he made his way to the kitchen. Preparing a hearty pot of meat stew, the aroma filled the room as he worked. Just as he was finishing up, the door swung open, and Freddie entered, exuding a cheerful mood.
Damon shared the news of the shifter's survival, surprising Freddie, who had also doubted her chances. Damon provided feeding instructions to Freddie, cautioning him to keep his distance from the cage, ensuring the shifter's comfort. Satisfied with the saline drip and her tranquil state, Damon turned his attention to the two carcasses awaiting autopsy in his freezer.
He had already shared details about the first one to numbers six and two, ensuring that if anyone remained from his pride, they would know his fate. No longer identifying himself as number four, Damon embraced his solitary lifestyle and refrained from pondering existential questions. Equipped with his gear, he made his way to the autopsy room.
As he unwrapped the lion shifter's body, it took him aback to see the familiar face of Curran, now pale and lifeless. Despite Curran's descent into madness, Damon had once considered him a friend within their pack. Examining Curran's expressionless face, Damon couldn't help but reflect on the fact that Curran had achieved what Damon had always yearned for—a pride of his own. Damon realized he had more to offer his comrades, hoping to discover if anyone from the pack was missing Curran.
He shook his head. It was a damn shame as curran had been always so level-headed, so damn trustworthy, but then again, even the strongest can break under too much duress. He knew it all too well. He remembered when he had shared his body with number one, his desperation as Mariella had told him what happened to Her. what they had done to her. Sometimes memory of Her drove him to drink, in deep desperation and loneliness, sometimes he was bitter to other salvatores as they had moved on, they had someone else. Even if it might be just plaything, and not a long time but still, for him, there was never anyone else.
As he continued with the autopsy, he noticed the pungent odor of formaldehyde in the air permeating the sterile room. The sight of the damaged kidneys and liver confirmed his suspicion that the victim had been poisoned, their organs in a state of decay. There was no denying that death was imminent, causing the victim's mind to unravel into madness. Thoughts of Curran occasionally invaded his consciousness, but he forcefully pushed them aside, focusing on the present moment instead. Time may heal wounds, but his soul remained shattered.
Leaving the autopsy suite, he removed most of his protective gear, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle upon him. Suddenly, a memory flooded his mind. He recalled how she had passionately recounted the story of saving Curran from a sinister medical facility, her voice filled with determination.
The recollection triggered a sensory overload, and he could almost perceive the sweet scent of strawberries emanating from her skin. Her fragrance had always been an indicator of her mood - when she was content, it was a delicate, perfect aroma; when she was fearful, it held a sharper, slightly overripe edge; when anger consumed her, it became potent, reminiscent of dried strawberry flakes; and when desire coursed through her veins, it transformed into the effervescence of strawberry champagne.
He walked into the living room, in the chair to sit and try to get his mind back in order. Blasts from the past were almost sometimes too much for him and he had to hold on. He absentmindedly pressed the button, flooding the air with music. As the bittersweet melody of Roxette's Queen of Rain played, he could not help to remember old times. This had been one of her favorite songs and she had sung it so many times in their karaoke times.
The force of the spell relentlessly dragged me further away, causing sensations to flood my senses. I resisted, weary of feeling, longing for the comfort of sleep without dreams. Desperately, I tried to utilize my powers to push back, but agony pierced through my side and leg. The smell of drugs invaded my nostrils, as I realized I had a cannula attached to me, heavily sedated. I fought against the haze, desperately yearning for slumber, dreading the thought of waking up. I retreated to a place of perceived safety, my surroundings hazy and disorienting.
In my weakened, drugged state, I caught sight of a pair of sturdy rubber boots and the hem of a strong rubber apron in my field of vision. Time and location eluded me as I clung to fragments of memories, haunted by the tortures endured in the distant past. The prospect of waking up in this terrifying place, my body on the brink of surrender, filled me with dread. Shed, Damien, tortures over millennia ago flooded in my mind.
Though I am immortal, incapable of true death, enduring such suffering never ceased to be excruciating. I simply did not want to face the waking world if my body could not withstand it. But then I heard it, a melody from so long ago, once this had been one of my favorites, but now, it was just one reminder of what I had lost, memories of Wulfe singing this to me as I woke up after that 800 years flooded in my mind. Crushing me more or less. I acted, as much as I could not want to be here.
Damon's train of thought was abruptly interrupted by Freddie's question.
Damon apologized, "Sorry, what? I was lost in thought about that lion shifter I used to know. Just reminiscing about old times."
Freddie informed him, "The shifter female is awake now, and it seems like she has ripped out her IV, as the machine alarms are blaring."
Damon raised an eyebrow, confident that the amount of drugs would have kept her unconscious, but he followed Freddie's lead. The machine controlling the IV flow emitted a faint beeping sound, as Damon had set the volume low to avoid causing any stress. He approached the cage, lifted the sheet, and discovered that she had indeed torn out her IV, with dressing on her side, and was now attempting to remove the hind leg dressing while still heavily drugged. Damon let out a sigh and performed a small arcane gesture, freezing the unruly feline in place.
He spoke to her, "Listen to me, I'm trying to help you. Don't remove those dressings or the IV. You need hydration. You're quite out of it, but you'll be fine. I need to fix your side."
Freddie went ahead to gather the necessary supplies, while Damon walked over to the medicine cabinet to draw some more drugs in a syringe. He planned to first knock her out completely and then treat her, as she was proving to be quite a challenge. As he prepared the sedative cocktail, memories of the drugs he had used to sedate her in the past resurfaced.
He vaguely recalled using large animal sedatives and his dental equipment. It was a distant memory, fading with each passing day. He couldn't remember how her skin felt or how her kisses tasted. He hummed an old song, Bertie Higgins's "Casablanca," which had been their song. Their love had felt so strong back then, but it turned out to be a lie, or perhaps it simply wasn't strong enough.
He had been weak, succumbing to Mariella's plan to drain the baby's powers for their own magical defenses. He hadn't listened to the baby's warnings about the tech mages and had instead drugged her to perform the spell. She had been right; it had destroyed everything.
He focused on this moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he got his gear on. The sound of his own breath filled his ears as he walked to the shifter's cage, the metallic clang of his boots against the floor echoing through the room. He crouched down, the cold steel of the cage pressing against his knees, and carefully injected the cocktail into her vein. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched her slump, a boneless heap at the bottom of the cage. Again, he could almost smell that strawberry, when she was scared, needing him.
As he stood up, his hands trembling slightly, he made his way to the sink to scrub them clean. The cool water cascaded over his skin, the scent of antiseptic soap filling his nostrils, as Freddie lifted the shifter onto the examination table.
He turned to Freddie, his voice laced with urgency. "Give me a sterile set and make sure she stays on the table. Take her vitals while you're at it. I need to clean those wounds, as her mouth is probably teeming with germs that are less than good to get in those wounds."
Freddie nodded, the rustle of movement accompanying his actions as he began to attach leads to the shifter's ears and paws. He wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her tail, feeling the soft fur beneath his fingertips, as he prepared to take her vitals. It was a familiar routine for him, playing the role of Doc's assistant.
He had been by Damon's side since the ripe age of 12, his stomach strong and unphased by the sights and sounds of their work. He knew that Doc's past had been filled with hardships, and there was some old love or something that would occasionally drive him to reach for a bottle of bourbon and drown his sorrows for a few days. But Freddie could always take care of the animals until Doc was back to his usual self. After all, Doc was an old creature, and sometimes they fell into a funk. It was almost eerie how he would reminisce about old times, events that had happened millennia ago, but if he dwelled on them for too long, it would only push Doc further into his drink.
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