back to the table. I was so busy not passing out that I barely noticed Aoife bandaging my foot.
“The only other thing the diagnostic tagged was your thigh. Is that right? Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked.
“Just my thigh.”
“Looks like the bolt went through clean, so I just need to irrigate it and coat it in gel and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
My left foot was already starting to burn as the regeneration gel did its thing. My thigh would be far worse. I briefly considered asking for stronger pain meds, but without whatever specialized blend Gregory used to use, it wouldn’t do much. Somehow, he’d tweaked my nanos to counteract painkillers. If I was a less charitable person, I’d say he did it on purpose because he was a sadistic bastard.
Wait, I was a less charitable person.
“Is it okay if I cut your dress?” Aoife asked.
The dress was soaked in Ian’s blood. I wouldn’t be wearing it again, no matter how much I liked it. When I nodded, she slit the fabric up to my waist.
“This may sting,” she warned. The antiseptic wash did sting, but it was so mild when compared to my feet that it practically felt good. She probed the wound, checked the diagnostic scan, and then grimaced at me. “The gel needs to fill the wound, so brace yourself.”
With that she pressed a thick syringe of regeneration gel to the wound opening on the front of my thigh and depressed the plunger. Now that stung. I blinked away tears as she wrapped a snug, waterproof bandage around my leg.
Both feet now felt like I’d propped them far too close to an open flame. Little tingles of pain shot up my nerves, making it difficult to hold still. But the second I moved, the pain tripled. In another minute or two, my thigh wound would burn like the sun.
I tried to speak but my voice came out in a pained hiss. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Would you mind asking Alexander if he could carry me to my quarters? I hate to bother him, but I don’t think I can walk.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Ian said. “Not until you’re healed.”
“Lie down,” Aoife said, her tone half exasperation, half command.
“Do not remove Lady Bianca from the medbay until she is healed,” he demanded.
“Please, Aoife,” I begged softly. I was going to break under the pain and I didn’t want an audience.
“Ian’s right,” she said at last. “You should stay here in case there are complications. But I’ll move you behind a privacy screen.”
Hysterical laughter tried to rise, but I shoved it down. Without a silencer to hide behind, I would just have to endure the agony. The next few hours would feel like an interminable hell.
With a button press, the diagnostic table rose a couple of centimeters and Aoife slid it into the little private nook along the wall. She drew the curtain and draped a blanket over me. The blanket’s pressure on my feet sent sparks of pain lancing up my legs, but I just clenched my jaw and ignored it.
She paused and peered at my face. “You’re still in pain. The painkiller should’ve kicked in by now.”
“I’m slightly resistant, but I’m fine,” I said.
“Do you want me to try something else?”
“No,” I bit out. I closed my eyes. That was rude, but the pain in my thigh had begun to climb. “Thank you for your help. I am fine. Please leave.”
I winced again because that hadn’t exactly been polite, either, but it was all I could do to lie still and not scream.
“The table will keep an eye on your vitals, but call me if you need anything,” she said.
“Thank you.”
She nodded and blessedly disappeared behind the curtain. I heard her murmuring to Ian, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Seconds trudged into minutes and sweat broke out along my forehead as my lower body was engulfed in fiery pain. I counted the ceiling tiles, the eyelets on the curtain, and finally, when the pain became overwhelming, the breaths drawn through clenched teeth.
The curtain’s sudden disappearance distracted me and another mortifying whimper slipped past my control.
Ian stood hunched next to me, his eyes silently scanning me from head to toe. I had little hope that he’d missed my clenched fists, sweating brow, and taut frame. He proved me right by asking, “What’s wrong?”
I unclamped my jaw. “You should not be walking around,” I whispered, avoiding the question.