“You’re hurting him!” I cry out, going to the soldier, trying to pry him off. Another one enters then, and I’m yanked off, held at the opposite end of the room, my struggles having no impact on him.
Matthaeus opens a black medical bag I hadn’t noticed before and takes out a syringe and a small vial of clear liquid.
“What are you doing?” I yell as he fills the needle then pushes the plunger to get rid of any air bubbles.
“He needs to sleep,” he tells me without looking at me.
“No!” I scream, propel myself forward, but the soldier won’t let go.
He moves to Dante’s side and grips his arm hard so Dante can’t move. He pushes the needle into Dante’s arm and the stuff works almost instantly before my eyes. I wonder if it’s the same thing they gave me.
“What did you do?” I yell, struggling against the soldier holding me back as I watch Matthaeus work on Dante.
“It’ll help him relax. We need to get his temperature down,” he says calmly to me, in complete opposition to my panicked words. He takes the dressing off Dante’s shoulder. “Shit.”
“You’re hurting him!” I managed to slip free and grab Matthaeus’s arm, but I’m caught again in the next instant.
“Get her out of here,” he tells the man at my back when he’s done.
“No! You’re hurting him! Let go of me!”
Matthaeus turns, comes to me, his eyes fall to my throat.
I stop fighting, reach up to touch it. It’s tender. I’m sure it’s red and I wonder if he can make out Dante’s fingerprints.
“Did he do that?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“What happened?” he asks.
“He was having a bad dream. I tried to wake him—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t touch him when he has those dreams, understand?”
“Why?”
“Just don’t.” He turns to the soldier. “Take her inside. Make her some tea.”
“I don’t want tea. And I don’t want to go inside. I’m not leaving him.”
“You shouldn’t be in here. He needs to rest. Recover.”
I look at Dante who seems to be sleeping peacefully now. But then Matthaeus turns back to him, presses against his wound. Dante winces because even in sleep it hurts as a line of blood streaks his arm.
“Why are you hurting him?” I kick my heel into the soldier’s shin. He mutters a curse and as soon as his grip loosens, I lunge for Matthaeus.
He spins, grabs me. He’s fast. They’re all so much faster than me. He shifts my arms behind my back and holds me tight, jerks me once.
“You need to leave this room. Now. I don’t want to have to make you.”
I glance beyond him to Dante, then back, registering what he means by making me “You can’t. I...” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Let me go!”
Matthaeus sighs, walks me out of the room, not letting his grip loosen once. “Mara,” he says once we’re inside and he directs me to one of the kitchen chairs. He keeps his hands on my shoulders and leans down so we’re at eye level. “You need to calm down and do as I say, or I can’t help him. Understand?”
“You’re hurting him.”
“I’m not hurting him. I wouldn’t hurt him. Ever. Do you need something to help you sleep?”
I exhale, my lips tight, forehead wrinkling. I shake my head.
“Drink a cup of tea. By the time you’re finished, I’ll be done, and you can see him. All right?”
After a gesture from Matthaeus, the soldier who’d held me moves to make the tea. He takes a mug out of the cabinet and pours hot water in it from the boiler on the tap. He then opens another cabinet and takes out a box with a few tea bags in it. He glances at Matthaeus who nods.
“You don’t need to look at him. Look at me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I turn back to Matthaeus. “I don’t want any drugs.”
“You’ll sit here and drink the tea, understand?”
“I want to be in there with him. He needs me in—”
“You will sit here and drink the tea. Am I clear?”
I press my lips together and glare at him. I hate him.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Fine. Just until I drink the tea.”
“Good.”
The soldier sets the cup in front of me.
Matthaeus is slow to release his hands from my shoulders, but he does, waiting until I pick up the mug to take a sip. “Good. When you’re finished you can come back inside.”
I nod and I’d drink it faster, but the liquid is scalding hot. Matthaeus leaves the soldier with me and hurries back to Dante’s bedroom. I look up at my companion who is leaning against the counter watching me with his arms folded. I don’t know his name, but I’ll remember which one he is. I drink another sip, blink, my eyelids feeling heavy. The room grows a little fuzzy. I look down at the mug. The tea is half gone. When I look up at the soldier, he hasn’t moved. He’s still watching me.