Sacred Honor; Sacred Sin

Chapter 9

Perrin

There are monitors, tubes, and medical equipment everywhere. The room is silent except for my own footfalls and the sound of a "Beep.... Beep...." from the heart monitor.

I take a step towards Ethan's bed. My blood turns cold.

With the exception of his silver hair and knowing that it was him, it was hard to recognize him. There were claw marks deep across his forehead and his eyes, spanning his face. Gauze was covering most of it but it looked deep.

His chest was equally marred, as if a wild animal--or wolf--had tried to tear him apart. Gashes stripped his arms. The smell of blood was overwhelming. It wasn't Ethan's blood either. We had trained for long enough for me to recognize when my partner was hurt. This was someone else's. I didn't recognize it.

I looked away, uncomfortable at my own queasiness. 

I found the medical chart, wishing I had just a little bit of Jasmine's knowledge to interpret what I was seeing. The paperwork doesn't make sense to me at all. Terms I don't understand. Visuals that don't make sense. The frustration of being kept out of the loop begins to build.

I heard a small crack of the door and a *click* behind me.

"Would you like any help?" a soft voice said from behind me.

"Deidre, why are you here?"

"Your father wasn't returning my calls."

"Did you know what happened?" 

"No."

"Then how'd you know he was at the infirmary?"

"Being Luna has its advantages."

I rolled my eyes.

"What I meant to say, was..." she took a step forward towards Ethan's bed, "is that when the Personal Guard leaves for patrol with your father, it's usually never good news. The infirmary is a good place to start."

I grunt noncommittally and turn back towards the bed.

"It seems serious," she says quietly.

"I don't understand. This was more than one rogue could do on its own." I shake my head, half in horror as his injuries, half in disbelief that my best friend was intubated and unable to breathe on his own.

"Fortunately you were.... otherwise occupied this evening," she remarks.

My head snaps up and a growl starts to burn in my throat. "How DARE you? My best friend and future Beta is on his DEATHBED and you choose NOW to try and tell me how much you hate my girlfriend?"

I'm on the verge of exploding again. I felt out of control. Angry. Mad. And I didn't need this.

"No, that's not quite what I meant..." she quickly covers, anxiously ringing her hands together. "I just meant that I can't imagine how Mistra would feel, and your father.... Well... I'm sure he wouldn't be in good shape either." I look at her for the first time since she entered. I'm surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"I don't think Mistra knows."

"I believe your father is waiting to tell her in person."

"Oh."

We stand in silence, listening to the *beep* of the heart monitor.

"Do you know--"

"Would you like me to read--"

We cut each other off, stopping at the same time. I can't meet her gaze. She waits.

"Do you know how to read his chart? To tell how serious it is, I mean?"

Her face is soft. She gently nods and steps towards the clipboard of paperwork. She scans the first page briefly.

"Well??" I can barely resist tapping my foot on the floor with impatience.

She takes a deep breath. "It's certainly serious." I give her a look, prompting her to go on.

"He ruptured both lungs," she said, eyeing Ethan. "That's quite unusual. With one working lung it's easier to heal, but two? I don't know how they kept him breathing. Bless the Moon Goddess. He is a lucky child."

My stomach sinks. I look at the tubes protruding from his chest. The ventilation pump makes a soft hiss and I see his chest barely raise as his artificial respirator. I don't even wince as she calls him a "child." Ethan is one of the strongest, most powerful warriors I know. How could he be reduced to this?

She interrupts my thoughts. "He also has several broken ribs, a few on both sides by the looks of it, and a concussion, broken wrist, femur, ulna, and left foot."

"You got all that from a medical chart?" I'm annoyed. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. I can SEE that it's bad. I don't need to hear it.

"His lacerations look pretty serious," she continues, scanning the medical equipment. "I'm sure they accounted for his natural allergies and treated him accordingly. Don't want any nasty symptoms as a result of the wrong antibiotics--"

Allergies? I shake my head. I didn't even know Ethan had allergies. What a great best friend I am. For f**k's sake. Now I feel even worse.

Either way, I'm starting to get rattled now. I knew it was bad, but listening to Deidre talk so nonchalantly about my best friend on his deathbed was infuriating. My blood comes to a boil. I seem so angry this evening. Everything is setting me off. She's standing at the top of his bed and looking at his head injury.

"Judging on the amount of blood he lost, there's a good chance he's had quite a few transfusions since he arrived." She shifts her jacket away from the edge of the bed and adjusts her sleeves.

"That would explain the odd smell," I mumble, wiping my nose. As wolves, we're sensitive to all smells, but especially the smell of fresh blood. Sometimes when I meet Jasmine after her late classes, she comes straight to our spot from the infirmary, reeking of the smell of some other wolf's blood. It's gross, but comes with the territory of being a healer.

She also sniffs, as if reflexively, but goes on walking about the room, looking anywhere but at Ethan now. "Oh. And there's a chance he may lose sight in that eye--but that will have to be determined later."

There was a clinical tone to everything she said. Sometimes I forgot she trained as a healer before she met my father.

"Thanks." I murmur, unable to meet her eyes.

"Of course." Her voice resumes a soft tremor that wasn't there a few moments before. She moves towards the bed and gently takes Ethan's hand.

What an odd gesture. So maternal for someone without her own kids. And I don't count. Maybe she was a better healer than I thought. She sees me looking and retracts her hand. I see a swift tear drain down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly. "Well," she says. "I'll leave you two alone." 

I hear a soft click of the door and I'm alone once more. I don't get it.

How could Ethan have volunteered to go on patrol this evening? He knows we're excused because we're training for the Sacred Calling.

My blood turns to ice. The Sacred Calling. How could Ethan ever fight now?

With wounds like this, it's impossible. He could never heal in time, let alone walk, or fight, or--the pit in my stomach grows colder and heavier.

He can't fight. He can't be in the challenge. He can't be... My Beta.