frustrated noise. He may be showing anger, but everyone knew it was hurt that was driving his words.
“The doctor is pulling in now,” came Dmitri’s cold voice. He had been quiet, sitting in the shadows.
“I’ll go greet him,” Danika whispered. I heard the soft pat of her feet as she left. In the hallway, I heard a thump, indicating she had hit something, but I didn’t go investigate. Roman muttered, “I got it.” And left.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Tatiana moving closer. She peered at the bed with concern.
Don’t look at him, I wanted to snap. Don’t get anywhere near him.
Before me, stretched out on his bed, Konstantin slept. His cheeks were pallid, forehead sweaty, his pulse too slow. Every now and then he would let out a stuttering breath, before falling back into deep unconsciousness.
Poisoned.
It was my gut instinct, my first reaction, so I had known it was the correct one.
Konstantin had been poisoned.
When Tatiana got too close, I moved from my post at the end of the bed and neared his pillows. A bowl filled with water and a towel had been left out to try and fight Konstantin’s fever. I rinsed the towel, gently wiping at his face, before laying it over his forehead.
“Leave him, Elena,” Dmitri said coldly.
I turned to him slowly. “I beg your pardon?”
He jerked his chin sharply. “You’re not a part of this family. This does not concern you.”
“Dima,” Tatiana called softly.
“Where was this attitude when your wife was under my care?” I hissed. “Mind your fucking business.”
Dmitri stepped forward but it was Artyom—Artyom—who grabbed his arm and warned, “Don’t. Kostya would kill you.” Artyom nodded to me. “And Elena has every right to be here.”
Dmitri backed down but didn’t tear his watchful stare away from me.
The door opened, and in came the doctor. Roman was hot on his heels, protective even around trusted associates. Behind him, sullen and sunken, Danika followed. She didn’t say anything, just blended into the shadows with Dmitri. He didn’t object when she rested her head against his arm.
The doctor gestured for me to step away, allowing him room to administer Konstantin.
We all watched closely as he tested blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. The further he did his tests the deeper the doctor’s frown got.
A lump began to form in my throat.
“What’s wrong?” Artyom asked.
The doctor thinned his lips. “I need to draw blood to be certain.”
“Can’t you just tell by looking at him?” Roman demanded.
“No, Mr Malakhov, I cannot,” the doctor said simply. “However, I can have the results back within the day.”
“Hour,” Artyom said softly. “Results back within the hour.”
The doctor blinked. “That is simply not possible...”
“You had better make it possible,” he warned. “I’m sure the lining of your pockets might make the process move faster.”
“Of course, sir.”
The doctor took Konstantin’s blood and quickly left. He recommended we elevate Konstantin on pillows, something that would stop him choking on his own vomit should his body try and fight the sickness itself.
Dmitri looked like he was going to stab the doctor for suggesting his Pakhan might die such a mundane and gross death.
I stayed by Konstantin’s side as the hours wore on. Roksana brought me a chair and some tea, not saying much but the kindness of her actions speaking loudly.
I wrapped myself up in a blanket and curled up, an unconsciously protective stance. Looking at Konstantin like this...it hurt. It made everything inside of me hurt. My cells and bones ached with something akin to terror, my chin shook with an almost grief-like emotion.
Konstantin had never looked so...vulnerable. If anybody wanted to hurt him right now, they could. The very thought made my muscles tense.
I didn’t sleep. I didn’t even close my eyes. Rationally, I knew Roman and other byki were standing by the door and beneath the windows, armed to the teeth and ready to strike at anything they deemed a threat.
But some primal part of my psyche had taken over. Sleep, it had been decided, was an unnecessary to survival at this point in time.
The door clicked open after a few hours. I leaped to my feet, but it was Dmitri who stepped into the room. “It is just me, Elena.”
I didn’t sit back down.
Dmitri didn’t look offended and instead took a few more steps into the room. “I brought you some reading material.” He held up his hands, revealing a stack of old novels I hadn’t noticed.
“Why?”
“So, you don’t fall asleep,” he said icily. “Do you want them