Inspired by some wonderful art from my new friend @saphicresus, my first story. I may come back to this some day and re-write it to be a bit better, but I wanted to go ahead and get something published.
I hope you like it!
Liric’s tail flicked in frustration as she paused- focusing her breath as she tried to stay quiet. To stay hidden. Her wings pulled in closer to her tiny frame, pointed ears able to pick up even the slightest of sounds but yet she didn’t hear a thing. She could feel her tiny heart racing in her chest, adrenaline rushing through, making every movement shaky and uncoordinated.
Quinn was after her. An enemy she had became under circumstances that weren't her own. She’d ventured into her families territory whenever her familiar, a large cane toad named Hieff, had went missing late in the night. The Brabblefern family was known to be skilled hunters, and vicious to their enemies. Where as Liric, the only daughter to the head of the Lotusfeet family, had a lot more peace and understanding to anybody who accidentally came around.
And now, she was in a situation she’d never been in. She was trapped in a Twoleg’s house. She hadn’t realized when she was flying- but had flown straight through an open window. They had both scrambled to hide whenever they heard the Twoleg enter, but now- she didn’t know where Quinn was, or the Twoleg that she couldn’t hear anymore. The tiny fairy moved some of her blonde strands from in front of her face before she heard shuffling- and her wings expanded, taking off quickly and darting out from the cupboard she was in.
“Get back here, you coward!” Quinn screamed angrily. Her features were much different then Lirics. She had the same body type, but her bare body was adorned with swirls of pigment that almost appeared as tattoos. It provided essential camouflage to her enemies. Her skin was much darker, and hair more coarse, currently in tight, firm dreads that had adorations of beads and small animal bones. They were successful, brutal, ruthless hunters. Deep scars showed just how brave she was- and she was quickly catching up to Liric.
“Please- just- leave me alone! Please!” Liric cried out, darting around a corner and ducking under a cabinet. Her eyes quickly scanned in any place that she could hide, she could see freshly cut vegetables on the counter, jars prepared with their lids off setting on the table. She was familiar with this kind of food preservation from her studies, but she didn’t know yet what to do- until she heard the sound of Quinn screaming in pain as she flew over a boiling pot of hot water, the steam having made her dip down into the floor. Liric looked behind her, her wings flapping quickly, still racing to find another open window- deep down, she was afraid that Quinn was hurt.
⁃ THUD!
Liric slammed roughly into the wall, not having been watching where she was going. The small fairly fell down, falling into one of the open jars with a hazy thud, stars in her vision as she tried to regain her composure.
She didn’t even realize she’d blacked out until she heard something rustling just above the jar, the sound of metal on glass.
Her dark eyes opend in time to see that Quinn had managed to pick up the lightweight lid to the old jar and began to screw it on the top. Liric flew up quickly, shoving her hands against the top- but she was no match. The lid was already screwed, she was just tightening it. She began to beat against the lid.
“Quinn! Please- please! Let me out! Let me out!” She screamed frantically, trying to fly against the side of the jar to knock it over. But Quinn flew down, looking at the struggle as Liric began to tire out.
But Liric couldn’t understand why she was getting tired until it dawned on her… she was running out of oxygen, and fast.
She slowed down even more, her body feeling heavier then it ever had as she crumbled down to the bottom of the jar, her tail swishing slowly as she looked at the way Quinn smirked at her. The fairy’s long nails slowly tapped against the jar teasingly, her own tail swishing with something that resembled delight as she watched Liric try to gasp. But every breath she took seemed to starve her body further of the oxygen it needed, her heart beating wildly in her ears as if it would jump out of her chest all together.
Liric’s hands clawed against the glass, trying to find anything to hold onto- anything to try and convince Quinn that she’d stay away from her territory. She understood why the other fairy was so violent, with how scarse food was, with some other fairies stealing and killing- she wasn’t mad at her… but she knew she didn’t deserve to be killed for her simple mistake. Quinn was several moons older then she was, she had more expirence, more skill, a bigger clan.
Her head began to pound, a headache like she’d never felt before aching through her body. Her vision was blurring even more, and she was getting disoriented, unable to speak. She was suffocating, and her body was starting to go through cyanosis. Her pale skin was turning blue around her lips and her face, the red that had washed over her was fading as her heart stopped trying to uselessly pump blood. Her tiny frame jerked invoulntarily as she slid further, her back hitting the back of the glass as she began to feel more tired.
She couldn’t explain the sense of.. calmness that she felt.
Her tired, tiny heart was slowing it’s beats down. The tips of her fingers, and her toes were slowly turning blue, a paleness that was racing to her limbs. Quinn laid her hands on her hips in a satisfied huff.
“You’ll never steal from us again, will you Lotusfeet?” She cackled, before jumping up- her wings splaying out and starting to flutter as she took flight again. Liric’s hand reached weakly out twoards the figure as one last plea before everything darkend within her vision, and Quinn flew out the still-open window, just narrowly avoiding the Twoleg as she walked back inside.
Liric’s body had gone limp at the bottom of the jar.
Briela looked curiously out her window, her long brown hair dusting over her shoulders, the smell of fresh dirt on her knees as she took off her gardening gloves, setting the basket of herbs down on the small table that she’d collected. “Oh, butterflies this time of year already? I really need to plant those flowers..” She murmured to herself as she looked for the ‘butterfly’ she’d seen fly out her window. She shrugged it off, and moved to kick off her dirty shoes before going over to the sink to start washing her hands. She did so, patting her hands dry on the small towel as blue eyes glanced over to the pot of boiling water.
“Oh! I forgot about canning!” She cried out in surprise at the boiling water, moving to turn down the water a bit before looking at her jars, noticing the metal lid on one. Her head tilted in surprise before she saw it- the tiny, blue fairy within the jar.
“O-Oh my! Oh my! Shit, shit shit shit!” She yelped as she quickly lifted up the jar, unscrewing it with ease as she looked into it. “Oh! Hey, hey- holy shit! Are you okay!?” She cried out as she dumped the fairy hap-hazardly onto the tea towel she’d just used to dry her hands, setting the jar back down quickly as she hovered over the tiny frame. Then it dawned on her- this wasn’t her skin color.. whatever this little, magical being was- this was the appearance of suffocating.
“Oh SHIT!” She yelled once she realized, lifting the tiny frame into her palms carefully.
Liric’s body shifted coldly in her palm, her wings limp and splayed out, her tail draping past her palm, arms outstretched and hair messily covering her face from being dropped onto the tea towel. Briela quickly moved to turn off the stove with her free hand before running to her kitchen table, taking a quick seat as her thumb rubbed over the tiny fairy’s chest. “Oh come on, breathe! Breathe! You’re out of the jar now you’re okay! You’re okay!” She pleaded quickly, her own hands starting to shake before she rested her thumb over the tiny fairy’s bare chest, inbetween her breasts. She paused, trying to feel for anything.
She moved to lay the fairy’s back flat against her palm, moving her fingers against her chest- trying to feel again.
Nothing…
Liric’s body had given up it’s fight. It had been too long, her heart had beat so fast and she’d panicked so badly she had only sped up her demise. But Briela wasn’t a stranger to an emergency… but on something this small? She had to think fast, or else the fairy wouldn’t have a chance at all.
Briela quickly brought the small frame up to her mouth, sealing her warm pink lips against the tiny fairy’s face, trying to puff a breath of air into her useless lungs. She pulled back, and didn’t see a downfall, or hear one. “Okay- just hold on honey- just hold on.” She begged, trying again as she repositioned the tiny frame, letting her head tilt back in-between her thumb and index finger, right in the soft crook, and sealed her lips again, giving a bit fuller of a breath- this time she kept her other hand on the tiny fairy’s chest.
A slow rise. Air was going in now.
She pulled back, letting the fairy’s chest fall- before lowering again, delivering another breath. Rise… fall.
“Come on..” She whined, pulling back and moving her thumb into the center of the tiny fairy’s chest, pushing down awkwardly. The angle didn’t do her much of a favor, but she gained a small ‘huff’ from the fairy’s agape mouth.
Briela moved to set her against the cold wooden kitchen table, her head lolling to the side, wings splayed under her and her tail in-between her legs as Briela tried another angle with her thumb- another useless huff. She was growing frustrated, but tried again. This time, she used two fingers, both on her sternum, before she pressed down.
Now that felt like a compression. Her body responded just as a human’s would, and she set her pace.
“One… two… three… four!” She counted, Liric’s body shifting under each thrust into her still heart. Briela had calmed down- and now she had deep focus, her other hand carefully ready to scoop the tiny fairy up when she needed to give breaths again, resting against the kitchen table. Each thrust made her feel that more scared that maybe she was too late.
“hu-huh-huh-huh-huh” Liric’s body responded in small, quiet huffs with each compression, limbs failing slightly as she was picked back up off the table, Briela sealing her mouth against the fairies once more. She puffed out a small breath of air, causing Liric’s cheeks to expand fully, her lungs expanding quickly, huffing out air as the Twoleg pulled away. Another breath, rise, and fall- and then another.. just for good measure. She didn’t hesitate, carefully lowering Liric back down, her fingers finding their place again as she began to compress.
“huh! huh! huh!” her body responded more defiantly, as Briela didn’t worry as much about the depth- she worried that if she went too soft she wouldn’t be able to save the fairy. She counted softly under her breath, legs shaking with each thrust as her ribs flared out with each deep, methodical compression that was slammed into her unmoving muscle. Another round, and another set of breaths. She could see that some of the blueness had faded from the fairy’s body but she wasn’t yet responding to her- a quick feel against her chest gave her nothing in return, but Briela took the small frame from her table and back into her palm, her fingers moving to rub her sternum desperately.
“Come on, little one- please take in a breath!” She quietly whispered, deeply rubbing her sternum- trying to get any response, before using her thumb, cupping the tiny fairy in her hands as she began to deliver compressions again. These were harder, deeper into her chest- crushing her heart with each beat as she squeezed the tiny form. Her breasts jiggled with the movement, ribs flaring out- open mouth huffing out the air that kept seeping into her lungs. Her legs and arms shook with each beat, the warmness from Briela’s palms starting to take away the coldness that the kitchen table had only caused to get worse. She was desperate, her mouth sealing again over the tiny fairy’s face, forcing in air even as her thumb continued to press, feeling the way her chest rose up and huffed out quickly with the next beat. Her belly jiggled with each compression, expanding and shifting under the weight until- a tiny gasp echoed.
Briela paused for a moment, her thumb resting over Liric’s sternum. The marbling of bruises and redness made her feel horrible, but Liric tried to gasp again, but her eyes weren't opening. Each gasp was deep, struggled. Agonal.
“Come on honey…” Briela pleaded as she rubbed against her sternum firmly, not getting any kind of a reaction before she began to compress again. She knew that this breathing wasn’t a real sign of life- and even though she wished she had a AED , she knew there was no such thing for something so small.
Each thump against the sloshing muscle further pushed blood throughout her system that was trying so hard to fight. Briela’s careful grip, and thumb centered square in her sternum- didn’t give her heart any choice. It would beat, and it would beat to the rhythm that it was set to. Briela moved back down after only fifteen, bringing the tiny fairy up to her mouth once more, sealing over her face and blowing quick breaths of air- over and over again, her tiny chest expanding quickly as her thumb rubbed against Liric’s chest, making her chest shift and bounce before her limbs came up suddenly, starting to move and gasp.
“Oh! Oh my goodness, you’re alive! Okay, it’s okay little one- breathe for me, just breathe!” She guided softly as she pulled back, feeling the quick thudding of Liric’s heart as she regained consciousness, the tiny fairy looking terrified as she realized what was going on.
“I-It’s okay, it’s okay, I saw you got trapped in a jar- I saved you, you’re okay.” She pleaded, hoping that the fairy understood what she was saying. Liric didn’t have the energy to move, yet, but Briela was already standing, looking through a pile of sewing supplies on her kitchen table until she found a small square of soft fabric, wrapping the tiny frame in it, and laying her down carefully on a old plushie. The tiny fairy’s body rested against the softness and warmth, and Briela didn’t take her eyes off of her.
Once more tossing my self indulgence NPC character studies to the void. Also very much outside of my comfort zone but that’s neither here nor there.
Contents: fantasy resus setting, male rescuer, gender neutral victim, CPR, mtm, conscious victim (kinda)
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Quinn supposed that they had been a tad too lucky lately.
That’s the thing when harnessing the tides of wild magic. At the end of the day, it was a matter of luck that would determine how the world around them reacted to their attempts to harness its raw power.
At times, it had been incredibly helpful; blasts shot with more power than they thought possible- entire battles shifted by a single spell in ways they nor their enemies could predict.
Other times?
Quinn was left sprawled out, face down in the dirt.
They had been attempting to cast dispel magic on the trapped runes that were inlaid on the door in front of them. Perhaps it was their blatant attempts to wrangle the force of magic, a force that bowed to no one, that left them particularly unlucky.
It took them a moment to be calm enough to recognize the effects of the spell that hummed through their veins in the backfire. Feign death, or something in the same school at the very least. Which meant at worst, they were stuck looking like a fool for only a short time. That is if the spell’s hold wasn’t influenced by the tides of chaos as well.
They supposed that there could have been worse consequences. Until they felt themselves being rolled over and heard the frantic voice of Milo calling their name. With that, Quinn was suddenly reminded that their companion would be unaware of the fact they were in no real danger.
While the world was bathed in a blanket of darkness, they heard the sound of the man’s knees hitting the dirt as he crouched over their supine form. They could do nothing as they felt fingers feel along their neck until he pressed firmly into their pulse point. Based on the way Milo had begun to curse in such a way that Quinn had never heard before they assumed that the spell was as they suspected. Arguably a victory.
To the rest of the world, they seemed completely and entirely lifeless. It left Quinn a passive audience as they felt their robes being tugged open, all too aware of the air’s chill against their skin.
They wondered if the spell was keeping the blush from their cheeks from the warmth that rushed through them. What was it that their companion was seeing? A blue-tinted face and slack jaw rather than the flushed mess they would have been otherwise? It was a horribly vulnerable position but they couldn’t find it in themselves to mind.
As his hands settled into the center of their chest, they did their best to brace themselves before the first hard press down into their ribs. It was entirely unnatural; the way their chest bent and flexed under the force. Not entirely unpleasant.
The soft hurk that left their parted lips was entirely involuntary. As was each soft huff of air that was forced from their throat with each compression. Their body flexed and shifted in time with the warrior's efforts; head lolling back. Dimly, they wondered if they were drooling or just imagining things.
The man above them seemed to have found their rhythm as they fell into the steady pattern of compressions. They were muttering in a language that they didn’t recognize. Perhaps they would have to ask about it later.
Just when Quinn had thought they could get used to the sensation, they felt those determined hands suddenly lift from their chest. Instead, they reached for their face. He held them with a tenderness that made their stomach twist among the heat that had begun to settle within it. The sorcerer felt as their head was tilted back and fingers pinched their nose closed.
As soft lips connected to their own, Quinn questioned if perhaps they really had died. And hells, they would do so again if it meant that they bask in the feeling of a warm breath forced down their throat for even a second longer.
It was entirely foreign. Entirely unnatural. But gods above if it didn’t make them weak in the knees. There would be time to analyze exactly what that said about them later. For now? The mage basked in the actions and attention of the man whose lips left theirs far too soon for their liking.
Fingers were caressing their jaw and his words softened from a firm edge to something more pleading. They’d give everything in their pack to understand the foreign tongue he was speaking. It was rather unfair of him to leave them guessing. Their complaints were quickly brushed away as the heavy pressure of compressions returned to their chest.
God's above was it all too much. They were caught between the warring desires of wanting the sensation to last forever and for the pressure to finally give. It wasn’t exactly up to them though. Until the spell ended they would be at the mercy of the man’s efforts to save them. It would have almost been touching if it didn’t have their mind wandering to places they quickly tried to wave away.
Lips were suddenly on theirs again and they wished for nothing more than to move them ever so slightly to get a better point of contact. Once more their lungs were forced to expand with the air pushed down their throat. It made their mind go blank and hazy.
When the world suddenly came back into view around them, they choked on the air that had been ever so gently eased into their lungs. The lips that had been pressed into their own pulled away and they groaned at the loss of contact. Or perhaps the way the world tilted and shifted in such a dizzying manner.
Quinn felt themselves being rolled into their side, a hand gently rubbing at the dark red mark already blossoming across their pale c hest. Their breaths came in heaving gasp, and Milo’s voice was more clear when he spoke lowly, “Gods above Quinn. You’re lucky I was here.”
Story Content and Summary - 9,243 words. On a visit to meet Deirdre's family, someone from her past attempts to take matters into their own hands, potentially extinguishing her light forever. Torsades de Pointes, on-site resuscitation by both humans and fae.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
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“Where are we going?” Archer laughed, eyeing the washed-out dirt road they’d just turned down. “And I’m glad I’m driving; would your hatchback make it down this road?”
“I’m pleased that neither of you asked me to drive my car,” Asa said from the back. “And Fae wishes that we were not in the car at all.”
Deirdre turned to look at the carrier buckled into the empty seat next to Asa. A quiet mew found her ears, and she saw Fae move restlessly behind the mesh of the carrier. “Oh, poor little one. Would you get her out for me, Asa? I’ll hold her.”
A moment later, his long arms reached between the front seats, Fae’s furry gray body caught gently in his hands. Deirdre scooped the kitten from him and brought her against her chest, cooing soothing words into her ear. A few seconds later, Fae started purring, evidently no longer concerned by the harsh rocking of the SUV.
“This road is not maintained on purpose,” Deirdre explained. “There’s another road on the other side of the mountain, with a guardhouse. It adds over two hours to the trip. This is a service road with a gate about halfway down. I will get us in. The road is like this to discourage visitors.”
“Doesn’t deter four-wheelers, it looks like,” Archer noted, his eyes on the road.
“No.” Deirdre laughed. “That’s what the gate is for. Not much has changed… when I left, human teenagers were passing the ‘No Trespassing’ signs with great regularity. Of course, you must remember; we do want some interaction between fae and humans.”
Archer glanced over at her and smiled. His warm eyes held contentment and his posture seemed relaxed despite the rough road.
“So…” Asa spoke from the back, his tone droll. “Forgive me, but could you explain again why your kind wants some of us to know about you? Aside from the part where you fell in love with my brother and fished him out of the lake.”
“Our magic, ánh, is dependent on humans believing magic or fae exist. It’s why we often provide financial backing to publishers of fantasy novels and movies.” Deirdre sighed and scratched Fae between the ears. “Of course, some creators have turned out to be not worth the effort.”
“She’s talking about wizards,” Archer interjected for Asa’s benefit.
“Didn’t that get an entire wing of an amusement park?” Asa asked.
“Yes, but the author has a heavy dose of the human obsession with all of you being the same. Fae don’t limit other fae’s gender identity or expression. Or lack thereof.” Deirdre turned to look back at Asa. “I am appreciative that you two are not so rigid.”
“You can thank our parents,” Archer clarified, his voice soft as he kept his eyes trained on the rough dirt road. “They raised us to believe that differences are beautiful.”
“Our mother was half Egyptian,” Asa continued. “She experienced racism growing up. And our father was Catholic in a Protestant town. They were strong people who chose to be open-minded when they had every reason to be angry and suspicious of others.”
“I wish I could have met them,” Deirdre murmured, her eyes on Archer’s profile.
“They would have liked you,” Asa assured her. “You could have flown in front of them. Dad would have crossed himself and then asked if you were an angel. Honestly, it was the first thing I thought, and I haven’t been to Mass in… twenty years.”
The SUV slowed, and Deirdre turned to hide her blush and spotted the imposing panel that cleaved the road in two.
“We found the gate.” Archer sounded bemused.
“That looks like a wall,” Asa corrected. “A gate is something which can be moved.”
“I can move it,” Deirdre announced, turning again to Asa. “Will you hold Fae while I take care of the gate? Archer will need to drive through and then I’ll close it again.”
She deposited Fae into Asa’s outstretched hands. The kitten stretched her limbs, wiggling and squeaking her displeasure until Asa sat her on his lap and rubbed her ears.
“Okay, you’re opening it and I’m driving through and you’ll close it behind us?” Archer asked. He eyed her with something like awe. “Don’t, uh, pull a muscle.”
She blew him a kiss as he slowed the SUV to a stop, then slid down out of the vehicle, glad she’d dressed for the occasion in leggings and deck shoes. The packed dirt under her feet felt soft in spots, speaking to recent rain. Picking her way carefully through the ruts, Deirdre walked to the sheet of steel and touched it with the palms of her hands. “Pe’erta!”
Light pulsated from her chest and ran down her arms, sinking into the cold metal. She heard the rending shriek of metal on metal and the gate shuddered, sliding to the right on a dirty track. Should have taken the extra time to go around, she thought, her arms shaking and sweat sprinting out over her body as she walked along with the gate. The mechanism fed off of the magic of the town hidden in the forest or she wouldn’t have been able to open it at all. Still, by the time she got the gate open enough for Archer to drive through, she leaned on the gate, winded and shaking.
Deidre heard an SUV door open, and Archer came around the back end. He shoved his hands in his pockets, stopping just in front of her.
“Is there anything I can do to help with that, love?” His posture and face bled concern, taking in her wilted appearance and no doubt feeling her struggle through their bond.
“It is too heavy for even brute strength,” Deirdre stated, wiping her brow on her sleeve. “No offense meant.”
“Oddly enough, I was not offended.” Archer grinned, though she could tell he was still worried. He walked up to her and gently took her arm in hand. “If we left it open, could someone come back and close it behind us? Asa was in there muttering about your heart, and I can feel how much of an effort that was for you. You’re shaking.”
Deirdre dropped her hands from the gate. “I could call someone. Tell them I cannot close it.” Dread settled heavy in her chest. She did not want to tell her family and friends that she could not perform this task. That she was too weak to do so.
“Incoming!” Asa called from within the SUV.
Deirdre looked up. Sure enough, a figure moved in the distance. A fae man, wings pumping powerfully as he flew toward him.
“Looks like someone is coming to help,” Archer said, relieved.
The fae man drew closer, and Deirdre noticed his hair: long, golden, and unrestrained. A sinking suspicion made her reach for Archer’s hand, gripping it tight.
“What is it?” he asked her, concern replacing his relief. “Or, who is it?”
“Atmos.” Deirdre curled her free hand around the end of the gate until her fingers turned white. “My ex.”
***
Archer held on to Deirdre’s hand and considered the approaching man. Whatever Asa’s descriptions of Deirdre in flight were, this was the avenging angel. Cut straight from the hyperbolic artwork of White Christianity, the man’s face was a study of haughty contempt as he landed, gracefully barefoot, taking in Archer’s SUV, then his person, then his hand around Deirdre’s.
The sculpted pink lips twisted. Then he looked at Deirdre and his features relaxed, longing flaring in his blue eyes before that, too, faded.
“Atmos,” Deirdre almost drawled, and Archer’s brow twitched.
Atmos’s mouth pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, exposing white teeth as he folded his wings and stalked toward them. Archer saw the rear passenger door of his SUV pop open, and Asa climbed out, his eyebrows lifted. Tall and broad through the shoulders, Atmos stood in front of them—too close, Archer thought—seeming to attempt to both intimidate Archer and disarm Deirdre, all while accomplishing neither.
Everyone fell silent. Then the man’s face paled and twisted into a dark scowl, and Archer had his first actual misgivings.
“Deirdre? Ánrhen mit antó?” Atmos’ shock and meaning were clear, even if only half of the words were familiar.
“Archer, this is Atmos Thoniel Deu O’r Perëndierdők Noordttang. Atmos, meet my bonded mate, Archer James Neal.” Deirdre stared up at the fae man, a challenge in her light eyes. “Behind you is Archer’s brother, Dr. Asa Neal.”
“Oo expothan se yitabib?” Atmos stared at her, his throat working.
“Asa is a cardiologist.”
Atmos’s head jerked back, and Archer felt Deirdre’s discomfort like something he could taste. He squeezed her hand, then cleared his throat to get the fae man’s attention. “So sorry to interrupt. Atmos, it’s nice to meet you. Would you do us a favor and close the gate behind us? I’m sure you’re aware that I can’t.”
The other man, looking as though he sucked on a lemon, gave a curt nod before looking down at Deirdre. His face relaxed again and his voice gentled. “Deirdre, if you had called, I would have come and opened the gate for you. You shouldn’t exert yourself. I’m surprised your human doesn’t know that.”
“Let’s get in the car, Archer,” Deirdre said, before Archer could open his mouth. “Asa. Fae is in her carrier? Atmos can see to the gate.”
Atmos reached out and put his hand on her arm, stilling her. “Fly back with me. How often do you get to—”
“I am tired, Atmos. But thank you for the offer.” Deirdre shrugged her arm free, and Archer walked with her to meet Asa.
“She’s in the carrier,” Asa said. “Do we need to be concerned about—”
“No.” Deirdre shook her head. “Let’s go. Atmos has the gate.”
Archer handed Deirdre up into the SUV and closed the passenger door. As he walked around to the other side, he felt the fae man watching him. He climbed into his vehicle and closed the door, and Deirdre heaved a sigh.
“Atmos is an aggressive, selfish prig.” Her blunt words, so different from her usual demeanor, made Asa snort.
“Seems like it,” Asa said. Archer started the ignition and popped the emergency brake. In the rearview mirror, he watched Atmos shed golden light as he slid the gate closed.
“Is he going to cause problems?” Archer asked, darting his eyes to Deirdre. She seemed to have recovered, but he couldn’t help but be concerned.
Deirdre sat in silence for a long while until she said, quietly: “I don’t know.”
***
“This is my parents’ home,” Deirdre spoke softly as Archer parked the SUV away from the house, beside a small detached garage. Then she fell silent, her fingers plucking at her seatbelt.
“It’s beautiful.”
She couldn’t have said which man spoke, but they were right. Large, built from stone and wood, covered in trailing ivy and surrounded by tall trees. So many trees that the property lay in deep shadow. Her parents’ home looked like a castle and a fairytale cottage combined. She also recalled the series of smaller cottage homes scattered throughout the forest behind their home. One of them had been hers for decades.
“How is it that this entire area is pixelated on Google Maps?” Asa wondered.
“It’s all about who you know.” Deirdre unbuckled the seatbelt and reached for the door. Archer’s hand came over and found hers.
“It will be alright, love.”
Dierdre nodded, afraid to look at him lest she cry. She could feel the telltale tightness in her eyes and upper lip. Opening her mouth to speak, she realized her throat was thick with emotion.
“Take a deep breath, Deirdre.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the catch of her tense muscles as she did so. She released the breath and drew another, her lungs expanding further as the tension released incrementally. A third breath, and she opened her eyes, her fingers relaxing their unknown white-knuckle grip on Archer’s hand.
“It wouldn’t do to have an attack in the car before I manage to see them,” she quipped weakly, her voice shaky.
The front door opened, and light spilled out onto the front walk. A tall woman in long skirts stepped out onto the path, peering out at the SUV. She turned and motioned toward the house, and an equally tall man stepped out behind her.
“They’re eager to see you, Deirdre.” Archer squeezed her hand, then released it. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.”
“I’ve got Fae in her carrier,” Asa said from the back seat.
Deirdre opened the door and slid down, the ground soft where she landed. She closed the door behind her and walked slowly through the leaves, her eyes on the dear, familiar forms of her parents. She felt tenuously tied to her body, watching in surprise as her parents met her halfway.
“Deirdre…” Her mother’s smooth, beloved face suddenly crumpled, but it was her father who reached out, pulling her the last few feet and folding her into a hug. Then he shifted, adding her mother into the circle of his arms. “Oo ti’ahi!” Youcame!
“Oo wilde ni? Ky’ issem?” You wanted me? As I am?
“Ĉia, anak.” Always, daughter.
Deirdre’s tears spilled over, soaking her father’s shirt. He kissed the top of her head, just as he’d done when she was young.
“Who are these human men, Deirdre?” her father asked, switching to English.
She pulled back, eager to introduce them, but her mother beat her to it.
“That one is Deirdre’s ánrhen, Liam. Can you not see it? And this must be his brother; I can see it in their faces.” Her mother dashed tears from her eyes, then reached over and did the same for Deirdre. “Alright, daughter. Please, introduce us.”
Her father rubbed her back and released her, and she reached for Archer, pulling him close. “Am’an, Ap’an, this is Archer James Neal, my ánrhen, and this is his brother, Dr. Asa Neal. Archer and Asa, these are my parents, Tvaris and Liam. I will teach you their full names later, I promise.”
Archer and Asa shook hands with her parents, twin charming grins on their faces. “Sir, ma’am. I’m so happy to meet you.”
“Please,” her mother said. “Call us Tvaris and Liam. You are family, both of you. And please, come inside. You may leave your shoes just inside the door. And please, bring in the creature, too. Who have you brought, Deirdre?”
“That’s Fae, Am’an. My kitten.”
Her parents escorted them to the door, gesturing for them to enter. Deirdre found Archer’s hand again and looked up at him. A genuine smile lit his face, and her chest filled with warmth. “I’m glad you are here,” she whispered.
“So am I. I’m even happier that things seem to be going well.” Archer squeezed her hand.
“And I’m glad you’re here, Asa. I’m glad that my family can meet Archer’s.”
Asa smiled at her before he set Fae’s carrier down and bent to untie his shoes.
“Here comes Foraoise and her family,” her mother said, continuing to speak in English for Archer and Asa’s benefit. They watched Deirdre’s aunt, uncle, and cousins land near Archer’s SUV. Unlike Deirdre’s own mother, Foraoise had several children, ranging from a few years younger than Deirdre down to a toddler clutched gently in her father’s arms. “She’s been eager to have you visit, Deirdre.”
Deirdre stooped to rescue Fae from the carrier, holding the kitten close as she curiously sniffed the air. “She came to see me at my store, Am’an. I… regret that it was tense.”
Her mother ushered everyone into the open-plan living space, filled with plants and sofas, chairs, stools and other places to sit, many of which were backless. She led Archer to a loveseat and sat Fae on her lap, intending to allow the kitten to explore. Fae crouched there, her tail swishing as she watched unfamiliar people enter the house and move about the room. Asa sat on a stool close by, resting his ankle on the opposing knee.
As she sat there on the sofa, watching her mother and Foraoise embrace each other and the children spill into the space, ignoring their father’s warning to watch their wings, Deirdre felt a fluttering sensation in her chest. Her next inhalation hitched. Archer turned to her, his lips close to her ear. “Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Archer ran his knuckles up and down her arm in a soothing gesture. Another slow breath, reminding herself that this was her family, and they loved her. Static sparked behind her closed eyes.
“A little overwhelmed, I think,” Archer said, in response to a question she hadn’t heard.
“Böcē!” Foraoise called out to her children. “Oo hawadyra! Hawadyra!”
“Neko!” A tiny someone had spotted Fae. Deirdre opened her eyes, expecting to see the toddler run her way. Her fingers curled protectively around Fae’s soft body.
“Deirdre o kwaneko. Oo hawadyra, Yuima!” Foraoise’s chosen mate called out, reigning in the little girl and directing her outside with a firm grip on her tiny hand. Deirdre watched them regretfully as this unfamiliar cousin toddled back out the front door.
Asa caught her eyes as she sagged against the sofa. One of his dark eyebrows arched and he leaned forward, hands opening in a silent question. Deirdre leaned forward again and Archer immediately started rubbing her back in slow, discreet movements. Sighing, she extended her wrist to Asa, bracing herself against the questions and concern of her family. His fingers touched her gently, finding the place where her pulse fluttered. As Asa counted heartbeats, Deirdre closed her eyes again, giving in to the slow, deep rhythm of her breath.
“Oo mit parigia,” she heard her father say, his voice pitched low. “You are with family.”
Á tereciùin, she thought to herself. Be calm.
Another moment passed, and Asa gave her back her wrist. “Fast, but you’ll do. We should all talk about calm, happy things, I think.”
Archer kissed her temple, and she opened her eyes. Her parents and Foraoise sat on cushions on the floor, gentle concern stamped on their faces. She was relieved that no one looked terrified or upset.
Did I make something out of nothing all these years?
“Would anyone like herbal tea?” her mother asked. “Tisane, rather?”
“Do you still… Do you have blackberry—”
“I do!” her mother said, rising. Her face flushed pink, and she offered Deirdre a gentle smile. Her eyes glistened. “I always k-keep it for you, Deirdre.”
***
Early the next morning, Archer leaned against a doorframe and pulled socks onto his cold feet.
“No shoes,” Deirdre whispered. “There is moss.”
“Warm moss?” Archer asked, rubbing his eyes. He winked at her, softening his complaint before he regretfully stripped off his socks.
“Come!” Deirdre stood in the doorway of the little cottage she’d called home years ago, the early morning light soft as it dropped in around her. She offered him a wide, beaming smile and extended a hand. “Quick, before Fae decides to join us and we spend our morning trying to catch her!”
“Alright!” Archer hurried after her, her enthusiasm igniting a smile on his own face. “Where are we going?”
“The meadow!” Deirdre tugged on his hand and then released it, hurrying down the path ahead of him. She wore an unfamiliar, ankle-length dress in deep blue, with a low back and bishop sleeves. Archer jogged after her, surprised at her pace as she darted through the trees.
Before long, the trees grew sparse, and the moss crept artificially onward, spreading into a large open meadow before being gradually replaced by tall grass. Deirdre slowed to a stop, her back flexing and her wings erupting from her shoulder blades. His breath caught as they unfurled and she shook them out, stretching them to their full span. She spun toward him and beat her wings; the wind stirring his hair until she lifted off, hovering a couple of feet above the ground.
“It is safe here,” she said, as he took a few more steps toward her, reaching for her hands. She let him catch her, tipping forward until their lips met. He inhaled through his nose, the crisp outdoor scent melding with her familiar herbal aroma. Her lips were soft and warm against his.
With a giggle, Deirdre broke free, wings pumping and carrying her higher. The morning light bathed her as she tipped her head toward the sun. She hovered there for a moment before she let her wings flutter and dropped gently to the ground.
“How does it feel?” Archer asked, his fingertips grazing the fringes of one of her gossamer limbs. They felt like insect wings, only stronger; smooth on the edge, slightly textured on the surface.
“Like stretching out a mild cramp that I’ve had for months,” she confessed, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her head gently from side to side. “And then, once I’m over that, freeing.”
He moved his fingers to the line of her jaw, tracing her soft skin. “I wish you were free to fly all the time, love. Perhaps… If you wanted to come here—”
A zzzt sound distracted him, followed by the quietest thump. Deirdre grunted, then staggered, and he reached out, catching her by the waist as an odd, distant pain lanced through his shoulder. When he looked down, however, he couldn’t see anything wrong. No blood on his shirt, nothing to account for the pain.
“Oh.” Her voice, barely audible. He looked at her, then followed her gaze to her left shoulder, where a fat dart protruded from her exposed skin. She blinked and looked up at the sky, her brow furrowed. “Atmos?”
“Deirdre!” Archer’s hand hovered over the dart, shock making them both dull-witted and slow. Deirdre blinked again and brought her right hand up to wrap around the shaft. She jerked it free, swaying. Archer gasped. “Damn, I don’t think you should have—”
“We need to get to cover,” Deirdre muttered. Her wings folded and folded again, disappearing behind her back. She shook her head, hard, then grabbed his arm. “Archer! We need to get back beneath the trees!”
Archer grasped her by the elbow and turned, breaking into a jog and propelling her in front of him. Her hair whipped in a sudden strong breeze.
“ATMOS!” Her voice sounded different; an amplified roar that he wouldn’t have known it was possible for her to make. “WHAT WAS THAT? INDUV’E OO?”
Silence, but for their harsh breathing. Deirdre slowed as they entered the treeline, her eyes trained up and the dart still clutched in her fist. Archer stepped close behind her, trying to shield her smaller body with his as he, too, scanned the trees for white wings and golden hair. He pitched his voice low. “How do you know it was him?”
“He makes them,” she whispered. Her head bent and she brought the dart up for inspection. His eyes followed the delicate lines of metal, glass, and feathers.
“Deirdre,” Archer said, his concern tightening into fear. “That is a syringe.”
The syringe dart was beautiful, considering what it was. He would have expected something plastic with garish fletching, but this looked like a steampunk contraption from a cosplayer’s dream. Deirdre’s fingers curled tight around the barrel.
“I don’t know what was in it,” she whispered. Her hand trembled.
“We need to get you to Asa,” Archer urged, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Uneasiness swept over him like a wave. “How do you feel? Deirdre?”
“I…” Deirdre’s hand opened, and the dart fell silently to the moss. Archer felt dizzy, then shook his head and realized it was Deirdre whose equilibrium was failing. She wrenched her head back and gasped: “Atmos! What have you done?! Archer, Archer…”
He turned her gently so he could see her face. She’d gone pale, her eyes unfocused. Her breath came in rapid gasps. He could almost feel her shortness of breath, her discomfort, as pain cut through his own chest. “I’m going to carry you back. Just take deep breaths for me, love.”
“Archer…” Deirdre swayed and her palms pressed to the center of her chest. Her voice dropped in volume, raspy and thin. “My chest hurts… I’m… Archer. He’s killed me.”
Her legs folded.
“Christ,” Archer snarled, bending to gather her in his arms. “I’ve got you. I’ll get you help!”
Instead of responding, her body went limp in his arms. Archer started running, trying to stay on the mossy path as he shuffled her in his arms and looked at her face.
“Deirdre? Deirdre!” Her head lolled over his arm, her lips white. Internal klaxons shrieked, and he gasped for air as he ran, wincing as her head bounced. Instinct pricked his scalp and his eyes shot toward the canopy. Atmos hovered flew above, dressed in white linen and trailing motes of gold. “YOU!”
The fae man dove, avoiding a tree branch and then coming alongside Archer. Archer gnashed his teeth, unable to do anything with Deirdre cradled against him. To his surprise, Atmos wept, a trail glistening down his sculpted cheek.
“She has you,” the other man said. “You have to understand; she will survive the surgery now.”
“There won’t be any surgery!” Archer exploded. Atmos’s face pulled into a sneer, but Archer continued. “She needs help, Atmos! Get help! She thinks she’s dying! What was in that syringe?!”
Archer stumbled over a tree root, his arms tightening reflexively on Deirdre. Atmos reached out to steady him, releasing his shoulder before Archer could think to shrug him off. “Amiodarone.”
Asa will know what that is.
“GET HELP!” Pain arced again across his chest. In his arms, Deirdre shifted and took a rattling breath. He slowed to a stop, tipping her so that her face fell back into view. Her eyes were open to slits, only the whites showing. She moved again, the muscles in her legs tensing and her lips parting. Her arms jerked. Archer couldn’t breathe. His lungs wouldn’t move, and black spots drifted across his vision. He couldn’t—
Archer dragged in a lungful of air, his chest heaving. He looked about for Atmos, but the other man was gone. “ASA! HELP!” His scream cracked his voice and sank into the silence of the forest. Archer kneeled with Deirdre, stretching her out on the moss, his hand carefully lowering her head to the ground. The delicate skin of her eyelids and lips had taken on a blue cast.
His fingertips skimmed across that purple skin. “No…” Archer smoothed her hair back and tipped up her chin, leaning close to her lips. She felt distant again, absent despite her body stretched out before him. He relied on that even more than Asa’s previous descriptions of agonal breathing and movements. This time, when he held his ear close to her lips, he could tell she’d stopped breathing.
Anguish made his movements jerky. He snapped up, hands shaking. Deirdre already looked dead; still in a way only the dead were still, her face discolored, body awkwardly positioned on the moss. A panicky sob erupted from his mouth as he patted his pockets, belatedly looking for the cell phone he hadn’t brought with him. Then he gasped and clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and pressing them between Deirdre’s breasts without remembering to landmark.
“Please, Deirdre… One!” He pushed down hard, remembering the plastic click of the dummy in Asa’s office. This was not that. This was using his strength on someone he would have never otherwise even bruised voluntarily. His weight in his arms bent her ribcage, forcing her sternum down into her faulty organ, the only part of her he could ever regret. She made a noise, a huffing gurgle that cut through the silence, but he kept going, bobbing over her slight form as his head swam and his eyes blurred with unshed tears. “…nine, ten! ASA! TWO, three, four, five…”
Beneath his hands, her body twitched, shoulders shrugging and her bare feet rocking side to side. Her legs drew up slightly, and her jaw worked, the blue of her eyes briefly visible in the corners before the slits showed only white again. “Uh… uh… uh… uh…”
“…two, three fourfive…” Too fast. He made himself slow down and concentrate. Since he’d met her, he’d reviewed CPR guidelines. Two inches. He’d reviewed them, though if he were telling himself the truth he hadn’t pictured himself actually here, in this forest, beating her heart. “ASA! HELP! PLEASE! No… Ah, one, two, three…”
“ARCHER!” His brother, shouting from just down the path.
“HERE! WE’RE HERE!” Archer’s voice broke, and a tear dropped onto his hands. He kept his hands at their vital task, pumping and pumping, his desperation a dangerous distraction. He looked around wildly, hoping to spot his brother. Then his gaze jerked back down to Deirdre’s darkening face.
Asa’s heavy breathing and muffled footfalls made Archer lift his head again. His brother sprinted down the path, carrying the medical bag and AED they’d brought with them just in case. “I’m here! I’m here, Archer! Don’t stop! Tell me what happened.” Asa dropped to his knees across from Archer and quickly unzipped his bag.
“Atmos…” His voice came out garbled, and he concentrated on silent chest compressions for a few seconds until he could speak. “He injected her with… amiodarone?”
“Amiodarone.” Asa kept his voice suspiciously even as he snapped nitrile gloves onto his hands. “You’re certain?”
“Yes!” He kept thrusting his hands into her chest, his eyes darting between Asa and Deirdre. Her shoulders shrugged each time he pressed, making her chin nod. “She fainted. Then she started twitching… making noises… She stopped breathing, Asa!”
“Pause compressions, Archer.” Asa’s voice, calm and gentle, broke through his rising panic. Archer lifted his hands just off her chest, watching as his brother pressed two gloved fingers hard into her throat.
“She’s… not here. It’s different from when she’s asleep. I don’t know how to describe—”
“Archer, take a deep breath and start compressions. Can you keep doing them for me while I secure her airway?”
Archer resumed the harsh beat before Asa finished speaking. His eyes trailed wildly up and down her pallid body as her legs twitched again. Her abdomen bulged rhythmically each time his hands descended. Her hands curled like pale, dead things in the moss. Asa brought out a familiar plastic case and plucked out a curved plastic airway. Meanwhile, Archer kept pressing down, nauseated with fear and the sensation of pushing hard on such an important part of her.
“Fae medics are on the way.” Asa tipped Deirdre’s head back and used his thumbs to open her jaw before slipping it between her teeth and turning it one hundred eighty degrees. “Atmos showed up at her parents’ home and said she needed help, though he did not exactly tell them what he did.”
Archer groaned involuntarily, a broken sound that echoed. Deirdre’s eyes were closed again, the blue cast even more noticeable as it tinged her features. The plastic piece between her teeth held her mouth open, and he could see how blue her lips were around it. Asa leaned in again, this time with a mask attached to a large bulb.
“You’ll pause every thirty compressions,” Asa said, his voice steady. “I will give her two breaths and you immediately start compressions again. Pause now.”
Archer’s momentum stuttered, and he ground to a halt as Asa squeezed the bulb. There was the sound of plastic crumpling and the whoosh of air. He felt Deirdre’s chest rise and fall under his hands. Another breath, and then Archer rolled his weight over his hands. He dug his hands into her sternum and—
***
Asa couldn’t be sure what told him to pull back, or why he listened, but he jerked away, dropping the bag-valve mask and breaking contact with Deirdre just before Archer sucked in a pained breath and a flash of light nearly obliterated Asa’s vision. He saw them both as burning silhouettes, her body bowing up slightly from the moss, his back arching and his head falling back.
Then the light vanished, and Archer collapsed onto his back, groaning. Asa lurched forward and pressed his fingertips against Deirdre’s carotid artery.
One one thousand.
Two one thousand.
Three one thousand.
Four…
The seconds ticked by.
Ten one thousand.
His lips pulling into a thin line, Asa bent over Deirdre, wove his fingers together, and pressed the heel of his bottom hand against her sternum. Rolling his shoulders over his hands, he began a series of rapid, deep, professional compressions. Then he spared a glance for his brother, sprawled on his back next to Deirdre. Archer’s chest rose and fell rapidly, fingers digging into the moss. “Archer?”
The younger man groaned again and tried to push himself upright, only to collapse back to the moss. “Deirdre…”
Asa glanced around to see where he’d dropped the mask. His eyes stopped on her cyanotic face and he quickly lifted his hands from her chest and tipped her head back. Pinching off her nostrils, he covered Deirdre’s slack, cool mouth with his own and gave her a breath. He gave her a second to exhale before blowing into her mouth again, rounding out her cheeks. Then he returned to chest compressions. “One, two, three, four…”
“Nellä!” The cracking of small branches overhead masked the crunchy sound and feel of Deirdre’s cartilage under his hands. He looked up, his compressions unfaltering as he searched for the source of the sounds. Then, a fae woman dropped into the moss beside him, followed by a fae man. Their wings whipped up a breeze that stirred hair and Deirdre’s skirt, and he watched as they deposited duffles and cases on the ground. Their wings folded neatly behind them. The man and woman both wore backless tunics, scrub pants, and gloves.
Archer pushed himself onto his hands and knees, panting as he stared up at the newcomers. Then he crawled over to the side and retrieved the bag-valve mask.
“I am Dr. Eḥāyi.” Echeyee. The woman reached took the mask from Archer, pressing it to Deirdre’s face with her fingers lapped over the younger women’s chin. The fae doctor was tall and broad-shouldered, with smooth dark skin and silver-streaked hair braided into a crown.
“…twenty-nine, thirty.”
Dr. Eḥāyi gave the bag two squeezes and then sat it to the side, dragging one duffle closer as Asa resumed chest compressions. “You would call me an emergency physician. This is Nurse Imala.”
“…nine… Dr. Neal, cardiologist. Deirdre has a condition I would call Romano Ward. She was injected with an unknown amount of amiodarone. There has been one… apparent magical defibrillation.”
Nurse Imala laid his hand on Deirdre’s ankle as Dr. Eḥāyi connected the mask to an oxygen canister. A green glow crept up Deirdre’s leg, disappearing beneath Deirdre’s dress. Asa forced himself to keep his focus on the rhythm, depth, and recoil of his compressions. Imala called out: “Dr. Eḥāyi, she needs to be intubated! Tilā suur naysai.”
“I will intubate.” Eḥāyi gave Deirdre two more breaths from the bag. “Dr. Neal, can you continue chest compressions?”
“Yes. One, two, three…”
Imala lifted his hand, and the green light lingered. “I’m going to get her on the monitor and then I will start an IV. I need to see this rhythm.”
“… eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”
“You are ánrhen?” Eḥāyi asked Archer. His brother sat on his haunches a couple of feet from Deirdre, his face gray with distress.
“Yes,” Archer forced out, his voice hoarse. “Archer.”
Asa finished the round of compressions. Eḥāyi delivered two more breaths with the bag, still speaking to Archer. “You must hold her hand, Archer. You are life support. Do you understand? I will tell you when to let go and when to hold on.”
“One, two, three…” The cartilage in her chest crunches and crackled as he worked. The sounds weren’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Still, he grit his teeth, trying to think of her as a patient and not as family.
Archer swallowed audibly and moved closer. He sat beside Deirdre, his knees bent and his ankles crossed, and took her hand tenderly in both of his. “It’s alright, love. I’m here.” His voice, tender and loving, barely rose above a whisper.
Asa’s compartmentalization cracked.
***
Archer clutched Deirdre’s cool hand and pushed back the dizziness clutching at him. His mind set out a search in every possible direction, trying to find her. In the short time they’d been bonded, he’d already forgotten what it was like not to know her. If she was at work and he at a café, he sensed her. If one or both slept, they were still there.
But she wasn’t, not now.
Certainly, her physical body remained. Sprawled on the moss, ghost pale but for the purple mask of her face. Dr. Eḥāyi lay on her side beside him, one hand supporting a metal device she’d wedged into Deirdre’s open mouth. Her other hand delicately clutched a long plastic tube with a cuff on the end. She ran it down the side of the metal scope, seeming unperturbed by the rocking movement of Deirdre’s body.
Asa still performed chest compressions, his hands making a soft thumping sound as he pushed the heel of his hand into the lower part of her sternum. Deirdre’s chest sank beneath the pressure of his hands, dipping and then popping back up each time he rose over her. The force of his hands sent a puff of air out of her open mouth with each thrust.
As Eḥāyi fed the tube down Deirdre’s throat, Nurse Imala brought over a pair of sheers, intending to cut down the center of her dress. He quickly examined the neckline, then said: “Archer, we’re going to pull her dress down to her hips. You take that sleeve, and I’ll take the other.”
Archer quickly released her hand and slipped his fingers inside the top of her sleeve. Asa lifted his hands as the two of them pulled her dress off her shoulders and down her arms, exposing her breasts and the reddish bruise between them. Archer pulled her hand free from the sleeve and pushed the fabric down to her hips.
“I’m in,” he heard Eḥāyi say.
“Here are the others!” Imala called out. Two more fae medics walked down the path, rolling a gurney. Archer spared them a glance and then returned his attention to Deirdre. The whites of her eyes were still showing, gray set against the lavender of her skin. Eḥāyi slipped a plastic strap beneath and around Deirdre’s head and used it to secure the tube. Then she connected the bag to the tube, squeezing the bag twice before handing the responsibility off to one of the new medics.
“This is Sertse and Shavsan. Our patient is Deirdre. This is her ánrhen, Archer. And this is Dr. Neal.” Eḥāyi continued to talk, but Archer’s attention drifted back to Deirdre.
Without her dress hiding the movements, he could truly see the effect of compressions on her body. The upper left quadrant of her chest, close to the center, sank nearly twice a second as Asa pumped her chest. The skin of his hands looked splotchy from the effort, while hers bloomed with bruises. His fingers inadvertently brushed one of her brown nipples. Her breasts wobbled with each thrust, the force telegraphing down to her abdomen in waves that crested against her puddled dress.
Imala leaned in and applied a white pad to Deirdre’s upper right chest, quickly smoothing it to her skin. Eḥāyi applied the other, working around Shavsan, who had Deirdre’s other arm extended onto a white cloth he’d spread in his lap. He tied on a tourniquet, cleaned the crook of her elbow, and pressed his thumb just below. He had a cannula inserted by the time Eḥāyi called out: “Pause compressions.”
Asa sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Alarms filled the air, and Archer watched as his brother leaned forward to look at the monitor.
“Torsades de Pointes,” he said, his hands already back in place before Eḥāyi could speak. Archer looked at the monitor, but he couldn’t make anything out of the wobbly, chaotic lines.
For a few seconds, the only sounds were Asa’s breathing, the thump of his hands, and Sertse squeezing the bag. Deirdre’s lips around the tube still looked blue, and he gripped her hands tight.
“We will shock her now,” Eḥāyi said. “I’m charging to two-hundred.”
“Archer, you must not touch her,” Imala said., detaching the bag. “Please, back away three feet.”
“Imala, you will switch with Asa. Pads are charged, everyone clear.”
Archer laid her hand on the moss and backed away, watching as Asa raised his hands and scooted back and Shavsan lowered her arm to the moss and held an IV bag at shoulder level.
“Administering shock.” Eḥāyi pressed a button on the monitor and Deirdre flinched, her eyes closing and her head lolling to the side. Imala slid in front of Asa and resumed chest compressions. Her stomach popped up as her chest sank. Sertse reconnected the bag.
Asa took the IV bag from Shavsan and held it aloft.
“Shavsan,” Eḥāyi said. “Administer one milligram epinephrine, and then in two minutes two grams magnesium IV push.”
“Administering epinephrine now.”
“Do you agree, Dr. Neal?” Eḥāyi asked.
“Yes. And, respectfully, you have the lead,” Asa responded. The mask of his features slipped, revealing the grim expression beneath. “Your species, your code.”
Deirdre’s arm moved, pulling against his grip. Archer leaned forward, his eyes darting to her face, then to the monitor, then to Asa. Before either of them could speak, her chest arched and her shoulders jerked.
“Sit her up!” Eḥāyi commanded, as Sertse disconnected the bag and Imala paused chest compressions. “Her wings are—”
Archer slid his arm beneath her shoulders, heaving Deirdre’s torso from the ground. Her head fell back on his arm, the tube jutting out from her lips. He felt her wings tickle the underside of his arm as they unfurled, flopping and jerking behind her. Sertse took one wing and Eḥāyi the other, stretching them carefully out to either side.
“Lay her flat, quickly!” That came from Asa. Archer complied, easing her limp body down onto the moss. To his shock, he realized that the formerly lush, green moss had died beneath and around Deirdre, turning brown and dry. Imala’s long-fingered hands continued chest compressions, mercilessly pounding into her chest at a rapid rate. Sertse reconnected the bag and forced an oxygenated breath into Deirdre’s lungs.
Archer reached for her hand again, cupping her small hand in his larger one. Her nail beds were lavender now, like her eyelids.
Eḥāyi crouched between Sertse and Archer and laid her hand on Deirdre’s forehead. “Naneun a cervein o Deirdre.” Light ran from the doctor’s chest down her left arm, sinking into Deirdre in pulses.
She looked up at Asa. “I seek to protect her brain.”
He nodded, his expression solemn. “Thank you. That is something I would wish to do for all of my patients.”
“Administering two grams magnesium now,” intoned Shavsan.
Deirdre’s arm pulled against his grip again. He held tight, his own heart pounding as her eyes opened to white slits again and her lips sneered around the tube. Her legs moved, drawing up, caught up in her dress. Eḥāyi crouched down at Deirdre’s hips, pulling her dress down a few more inches so she could press her gloved fingers into the crease of Deirdre’s thigh. Archer’s gaze darted back to her face. Her irises were showing now, her eyes staring dully up at the canopy.
Close your eyes, love. I can’t take it.
His eyes burned, and he blinked, dislodging a single hot tear. It ran down the side of his nose before slipping over his lips and dripping from his chin. He massaged her palm with his thumbs, stroking her lifeline as though he could milk more time from her. The pain tugged at his heart, drawing life from the organ and sending it down his arms and into—
“It’s happening again!” he gasped. It was the only warning he could give before lightning struck the top of his head and everything went black.
***
“Archer!” Voices and harsh alarms drew him back from the dark.
“…asystolic. Administer another milligram epi and then I want you on bloodwork. Imala, suction her. Sertse, I want you on compressions…”
“Archer!”
“Confirm her pressure, Imala and then Shavsan, I want you to administer that norepinephrine. Is he breathing, Dr. Neal?”
“Yes, he—Archer, open your eyes!”
The voices all boiled down to one. Asa, sounding worried. He felt the dry rub of gloved fingers beneath his jaw and reached up to swat them away. Asa—he assumed—caught his hand and squeezed it tight.
“Am I sick?” Archer’s voice cracked, his throat so tight it hurt to talk. A chill took him, and he forced his eyes open. The gesture stung, and he squeezed them shut again. “Was there an accident? What’s that sound?”
His body ached, and his chest felt heavy. He felt as though he’d been bedridden with a bad flu, or perhaps pneumonia.
“How do you feel, Archer? Just lay there and rest, please.”
“As though I’ve been in an accident,” he said, aware that he sounded peevish. On top of everything else, anxiety seeped in, making his heart race and sending up alarms. More feelings sank in. Loss. Grief. Archer rubbed the grit from his eyes and peeled them open again.
Asa leaned over him, his face tense and ashen. His brother reached out and gently patted Archer on the cheek, a tender gesture that startled him. His eyes shifted past Asa’s face, catching movement up in the blurry tree canopy. Archer blinked several times to clear his vision.
A beautiful man hovered in the canopy, wings beating slowly, creating a breeze that stirred his long, blonde hair. Even from that distance, Archer could see the man’s tortured expression. For his part, Archer felt an uncharacteristic flash of white hot rage that made him push himself up to a seated position and snarl: “What is he doing here?! GO!” Gasping, Archer registered other fae alight near the man, their hands raised warily.
His brother tried to calm him. “Archer—”
“Silence the alarm, please.” Eḥāyi’s voice cut through his anger.
Deidre.
Archer twisted, forcing himself to look at the scene beside him, ashamed that she hadn’t been his first coherent thought. Asa gripped his shoulder. Deirdre still lay on her back on the dead moss, wings akimbo beneath her. But she looked much worse. Her skin gone dry and waxen, her hair shades lighter and brittle. He could see the veins around her wrists and count her ribs, as though she’d lost weight in the time he’d been unconscious. Her eyes, open and staring, irises muddy and colorless. Lips slack around the tube delivering oxygen to her lungs. Sertse’s hands between her breasts, forcefully pushing her sternum down over and over again, making her slim shoulders jerk and her stomach seesaw in and out of a bloat.
Archer reached for her hand and that’s when he saw them… bits of insect wings littering the ground. Feathers, of a sort. Crumbled. With each compression, her shoulders shrugged and her wings moved, and opalescent shards flaked off, littering the dry ground.
Archer hunched over her cold hand, agony building as pressure beneath his skin. “Asa, she…”
“I’ll speak to you plainly, Archer. If you wish it.” Asa gripped his shoulder too tight.
“I do.” His words bit into his throat like gravel.
“Deirdre’s heart is in what we call asystole. This is when there is no electrical rhythm. We cannot defibrillate asystole, as the purpose of defibrillation is to disrupt dangerous heart rhythms. What we do instead is provide chest compressions and administer medications to assist the heart in achieving a shockable rhythm.” Asa paused and took a deep breath. Archer’s heart hollowed out. “I cannot account for her change in appearance… I’m not optimistic, Archer. I’m so sorry.”
“Deirdre is not gone!” A woman’s voice, ragged and grief-stricken, broke in at the end of Asa’s explanation. Movement beyond the tableau in front of him dragged his attention away from the resuscitation efforts. Tvaris, Deirdre’s mother, broke through the crowd of fae he hadn’t noticed assembling. Nearly all tall, unlike his Deirdre, though otherwise they were diverse in shape and color. Each with beautiful wings. He wished he could have seen them together in other circumstances.
Liam stepped in front of her and took her by the arms. “Sēs, ánrhen.”
“He doesn’t know how—”
“Her mother’s right,” Nurse Imala interjected. “Your bond is intact, so we will continue our efforts until that changes.”
“Her brain,” Asa blurted, his hand going to his mouth when Archer glanced at him.
“We do not heal like humans, Dr. Neal.” Eḥāyi’s eyes shifted from the cardiac monitor. “If, perhaps, she had been discovered already cardiac arrest instead, with an unknown amount of time having passed, then things would be different.”
Archer hunched forward, Deirdre’s hand pulled against his abdomen. He tried to picture her as she’d been such a short time before. Aloft, glowing with happiness and freedom. And love. All destroyed.
“Why?” The question came out too quiet for anyone to hear. He gripped Deirdre’s hand tight, his eyes squeezing closed. He dragged in a deep breath. “WHY?!”
The forest fell silent aside from the sound of the bag-valve mask and Sertse’s exertions over Deirdre’s still chest.
Then, a voice from above.
“I am a fool, and I did not believe it would kill her.”
***
Atmos pumped his wings, just enough to keep himself aloft. Fae warriors hovered close by, though as of yet they’d made no moves to detain him. Atmos knew what the humans did not; he wasn’t being detained yet because his Intention might be needed to keep Deirdre alive. For similar reasons, a crowd formed below, creating a large semi-circle around the scene of his crime. Family, friends, neighbors, officials. Well-wishers and on-lookers. His own mother stood in the back, white-faced with her fist pressed to her lips.
Within the semi-circle, the forest was dying; brown moss, trees with brittle branches and falling leaves, bodies of insects that flew unawares into Deirdre’s sucking desire to live. He could see a faint rainbow flowing from the crowd, a channel of involuntary aid drawn from the heart light of everyone there. She’d pulled the most from her ánrhen, knocking the man unconscious to stabilize her heart.
It isn’t working, he thought, his hands curling into fists. His love lay sprawled on her back, a faded shell of herself. Any human would have been long declared dead. Most fae. His cruel, careless miscalculation had shown him something he’d never understood before: Deirdre was strong.
His mind briefly flashed back to when they’d parted; an argument. Shouting, tears. He’d attempted to restrain her, she’d injured him. Other fae intervened and Deirdre collapsed and had to be cardioverted. After, for years, he’d tried to see her, and she turned him away each time. Atmos tried to move on. Buried himself in his work. Sought pleasure from others. Today, however, when he’d seen her entering their village, something inside him snapped.
First, he found a list of medications contraindicated for Long QT Syndrome. The very first item on the list was amiodarone, and though he’d taken hours to research the other options, he’d decided this would be the easiest to get and the easiest to administer without getting caught before it took effect. He would dose her, then take her to receive medical care once she’d collapsed. He knew her parents would want her to have the surgery; when better for such a thing to occur?
Breaking into the human ambulance had been easy, and he already had his darts at his disposal. He’d bet, correctly, that she would resume her old habit of flying in the meadow in the early mornings.
But Atmos had not expected her to deteriorate so quickly. Or for him to freeze with panic and remorse as soon as Deirdre retreated into the trees and collapsed in Archer’s arms. And he most certainly had not expected this.
After the discharge of ánh, her heart rate had not gone back to normal. It did not even continue its ineffective beat. Deirdre’s heart stopped. And Atmos made himself watch as the fae medics forced oxygen into her lungs and pumped the oxygenated blood around her body. Harsh and ugly, the procedure left purple marks on her chest. The medic’s gloved hands shoved rhythmically into Deirdre’s naked chest, her sternum sinking deep. The motion displaced air, organs, and tissues, pushing her chalk-white stomach up, rounding it out over and over again, her belly button riding the crest of that artificial wave. Each hard compression bent her shoulders slightly toward her collarbones and made her nipples sway back and forth. Her thighs trembled and her feet rocked side to side. Her hands, fingers curled limply toward her palm, moved incrementally with each thrust.
Even from his position, he could see the discoloration of her face, her lips slack around the endotracheal tube the medics inserted. He could see the way her body grew gaunt and her hair paled and her wings crumbled.
I’ve killed her.
There would be punishment, though he couldn’t imagine it would be anything worse than this.
The human man regained consciousness, his grief telegraphed by the set of his shoulders and the way he pulled her hand into his stomach, as though to soothe the hurt he felt deep inside. Atmos heard the man speak: “WHY?!”
Without thinking, Atmos answered: “I am a fool, and I did not believe it would kill her.”
The answering sound could have been a sob or a laugh; either way, it was ugly.
Before either man could speak again, the tone of the cardiac alarm changed and Dr. Eḥāyi called out: “Pause compressions, ten second analysis!” Her eyes stayed on the monitor as multiple hands pressed to Deirdre’s ravaged skin. Green, white, and pink light spread across Deirdre’s body.
“V-fib!” Dr. Eḥāyi’s voice betrayed her excitement. Sertse and Imala resumed CPR. “Charging the defibrillator to three-hundred sixty…”
The human doctor reached for his brother. “Archer, you can’t touch her while they—”
A bright blue light burst from the center of the semi-circle, cutting off the doctor’s words. Deirdre’s back bowed, arching off the forest floor. Sertse and Imala both jerked and fell back, mouths open in a silent cry. Her ánrhen, Archer, seized up, his head falling back as his arms tensed. Connected to Archer by a hand on his arm, Dr. Neal followed suit, his eyes rolling until the whites of his eyes showed. The light brightened to near-blinding, and then it snapped off as suddenly as it had appeared.
One by one, Sertse, Imala, Archer, and Asa collapsed to the ground beside her.
And here comes a brand new character, a princess of the Sky Rivers who will need some help soon! she doesn't have a name yet... How should I call her?
Her pale blue skin barely covered in a leather suit that hides her intimate parts to the sea as most of her skimn glisten in sun. Her long, lower back length, red hair, ornated with beads and stars, shining in the light, blinding.
The princess of the Sky Rivers realm descended on the Terran realm to enjoy its beauty but not long after her arrival things start to go terribly wrong for her.
What kind of peril will she encounter? Share your ideas~
Love triangle. The night is cold, Cira is weak, and Splitter and Zulin are there to keep keep her warm. Features magical pacing, mouth to mouth, some minor lactation, NSFW. Little actual resus but basically two dudes giving a weak heart a lot of attention. I've done the reverse of what I normally do and marked the bit where the resus aspect stops and the spicier bit begins.
Winter had come in full force. Splitter had camp set in a mountain basin that had some protection from the biting winds, but it had done little to fight the perpetual chill. Every day another slave or orc lost a part to frostbite, and even commanders with full tents had trouble keeping a fire going with the sparse wood to be found. Some in their camp simply fell asleep and never woke up.
Tonight was especially cold. He had hardly made the trek back to his tent for all the knee deep snow, and his limbs ached with frost. He deposited his haul of firewood at the mouth of the tent and hastily stepped inside, shivering. Zulin lay in a mass of furs, Cira wrapped up in his arms. Splitter wiped at his cheeks and glanced at the pair. "How is she?" he asked. Zulin sighed, brushing back her hair from her face. "Not well. The cold is always taxing for her. But so is the heat and the rain and everything else."
Splitter knelt to stoke the fire, putting on a few more logs. Pinpricks assaulted his fingers as he warmed them. "Pup alright?" Zulin said, "Don't think he's happy, but he's still kicking. There he goes again." The elf male nuzzled his nose into Cira's shoulder and whispered low, "Be good to your mama, little devil." Splitter watched them for a time over his shoulder as the heat licked at his skin. It was an odd position he found himself in. A few weeks had passed since he claimed the bonded pair as his house servants, but more often than not it was the warlord who waited on the slaves. Cira tired too easily to do more than darn socks or simply lay on his furs, and while Zulin did his best to serve, he was usually too busy taking care of his mate. That left their master to do most of their work. He didn't entirely mind, he had been doing it himself for awhile anyway as he normally hated slaves underfoot. But the irony wasn't lost on him.
He shed his coat and his leathers and hung them to dry, so he was only in his small clothes. He was about to fetch another fur to wrap himself when Zulin said, "Come, bed down with us." He blinked uncomprehending at him. "What?" The dark elf turned to look up at him and chuckled, "We can lend each other warmth. Cira could use it, you might run hotter than I do." Splitter could only blink again, looking between the two. Cira was indeed pale looking, though that wasn't unusual. They'd already had one or two close calls, and he'd had to teach Zulin how to thump her sickly heart when it beat out of sync. Warmth would do her well, as she seemed to be flagging. He didn't want to spend another night with her mate, trying to get her heart beating again, as they had the first night they met. But the prospect of sharing a bed with the pair made his face heat. "You... are not offended with a man... embracing your wife?" His eyes flicked to the round hills of her naked breasts under the covers and looked away again. Zulin smiled. "We share our heart with only one, but our bodies are another matter." He opened his arms and gestured him closer, saying, "Come on. She's still cold, and the night will only get worse."
So Splitter awkwardly eased in on the pregnant elf's other side. Zulin had her in a cocoon of his arms, her head tucked under his chin, and Splitter shifted uncomfortably against her back. He felt her shiver slightly and then hum a soft noise, burrowing into the warmth of both bodies enveloping her own. Splitter didn't know where to put his hand. Zulin's arm was slid around her waist, his hand pressed to the space between her shoulder blades, but Splitter's itched, unsure. He swallowed, and let his palm lay on the side of her plump stomach. Her skin was indeed colder than it should be. Even with layers of furs and the warm bodies, it seemed like her blood wouldn't heat her properly. His thumb ran over the swell of her belly absently, and she hummed again as she shifted closer to him. That small movement stole his breath. He froze, on the verge of tearing away. He didn't really want to. He liked how her full stomach filled his hand, and he found the shape oddly pleasing to map out with his fingers. Orc women weren't made for caresses and gentle touches when they were with child, they were more like pissed off goats. Most of the time they stayed with midwives in their own tents, apart from the village. An orc mother could be more dangerous than a berserker if the mood struck. But elves, ever soft and gentle things, were so mesmerizing in this state. At least Cira seemed to be. He let his hand slide a little further over her belly, letting his cheek press to her shoulder.
"It feels too slow," Zulin eventually muttered. He'd moved to cup his hand between her breasts, over her disobedient heart. Splitter readjusted so he could slide his other arm around her and feel for himself. Indeed the organ pumped sluggishly, dragged down by the effort to feed warm blood into her cold limbs. He tried not to think about how her breast laid on his wrist as he rubbed her sternum. Cira gave only a quiet groan, but did not stir beyond that. Knowing how weak her heart was, a pulse that slow was dangerous. It would tip so easily into stillness if they weren't careful, and her breath was so shallow he barely felt it, even with the heel of his palm against her sternum. "You should breathe for her," he told Zulin, though he felt oddly abashed to. This was different than the panicked desperation they found themselves in when her heart had stopped the first day in camp. All three of them were naked, tangled in each other's limbs, and though it was still a life saving measure, it struck him as odd to lay with another man while he kissed his mate. Like he was intruding somehow.
Zulin cupped her face in his hands and sealed their lips together. When he blew into her mouth, her ribcage rose and filled Splitter's hand. She sighed the breath back out noisily. He gave her another. Each exhalation of her mate's air was a weak moan, which did nothing to lessen the oddness Splitter felt about the whole thing. He stared down as their lips joined once more, her cheeks rounding, the exhale. The silver thread of spit hung between their mouths. He felt himself harden and shifted so he wasn't pressing up against her backside. It was difficult not to think shameful things when he had a hold of her breast, the supple curve of her ass pressed against his thigh, and the oddly sensual noises she was making with every breath Zulin forced into her lungs. Still, he was ashamed. This was vital for the survival of both her and her baby, and he hated how his mind wandered.
Zulin laid his pointed ear against her chest after a few more breaths. "It's still slow," he murmured in a frustrated growl, "Don't be stubborn, Cira." Splitter slid his hand back into place, lowering his mouth to speak against the shell of her ear, "Stay with us, salim..." Her mate looked up into the warlord's eyes. "That thing you did before. The lightning. Would that ... do anything?" He considered it. He'd never tried it on a heart beating too slow, only one that was quivering too fast. The last thing he wanted was to shock her heart too much and jolt the poor thing into stopping altogether. He laid his palm flat against her breastbone, pressing her in against his body. "Perhaps... if it's small, it might help," he said. Zulin replied, "Try it. Before she slips too far away."
So he called the storm. Well, more like he called a little rain shower. He focused on reining in the spell as much as possible, so when he did loose the charge into the chambers of her heart, Cira only jerked a bit. Muscles contracted minutely, a quick spasm and then it was over. He felt her pulse strengthen, as if awoken by the jolt. This only lasted a moment before the beats against his fingertips began to fade again. He tried again, to much the same result. It was helping, somehow, but the effect seemed short lived. As if her heart was simply determined to wind down and let the cold take her away. His lips found her cheek as he whispered, "Keep going, little one. You can do it." He gave her the quick, weak jolts again and again, making her body flinch. The pattern settled until he was shocking her to the beat of his own heart, forcing her to match rhythm with him.
Meanwhile, Zulin kept up breathing into her mouth. He eyed the orc after a few minutes of this ritual of filling her lungs and beating her heart, one they'd become too accustomed to performing together. "How did you learn that trick anyway? With the lightning?" Splitter reached for an answer, unused to being asked much about himself or his abilities. "My mother was a spell weaver. She taught me a few things." "Like how to start a heart?" "That... I learned that from a tiefling artificer. His son was born with a heart like hers, too weak to sustain him. So he made a device with a lightning stone to implant in his chest." Zulin's eyes rounded. "Did it work?" "As far as I saw. It corrected the rhythm whenever his heart beat irregularly." The elf looked into his mate's face, deep in thought. More to himself he murmured, "If only I had such a device for you, my love..." Then he kissed her chest, just above where Splitter's hand jolted her heart repeatedly. Those soft lips brushed the orc's fingers, a fleeting connection, yet again it heated the warlord's face. "I fear she might not survive the birth," Zulin went on, a furrow in his brows. "She's strong," Splitter said before he realized, "For an elf." The elf kissed air into her, the gesture lingering so long and so tenderly that Splitter had to avert his gaze. Cira's muscles went on jerking against his hand. He jumped when Zulin asked, "That name you used earlier. Salim. What does that mean?" He grunted, "Mh. Sparrowheart." "Ha. As apt a pet name as any." He did not know 'pet name' had a different connotation in elvish, not literally meaning the name of a pet. Most would have considered the bonded pair his pets anyway. He also did not elaborate that in the orcish language, the more thorough translation would be "dearest with the heart of a sparrow", using the more familiar structure reserved for a close friend. Or a lover. Why had he even said it? Was it that he enjoyed watching her darn socks, her work laid out on her rounded belly? Perhaps, more than once, he'd imagine it was his own pup rounding her hips and softening her thighs and swelling her breasts. He liked rising from his bedroll in the morning and seeing her sleeping face nearby. He relished the times they were alone and she felt free enough to speak with him, and they spoke of philosophy and history and all the things the camp took little stock in.
Outside the wind howled and tore at the tent, but inside it was warm. Cira's heart grew stronger with their gentle care. Breathing on her own, her pulse finally got to a point they could again see it at her throat, and feel it in her wrist. Finally she opened her eyes. Only a sliver, only enough to see Zulin and smile weakly. "Morning," she croaked, her head rolled back against Splitter's chest. Her mate kissed the corner of her mouth. "Morning, my love. Feeling better?" "A little..." Only now realizing there was another form against her back, she craned to look over her shoulder. "Oh," she squeaked, gaze widening, "Master. I'm... H-Hello." Both of them noticed at the same time his massive hand was still nestled between her breasts. Splitter jerked it away. "It- You were-" "Your heart was weak," Zulin supplied with a crooked smirk, drawing her face to look at him once more, "Our kind master was helping her along." Cira flushed a soft pink under the pale lavender of her skin, inclining her head in his direction as she said, "Well. Thank you, Master Agonem." His name on her lips made his stomach shrivel. Her mate asked, "Are you warm enough?" But the shiver that went through her was answer enough. She pressed her face into his chest and huffed a breath. "I'd be a glacier without the two of you. Feels like I just want to go to sleep forever." "You cannot," Splitter was a little too quick to say, and a little too vehemently at that. She laughed softly, glancing back at him with dazzling crimson eyes. "I do as my master commands. You're the one with dominion over my heart, anyway." She grinned. "If I go off to the great sleep, you'll be there to bring me back, right?" Yes. As many times as he had to. If it kept those eyes looking at him and glinting in the firelight, he would bring her back a thousand and thousand times.
"If the master is willing," Zulin said in a mischievous sing-song voice, "I know a way to warm you up." She laughed and it turned into a rumble that shot straight to the warlord's chest. "Oh?" "Did you know, Master Splitter, that we call the winter months 'Rabbit Rut' in our language?" "I... did not..." "Wonder why? Because when the cold hits, there's nothing more to do besides rutting like rabbits." So saying he slid his hand, momentarily skimming Splitter's, down Cira's body and between her thighs. Splitter felt a light headed rush when he realized what was happening. The elf male locked gazes with him over Cira's head, that capricious glimmer still winking in his dark eyes. "Only if the master is willing, of course," he said and grinned. "Master is willing," he replied, unable to stop himself before the words came tumbling out. Needing no further goading, Cira rolled her bountiful hips back against his cock, already stiff against the curve of her ass. His fingers found her outer thigh and gripped, hard enough to bruise, as Zulin pinned his mate into the sculpted wall of Splitter's body. He was kissing her all over as his fingers worked up the slick dewing between her legs. Her breath caught. "We need not even be too cautious," he said against her collarbone, "We have a healer right here if that poor heart of yours gives out." "I'd rather not die during sex. Again," she chuckled. Splitter was struck by that in a way he didn't anticipate. A healer. He might have been that, once upon a time. It occurred to him that he liked being the frail elf's bulwark. The one to bend her body to his will in a way that did not involve violence. The one to save her. He so rarely got to be the savior, always playing the monster that needed slaying. It had not crossed his mind that what he felt, amidst the fear and adrenaline of having a life in his hands, was something like pride. No sooner did he think this that his cock throbbed needfully in the cleft of Cira's backside.
"Shall I?" she asked softly, and when he understood her meaning, Splitter nodded. She took his length, which likely would have been a discomfort in her condition, if not an outright agony to try and take fully, into the space between her thighs. While Zulin paid attention to her short elven cock and slit, she rolled her body to work the warlord's considerable girth. Already precum leaked between her legs. He moaned a low noise he didn't mean to make and she reached behind her head to bury her fingers in his hair, clutching his head against her own. Zulin was working his fingers in and out of her sex. He'd stopped his trail of kisses at her swollen breast, having taken one of her erect nipples into his mouth to nibble and suckle at. She writhed under the attention, Splitter cupping the other breast in his own hand. Rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he was surprised when a dribble of milk wet his fingers. He'd been so entranced by how lovely her tits were, he'd forgotten their actual function was soon to be fulfilled, and he rolled the pearls of milk against his palm.
"It's quite sweet," said Zulin, still at her other teat, "Want to try?" "T-Try?" Splitter asked with eyes the size of the moon. The elf chuckled in that dark way of his, and the orc watched in fascination as he drew her nipple back into his mouth and sucked a few times. His mouth held closed, he leaned in to capture the warlord's. So stunned by this, he obediently parted his lips and let him in. Warm liquid spilled onto his tongue and he drank it up like the sweetest ambrosia. It was, in a way. The sweetest milk he'd ever tasted. He was breathing hard when they parted, Zulin licking some of it up off his chin. "Good?" he chuckled. "Very," Splitter rasped.
Every sensation was overwhelming. He felt raw, untethered. He'd had plenty of partners in his life, but they had always been like him. Rough, snarling things that took their pleasure with speed and ferocity. Orc women who'd sooner just shove your face in their cunt than kiss you. Even orc men, who were by far the worst, who left you feeling like you'd fought off an army more than taken a lover. But this was slow. Gentle. The little sounds Cira made and the way Zulin kissed her skin and the soft writhe of their bodies. Splitter found he was shaking. Literally shaking like some boy under his first dame. He was huffing against Cira's bare shoulder, his lips dragging against the supple skin as he worked his cock between her thighs. "I can't," he whined, gods, he was whining. "I'm-nnh- I'm going to- hah-" Cira held his head close to herself, tilting her own so she could kiss his lip and the edge of his tusk poking from his teeth. "Cum for me, Master," she whispered, and he was broken in an instant. He came as she bid, spilling between her legs with an undignified groan, burying his face against her back. He had the urge to bite as he would with an orc partner, but she was too delicate and fine to risk harming, so he was left only with pathetic whimpering and trembling, clutching her against him. She kept grinding against his sensitive cock, rubbing her thighs against one another to draw out every moment of his climax. Then she was letting out her own shaky moan, twisting and turning in his arms while Zulin fingered her to her height alongside their master. She arched back against him, and he could feel her pulse throbbing through her back. Splitter's large hand slid beneath one of her breasts, worried, only briefly, that she might suffer another attack with the way her heart raced. But she collapsed into the embrace of the two men, panting, glowing healthily, and his fears abated as her heartbeat gradually slowed to normal.
Zulin took his soaked fingers into his mouth with a chuckle, eying his mate with intent. "Hot enough, love?" She playfully bat his chest, then nestled against it. "Devil," she panted. He grinned wide, and his hand once more slid beneath the furs. When Splitter felt those long, slender digits against his painfully sensitive cock instead, he jerked involuntarily. "Seems Master enjoyed it too," he said in a low, sultry tone, absently petting the underside of his shaft.
It was big enough his fingers didn't quite get all the way around it, and longer than his longest finger by quite a few inches, but he cupped it in his palm and stroked up and down it's length. Splitter shuddered, face still pressed to Cira's sweat damp back. "P-Please," he stammered, and felt his whole body heat with shame. He'd never said please in that weak, tremulous way, and certainly never to a slave. Then again, a slave had never brought him to such an unfamiliar and dizzying place.
They would bring him there a few more times before the sun rose on the snowy mountains.
@asystolearchives *drops an oddly specific resus scene story shaped package at your doorstop* oh shit how did that get there?
Contents: MLM pairing, fantasy setting, electrocution, CPR, defibrillation (kinda)
🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻🪻
Aleric huffed as he rolled up the sleeves of his tunic. It was in vain to try and keep them dry as he scrubbed the contents of the wash bin. It was a task he thought frankly beneath him. Sure, he didn’t exactly finish his exercises that day, but to be tasked with dishing duty? A far overreaction in his opinion.
This wasn’t at all what he expected. Aleric spent months pleading and begging the old wizard to take him under his wing. Magnus was a legend before he retired. While he had been adamant at first that his spell-fighting days were behind him the elf had managed to wear him down.
And all to wind up scrubbing vials.
He pulled his hands from the water. With a flick of his wrists, he shook the droplets off. Turning on his heel, Aleric stomped to the training grounds.
The wizard wanted him to do his exercises? He’d do the damned exercises. Better than being the dish boy.
With sharp movements, he summoned the hum of magic in his veins. Aleric moved through the steps to the best of his memory.
The first few bolts of lighting at the scattered targets were precise and quick. Enough so that even that maybe it could have wiped that disapproving frown off his mentor’s face.
He lingered on the thought, letting his movements become sloppy. The focus required to keep control of the spell in his hands was lost entirely as the door to the hall opened.
The elf spun on his heels to face the noise on instinct, flinging the gathered energy forward in a smooth swing of his arm.
And watched in horror as it knocked the man in the doorway back off of his feet. The body fell back to the floor, twitching and writhing.
His eyes went wide and for a moment he simply stood frozen. He was moving before he even realized it. Sliding on his knees to the prone form of his mentor. The seizing had ceased by the time he reached his side. He grunted as he rolled the man onto his back.
He was greeted with a sight that made him shudder. Magnus’s eyes closed, jaw slack with a bit of drool, and face lacking the pinch of his brow he became so accustomed to.
His hands were trembling as he dipped down, pressing an ear to Magnus’s chest. He waited, listening for the flutter of a heartbeat and breath in the man’s lungs. But it was eerily quiet.
Eyes wide he fumbled with the clasps of Edwin’s robes. Yanking them open, he pulled open the neckline until it dipped wide enough to show a sliver of bare skin. He couldn’t stop the wince in sympathy at the raised and red skin from the impact of the spell. Pushing the thought aside, he bowed so his ear was pressed into his chest once more. He prayed to any god listening to that without the cloth barrier, he would hear when the faintest of sounds.
There was nothing.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it-“
His hands fluttered over the man’s chest for a moment before hesitantly settling on top of one another in the center of his chest. Aleric swallowed before he pressed down hard once. He startled at the huff that escaped the man’s lips. The apprentice didn’t dare move, staring at his face as he watched for any sign of life.
There was nothing, the man entirely still as his jaw hung slack and head tilted to the side.
Swallowing he hunched his shoulders as he thrusts the heels of his hands down into his breastbone once more. He cringed at the way he felt Magnus’s ribs flex and bend beneath the apprentice’s weight. Aleric had never done it before. Had no idea if he was doing it correctly. Better wrong than nothing though.
He shifted their positions, swinging a leg over Magnus’s waist to press down more comfortably. His eyes were glued to the man’s face. Aleric drank in every detail to try and calm the panic flutter in his chest; the silver-toned curls stuck to his forehead, the bluish hue to his hips, the salt and pepper stubble on his jaw. The way the soft fabric of his robes shifted with each sway of his body and slipped off his shoulders. Anything for his mind to latch on to as a distraction from the unnatural feeling of compressing the man’s heart between his ribs.
Aleric’s arms began to ache and his shoulders felt tight. He pauses compressions, using the break to address the man’s lack of breath. Trembling fingers pinched his nose as he brought their lips together. It felt entirely unnatural, with his lips so still beneath his own. He watched as the man’s cheeks puffed out slightly before his bare chest slowly rose from the corner of his eye. The apprentice pulled away, letting the borrowed air escape.
Once the man’s chest collapsed back down, he dipped to force another breath down his throat. He breathed out for a moment longer the second time, waiting until he felt resistance to pull away. He felt the pressure release back against his lips in the soft huff that escaped his mentor's lips.
He couldn’t linger for too long though as his hands moved back to start another cycle of compressions.
As the minutes passed, he felt himself growing more desperate. Back and forth between breaths and compressions but with nothing but a growing bruise on the fallen wizard’s chest to show for it. A gnawing feeling twisted in his stomach. As he glanced at the raised web of red flesh across his chest he suddenly got an idea. A stupid one perhaps, but it was all he had.
He grabbed the man’s robes, stripping them off further until his upper half was bare. Shifting his knees so that he didn’t make contact with the body below him he focused on summing a crackle of lighting in his fingertips.
With a sharp exhale, he thrust his palms down into the man’s chest.
Aleric yanked his hands back immediately with wide eyes as the body beneath him arched and then thumped back flat into the floor. His hair stood on end with the energy humming in the room. There were red marks left behind where his hands had been and his palms tingled.
He held his fingers for the side of Magnus’s throat. For a moment he clung to the hope that it was the dull numbness of his fingers that was to blame for his inability to find a pulse. It was a hope quickly dismissed when he pressed harder to still find nothing.
“Gods be damned, you stubborn old-“
The apprentice lifted his hands as he forced energy back into his palms. There was a delicate balance between enough power to do the job and the amount that would certainly do more damage. If he hadn’t done too much already.
He pushed the thought away, whispering a near-silent apology as he thrusts his hands down once more.
Aleric didn’t pull his hands away during the second shock. He pressed his weight down into the arching body beneath him. Felt the way the muscle beneath his burning palms twitched.
When he thought he felt a flutter, his eyes went wide. When fingers moved back to his throat though, he was greeted with the beautiful confirmation of a pulse. Weak as it was, it was there.
His knuckles rubbed into the man’s sternum, “Gods above. Alright, there we go. Just- just relax.”
He wasn’t even sure if the wizard could hear him. His own words were a comfort to himself if nothing else.
Magnus’s chest heaved feebly as his lungs attempted to choke down a breath. His apprentice eased the burden as he leaned down to offer another steady breath.
He didn’t stop until the man’s lips shifted against his own, applying a slight amount of pressure. Then they suddenly left as his hands shakily clutched the front of his tunic.
When he made eye contact, he was still as he let the moment linger. It was broken as Aleric sat the man up with a huff. There would be time to unpack that later, “Come on old man. Let’s get you to a healer.”
Liric had narrowly survived the trap she'd encountered from Quinn. If the Twoleg hadn't of saved her, she wouldn't of. Quinn had ran after her, trying to accuse her of stealing resources and supplies from the Brabblefern territory, where she had just been looking for her large cane toad familiar, Hieff. But now, the only daughter to the head of the Lotusfeet family, was back on her own. She'd stayed low- making sure to keep herself as small as she could once she got back home.
And oh, how her dear father was relieved. Though the bruising lasted for several days around her chest from being resuscitated- Liric wasted no time in her recovery. And she was soon back to doing what she loved, and had even found that Hieff had made his way home. She was very thankful for that.
The days came by slowly, mostly spending time crafting around her gentle home, making decorations out of sticks and acorn husks. But she'd ran out of pigment. Determined, and set to get more, the small fairy left her home with her gathering basket and began to search her land for any kind of brightly colored flower.
And after picking a few- that's when she heard it.
The distant sounds of strangling- or choking. She couldn't tell what it was, but realized by the trees that she was close to Brabblefern territory. A shiver ran down her back, her small dragon-like wings slowly letting her land, her pointed tail swishing nervously as she listened more carefully.
She could hear it now clear as day. That was choking.
Fearful of it being a member of her tribe, she called out.
"Out there! Are you okay?" She questioned loudly as she looked around- and heard the familiar sound of wings flapping towards her. With one look, she saw Quinn's figure. The swirls within her skin, the way her dreads jingled slightly due to the decorations in them- it was her alright. There was no doubt about it. Liric tried to hold back her fear, but all of that changed when the fairy came crashing down beside her, stumbling. She could see the red hues to her normally pale grey skin, and dropped her small basket of flowers as she rushed over cautiously.
"O-Oh my! Quinn, please- let me help, I'll help you!" She cried out, not knowing where this sudden compassion was coming from- part of her deep down wanted to let Quinn choke, for them to always be safe- but Quinn was already using one of her hands to try and beat over her chest to try and dislodge the object. There was no time for those kinds of thoughts!
Liric quickly moved behind Quinn's heaving frame, pulling her hands behind the other woman, never quite noticing how tone she was- before moving a fist right above her navel, the other one overlapping it as she thrust inwards, earning a small 'hyrk!' as a response.
"Oh, come on! Try to cough it's okay!" She tried to assure- and once again, pulled back hard enough to make Quinn stumble on her feet as she clawed at her throat helplessly.
Again, pulling in with all of her stregnth- she thrust again, but this time felt a bit of resistance as her wings twitched.
She was falling unconscious.
"Oh… crap!" Liric cried as she moved her hands up quickly to catch Quinn, moving her onto her back, allowing her own webbed wings to spread out against the cool ground- but Liric didn't want to waste any time. She quickly straddled Quinn's hips, their bare bodies shifting like puzzle pieces into each other momentarily before she moved her interlocked hands down- thrusting against her stomach, upwards.
"One!… Two… Three--.. Come on! Come on breathe!" She begged Quinn, noticing the glaze of her eyes as her features became more distant. Liric moved quickly to shove her head down against the larger chest of Quinn, hearing the desperate 'lub-dub! lub-dub!' of her overworked heart trying to stay beating without oxygen.
She'd never noticed just how beautiful Quinn was before- but didn't let the thought linger far before raising back up, interlocking her hands again above her navel before thrusting harshly into her ribcage. Again, and again- as Quinn's head lolled over to the side, mouth agape but nothing escaping. Five quick thrusts and she was climbing up nervously, opening up Quinn's mouth and peering on inside.
She could almost see it… One hand moved to rub against Quinn's throat, and met a satisfying 'glurk!' as it suddenly lost it's suction in her throat, gasping with happiness as she quickly thrust two fingers into her near cold mouth and hooked her fingers on the obstruction, maneuvering it out with minimal effort. It was a half-chewed piece of some kind of edible plant.
"O-Oh okay! Okay breathe!" Liric commanded as she moved to rub and pat Quinn's cheeks, but the coldness seeping into her skin made Liric confused as she backed up, quickly moving to press her ear against the fairy's chest.
Nothing…
"Oh no!" She cried out in realization before moving to the side of her frame, interlocking her hands over the fairy's chest, squaring right in between her nipples before thrusting down. The amount of resistance almost made her sick to her stomach as she realized just how much force was needed to get proper depth- but she squared away her shoulders again, taking a deep breath in before thrusting down again.
'huh! huh! huhhuhhuhuhuh-'
Began Quinn's frame as Liric set her pace for compressions, her ribs flaring with each methodical thump into her failed heart.
"fourteen- fifteen!" Liric cut it short, moving down to pinch Quinn's nose and slam her lips up against the once-enemies. Part of her wondered if they would even be enemies past this point… But she didn't let that stop her, as she slowly pushed in air- the amount rushing in to fill Quinn's slack cheeks, traveling down her throat and expanding it before making it into her lungs, allowing her chest to fully rise before pulling back- and again.
Before her hands were met right in the center again.
"One, two, three, four, five!" She began to call out as she willed the heart to respond to her touch- but after a few rounds, and the exhaustion that was setting in- Liric was becoming desperate. She moved over Quinn's hips to start delivering deeper compressions that rocked her entire frame with each thrust- before, in desperation, Liric held her fists tightly before slamming down into Quinn's chest with a precordial thump.
Quinn's entire frame shifted before she suddenly gasped, wings fluttering under her uncomfortably- her eyes shooting open to see Liric. It wasn't but a few seconds before Quinn was shifting from under her- and suddenly flying off, though a bit uncoordinated, she escaped fast without even as much as a thank you.
Liric, though tired, was glad that Quinn had survived.
I hope that you liked it! This one was a bit rushed but, I just wanted to write something today!
Story Content and Summary - 6,212 words. After the Part Five cliffhanger, the fate of Deirdre and Archer must be determined. Magical and human resuscitation and hospitalization methods. Explicit sex. ♂️
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five
--
The silence stretched on.
Atmos stared down at the scene below: Deirdre, still in her circle of death, the bag used to give her breaths on the ground and pulling her head off toward the side. The female medic who’d been performing chest compressions curled like a shrimp and wedged against the cardiac monitor. The nurse, sprawled on his back, his eyes closed and his shock of ginger hair full of dead moss. Deirdre’s ánrhen, slumped over onto her body, his unconscious brother collapsed on his side.
Atmos’s ears rang, and then a secondary pulse emanated from Deirdre, flashing in all directions. The crowd stumbled collectively, several people collapsing. Black spots covered Atmos’s vision, and he fell, dimly aware of the guards plummeting to the ground. He hit the forest floor hard, and the air rushed out of him. Groans and coughs filled the air.
Atmos rolled onto his stomach, shaking his head to clear it. He pushed himself onto one elbow, pain pulsating through his left wing and down his spine. In front of him, he saw Dr. Eḥāyi crawl over to Deirdre’s bag, shaking out the oxygen tubing before giving the bag a squeeze. Her fingers pressed into the unconscious woman’s neck.
“She has a pulse!” Eḥāyi called out. Her attention darted to those in her immediate circle. “Imala? Sertse, oo kakee? Shavsan—”
“Sertse is unconscious. Her pulse is weak, but she’s breathing—”
“Dr. Neal! Archer!” Eḥāyi’s face grew tense as she took in the still forms of the brothers. She reached into her scrubs pocket and pulled out a phone, quickly dialing and holding it to her ear with her shoulder. She returned her hands to the bag, squeezing it. “Eḥāyi Yitabib. Nhu ka en môs vojo vés dierdők píso a namaiöý Tvaris e Liam. Ibsen a sætê vpředō respirační-sēs o ánh-sēs. Oo ɖo eŋu ë massa ánhuitgyae.”
With Eḥāyi calling for backup, Atmos watched as Deirdre’s parents rushed forward, kneeling at Deirdre’s feet. They both looked pale, with puffy, tear-streaked faces and their wings hanging limp down their backs. Liam reached out and rested a hand on his daughter’s ankle.
Atmos groaned and collapsed onto his face, the pain in his body worsening as the seconds passed. One of the fae guards, a broad-shouldered woman with close-cropped dark curls, pushed herself to her feet and strode over to him. She nudged him with her toe. “Fanliggen,” she spat, ordering him to stay down.
Atmos closed his eyes, his pain and misery making it simple to comply.
***
When Asa was younger, he lost control of his snowboard and broke through the fragile orange barrier between him and a ravine. Catching air, he arced through the cold, exhilaration and terror battling within him for several precious seconds before a large tree loomed in front of him. He turned his head to the side just before he plowed into the trunk. All the air left him at once and he dropped to the snow, nearly senseless and unable to draw breath.
He felt much like that now as his eyes wrenched open, mouth gaping as he sought to breathe. He clawed at the dead moss, his own wheezing harsh in his ears. Flopping onto his back, Asa pulled in air as though through a straw and expelled it as a ragged cough. His next breath came easier, as did the next, until he was gasping and coughing and fighting to sit upright.
“What…” Chaos around him. A crowd of unfamiliar faces. Fae medics coughing and groaning. His brother’s still form sprawled with his top half on Dierdre.
“Archer,” Asa croaked, dragging himself closer and grasping his brother’s shoulders. He heaved his brother’s limp body off of her, his arms surprisingly weak. Registering as he did so that no one was giving Deirdre chest compressions, he looked first to the monitor, half-masked by the slumped fae medic. The rhythm he saw there sent a hesitant flash of elation through him. Then he glanced at Dr. Eḥāyi, who squeezed the bag connected to Deirdre’s endotracheal tube.
“She has a pulse!” Eḥāyi told him. “How is Archer?”
“Archer! Wake up!” Asa laid him flat, briefly patting Archer’s pallid face before slipping his fingers down to his brother’s carotid.
“Imala, are you all right?” he heard Eḥāyi ask.
“Sertse is responding,” Shavsan said from where they bent over the fae woman.
Archer’s pulse felt weak and erratic under his fingers. “Come on, Archer. Open your eyes. Deirdre is alive!” He tipped his brother’s head back, opening his airway. Archer’s skin looked gray, his lips white. Leaning close to his lips, Asa waited. Around him, the other sounds fell away; coughs, Eḥāyi speaking, shouting from the crowd, the tentative approach of Deirdre’s parents.
“Dammit!” Asa cursed, quickly pinching Archer’s nose and taking a deep breath. He covered Archer’s mouth with his own, exhaling into him. When he broke the seal, he gasped out: “He’s in respiratory arrest!”
Asa lifted his head, looking for his bag. Then he bent to give Archer another breath, watching and feeling for chest rise.
“H-here,” he heard from close by, and lifted his head again to see Deirdre’s father pick up his bag and hand it across to Deirdre’s mother, who’d come up beside him. She quickly kneeled on the dead moss and plunged her hands inside.
“What do you need?” Tvaris asked, her voice firm and her bloodshot blue eyes worried.
“I’ve sent word to our clinic,” Eḥāyi told him. “For more medical staff and equipment.”
Asa winced internally at the coolness of Archer’s skin as he gave him another breath. “Would you take over breaths?” he asked, speaking to Tvaris as he pressed his fingers again into Archer’s neck.
“Yes!” Tvaris leaned over his brother, looking so much like Deirdre that he blinked. She pinched Archer’s nose and used the thumb of her other hand to keep his mouth open. Her mouth descended to his, and she exhaled audibly, Archer’s cheeks puffing out seconds before his chest rose.
“Exactly like that, every six seconds.” Asa worked quickly, searching out his pulse oximeter and clipping it to one of Archer’s fingers. Then he pulled out his blood pressure cuff and stethoscope, quickly wrapping the former around his brother’s upper arm. Asa plugged the stethoscope into his ears and slipped the bell partially beneath the cuff, pressed against the skin of Archer’s arm. He held it in place with his thumb as he used his other hand to pump up the cuff. The sound of the blood pulsating through Archer’s arm was too fast for his liking as he filled the cuff completely, stopping the sound. Asa stared at the pressure gauge.
“Blood pressure of sixty over forty.” He released the pressure and reached across Archer to pick up his cold hand, peering at the pulse oximeter. “Heart rate rising, he’s at one hundred seventy-five. Oxygen at ninety.”
An alarm pinged. Asa looked past Tvaris as she gave Archer another breath. Eḥāyi turned toward Deirdre’s heart monitor, and his eyes automatically followed hers. To his surprise, Deirdre’s heart rate registered at one hundred and seventy-five beats per minute, the flashing number climbing up to one hundred and eighty as he watched.
Imala reared up from the ground with a gasp, one hand pressed to his temple as though his head pained him. Asa pushed himself to his feet and hurried over to Eḥāyi’s bags. “I’m going to—”
“Help yourself, Dr. Neal.” She squeezed Deirdre’s bag and leaned toward the nurse. “Imala, stay where you are. Just rest. We have backup coming.”
Going through Dr. Eḥāyi’s things, Asa quickly found another BVM and an oxygen canister, then snagged the IV kit and a bag of saline. On his way back to Archer, he spotted the AED he’d brought earlier and reached for it, only for Deirdre’s father, Liam, to snatch it up and hurry alongside him. Asa and Liam kneeled beside Archer, Asa immediately pressing two fingers beneath his brother’s jaw. His pulse still beat there, fast and fluttery.
“What do you need me to do?” Liam asked.
“Inside that case is an AED. I need you to get everything out. Open a set of pads, cut open his shirt, and apply the pads per the directions. Are you okay with doing that?” Asa worked to assemble the bag-valve mask, his eyes darting between the object in his hands, Liam’s face, and Tvaris covering Archer’s mouth with her own to give him a breath.
“I’ve got it,” Liam said, unzipping the case. “She weakened him too much. We have to help him.”
“She d-doesn’t know what she’s doing!” Tvaris exclaimed quietly before she gave Archer another breath. Asa heard a soft thwock when she broke the seal. He connected the oxygen canister to the mask and opened it up.
“Á tereciùin, ánrhen,” Liam soothed, reaching out to caress her cheek. Then he turned back to the AED, locating the enclosed trauma shears.
“I’ve got it now, Tvaris. Thank you.” Asa crawled around to the top of Archer’s head and pressed the mask over his brother’s nose and mouth. He curled his fingers around in a ‘c’ shape and then squeezed the bag once, then again, his eyes on the manometer. Liam snipped through the hem of Archer’s shirt, cutting quickly toward his neckline. “Tvaris, please get me the flat plastic case from my bag.”
The fae woman moved quickly, finding the case and opening it before setting it next to Asa’s knee. Asa gave Archer another breath with the bag and then set it to the side, reaching for an oropharyngeal airway from the case. He chose a larger size than what he’d selected for Deirdre, though he still measured it against his brother’s jaw before slipping it in between his teeth and rotating it one hundred eighty degrees. As soon as the device was resting against Archer’s teeth, Asa picked up the mask and gave Archer another breath.
“The medics are recovering,” Tvaris said, looking over her shoulder. “The nurse is b-breathing for Deirdre—”
“I will help you,” Shavsan said, stepping into Asa’s field of vision. “Would you have me establish the IV?”
“Please,” Asa said, relieved. He’d been trying to figure out how to juggle the various tasks, especially considering he did not often draw blood or insert IVs himself.
“We may need to cardiovert her.” Eḥāyi’s voice cut through, and Asa squeezed the bag once before reaching down to take Archer’s pulse again. Liam tore open the AED pads packet, hesitating before he reached into the case and drew out a shaving razor. “Tvaris, the pulse oximeter clipped to Archer’s finger… Without dislodging it, tell me what it says.”
Another smooth squeeze and release. Archer’s chest rose and fell as Liam shaved the hair from the upper right side of his chest. Shavsan had Archer’s arm pulled straight as he applied a tourniquet and cleaned the crook of his elbow.
“S… P… O… Oxygen! Ninety-one percent. Heart rate… is that right? Two hundred eleven.” Tvaris gently rested Archer’s hand on the moss, then turned to look at Deirdre. Liam peeled the backing off the anterior pad and smoothed it on Archer’s chest, then reached for the lateral pad. Asa squeezed the bag, watching as Shavsan pressed a gloved thumb to Archer’s skin and then inserted the cannula just below. Then he removed the tourniquet, and Asa heard a click as he moved his attention to Liam. Another squeeze of the bag as Deirdre’s father applied the lateral pad.
“Ik’ai?” Shavsan asked, getting Tvaris’ attention. He held up a bag of saline. “Would you be able to hold this aloft?”
Tvaris stood, coming around to Archer’s right shoulder and taking the saline from him.
“Liam, go ahead and plug in the connector and turn on the AED. I’ll tell you what to do next.” Asa watched the man reach for the yellow device with the black screen.
Alarms suddenly sounded from Deirdre’s heart monitor. Asa squeezed the bag, his eyes jerking over to the monitor screen as Eḥāyi called out: “V-fib!” and lurched over Deirdre, her hands coming together over the ugly reddish bruise in the center of her chest. His own heart sinking, Asa squeezed Archer’s bag again and then felt for a pulse.
He waited out the requisite ten seconds as his mind screamed at him and panic churned his stomach. NO! “No pulse!”
Shavsan leaned over Archer, quickly landmarking and pressing the heel of his bottom hand over the lower part of Archer’s sternum. His shoulders rolled over his hands and he bobbed, the force collapsing Archer’s sternum into his heart. His stomach popped up with each compression, bumping against the waistband of his pants. “…eight, nine, ten, eleven…”
To Asa’s left, Eḥāyi performed her own forceful chest compressions, Deirdre’s abdomen rolling in similar short waves.
“… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”
“When it comes on, Liam, press the bottom button. I need to see the ECG.” Asa’s eyes dropped involuntarily to Archer’s face. His brother’s eyes were closed, the lids dark. His shoulders shrugged with each hard compression, the force of which telegraphed into his neck as Asa held his head steady.
“… twenty-nine, thirty!”
Asa squeezed the bag twice, first watching Archer’s chest rise and then looking at the manometer.
“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch the patient!” the AED announced. Shavsan and Liam leaned back. Asa cocked his head to look at the simple display, staring at the rapidly quivering line. “Shock advised. Charging!”
Shavsan resumed chest compressions. Asa drew a steadying breath and said: “Liam, Tvaris. Don’t touch him. He is about to be defibrillated.”
“Charged. Press the shock button.” Shavsan lifted his hands and Asa scooted back, raising the mask. Without having to be asked, Liam reached out and pressed the flashing triangular button. Archer’s body flinched, his head tipping to the side. Asa immediately righted it and reopened his airway.
“Shock delivered. Resume CPR for two minutes.”
Asa stared at the tiny monitor, watching the brief flatline begin to quiver again before Shavsan’s chest compressions registered. Then he reapplied the bag-valve mask, ready for the thirty count. “I need epinephrine!” he called out.
Liam looked around, a shockwave of dismay rolling over him at the sight of Deirdre again in cardiac arrest. Sertse, having recovered enough to assist, jumped to action, gathering up what appeared to be prefilled syringes and limping around to set them beside Shavsan. She kneeled by Archer, taking one syringe and administering it through Archer’s IV port. Then she hurried back to Deirdre’s side.
Chest compressions continued for the lovers; Shavsan counted steadily until thirty, at which point Asa gave Archer two oxygenated breaths with the bag. “One, two, three…”
“Charging to three-sixty,” Eḥāyi said.
Asa heard cartilage pop in Archer’s chest as Shavsan forced his heart to beat, recoiling professionally between each compression.
“Everyone clear. Administering shock now.”
Asa glanced over in time to see Deirdre jerk, the endotracheal tube waving in the air and her torso coming slightly off the ground. Eḥāyi immediately resumed chest compressions, making the trim woman’s stomach seesaw up and down nearly in time with Archer’s.
“Sertse, give her a milligram epinephrine.”
“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”
Two more breaths. Asa’s hands trembled as soon as he released pressure on the bag. “Tvaris, what tell me what his oxygen is ag—”
“Ninety-three percent.” Tvaris gave Archer’s hand a squeeze and murmured something in her first language that he could t make out, even if he’d been able to understand it. In response, Liam reached over and gripped her shoulder.
“Hold strong, Dr. Neal,” Eḥāyi gasped, slightly out of breath. Asa wondered if he’d spoken out loud.
“… twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Two more squeezes of the bag. “One, two, three…”
Asa and Archer did not have any cousins. Their grandparents were long dead. Mom had been an only child, and Dad’s sole sibling died because of a childhood illness. Archer was his only family, and he was losing him, along with this new sister who’d come into his life. Anticipatory grief made his breath come short and his stomach tie into knots.
“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.” Asa squeezed and released the bag. Squeezed and released. “One, two, three…”
“I don’t understand what’s happening.” This time, he knew he’d spoken out loud. His face flushed and his eyes blurred. Asa clawed back the emotion threatening to break him down. This was why, as a doctor, Archer couldn’t be his patient. He was too close.
“… eleven, twelve, thirteen…”
Asa swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. The words kept coming, his voice hoarse. “I cannot account for his collapse.”
***
Dr. Léilarin Eḥāyi concentrated on the task before her. Chest compressions providing circulation for her young, dead or dying patient. Her own tired hands plunged relentlessly into Deirdre’s chest, exacerbating the external bruising and insulting the integrity of her ribcage. These were minor, necessary injuries. There were fae healers, some of them trained traditionally and some not, who had tried other methods of circulating oxygenated blood, but they were significantly less reliable. Dissected arteries. Shredded hearts. Braindead patients.
And so, despite the well of magic in her own chest, Léilarin manually beat her patient’s heart as it continued to prove it could not do so properly on its own. If Deirdre had been a human patient, Léilarin would have already called time. Truthfully, she would have done so for most fae patients by now. If it weren’t for the dragging sensation pulling her ánh from her and depleting her own energies, she would stop, call time, and apologize to her parents.
Of course, now Léilarin suspected that if she were to terminate Deirdre’s resuscitation, the young human man dying beside her would be consigned to the same fate.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Dr. Neal’s hushed voice barely made it to her ears, covered up by Shavsan’s determined counting. “I cannot account for his collapse.”
“… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”
Deirdre’s bag-valve mask made a honking sound, and Léilarin glanced quickly at Imala, watching as the nurse deftly adjusted the PEEP valve. Beneath her hands, Deirdre’s sternum and ribs creaked. Closing her eyes, she sent a pulse of ánh down into her hands, whispering her intention to support the woman’s failing cardiovascular system. The magic dragged down her arms and her compressions faltered as she swayed.
“… four, five, six…”
Her eyes flew open as Imala nudged her to the side, his hands replacing hers. “I’ve recovered. We can switch. Take care, our reserves are depleted.”
Rather than argue or deny his supposition, Léilarin crawled around to Deirdre’s head and gently wedged it between her knees. She squeezed the bag, then looked over at Archer.
Shavsan pumped the humans’s bare chest, his professional compressions sinking deep and making his abdomen bulge. Dr. Neal kept his brother’s head tipped back and his neck extended, holding it in place with the mask ready to provide ventilations with each pause in compressions. The human doctor’s face had become an ashen mask of fragile professionalism.
“… twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”
Dr. Neal’s mask slipped, an agonized tenderness taking over as he gazed down at his brother. He squeezed the bag twice.
“One, two, three…”
Léilarin looked down at Dierdre. Her eyes were closed and slightly encrusted, as though she’d been asleep a long time. The lids appeared fragile and lavender in color. The blue had, in one of few positive signs, retreated from the center of her face, settling in her eyelids and kissing what was visible of her chapped lips. Her shoulders jerked and her breasts wobbled each time Imala pushed down. Bits of molted feathers clung to Deirdre’s skin, giving her chalk white body a faint opalescence shimmer.
Léilarin’s eyes skimmed over Imala’s plunging hands, his knuckles white and Deirdre’s skin varying shades of red and purple. Just below, her abdomen rippled in waves of displaced force that crashed into the blue puddle of her dress and dissipated. She could just see the shadow of nearly trimmed pubic hair.
With the crowd, by some standards Léilarin had failed to provide privacy for her patient in her most vulnerable moment. But this was not a human resuscitation. Her patient was fae, and fae needed community to survive. The nearly-invisible rainbow of ánh trickling in from the crowd was testament to that. This, truly, was a miracle. It was not something that happened with all fae deaths. Perhaps it was the injustice of what her former lover had done to her. Perhaps her ánhren’s efforts had created the possibility for such a miracle. Perhaps—
“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”
Léilarin’s attention shifted back to Archer and Dr. Neil. Deirdre’s parents had shifted down toward the feet of the lovers. They kneeled on the dead moss together, clutching each other for support. Dr. Neal continued squeezing Archer’s bag as the AED he’d brought analyzed.
“Shock advised. Charging. Do not touch the patient.” Shavsan ignored the alert, snapping out a series of compressions before the device spoke up again. “Press the shock button. Do not touch the patient.”
Shavsan lifted his hands and shuffled back. Dr. Neal sat the mask aside and leaned over to press the button on the AED. Archer’s chest flinched and his head swayed, the fingers of one hand curling. Shavsan immediately resumed chest compressions.
“Check pulse.”
“Hold compressions!” Dr. Neal exclaimed, his shaking fingers pressing into Archer’s neck. His eyes on the AED screen, he choked out: “Sinus rhythm. Thank God.”
The alarm on Deirdre’s heart monitor abruptly cut off. Léilarin leaned forward to look at the screen, even as Imala announced in hushed tones: “Sinus rhythm.”
Léilarin heard both sobs and tears. Simultaneously, the crowd broke around an influx of relief medics, with gurneys and equipment. Léilarin sagged with exhaustion, even as she continued to ventilate Deirdre. To her right, she heard a man cough, then gag. Dr. Neal sat the bag-valve mask to the side, removed the OPA, and quickly rolled his brother onto his left side, holding him in place as Archer coughed, gasped, and spat.
Deirdre’s mother crawled up to him and took one of his hands, stretching his arm toward Deirdre. Then she reached for Deirdre’s hand and placed it in Archer’s before covering them both with her own.
“Life support,” Léilarin murmured.
“You’re going to be alright, Archer,” she heard Dr. Neal say. “Deirdre is alive. Just rest for me. I need to get him on a twelve-lead!”
She heard Imala echo that request for their own patient, but her eyes were on Dr. Neal’s face. Tears streaked the man’s cheeks.
“I’m Léilarin,” she said. “Léilarin Eḥāyi. And I am happy for you.”
“Thank you,” he breathed, wiping his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “Call me Asa.”
***
Archer leaned back against his pillow, rubbing at the twinge in his chest as he did so. His eyes immediately darted around, guiltily looking for Asa until he recalled his brother had finally relaxed enough to retreat to a private space to coordinate patient care with his practice staff.
Instead, his eyes fell on Deirdre.
When he’d first awakened in this room, he’d been terribly confused. This space was nothing like any hospital room he’d seen anywhere. Well-lit with natural light, with plants and furnishings that resembled a resort rather than an ICU. He shared a bed with Deirdre, though Dr. Eḥāyi explained that the beds could be unlocked and split apart for easier access to one or both patients.
Another difference was that once he’d recovered enough to be discharged, bed been encouraged—no, ordered—to stay. His presence, Dr. Eḥāyi explained, would help Deirdre heal.
As though he would ever leave.
Archer shifted gingerly toward her. She lay still on her side of the bed, a sheet pulled up beneath her arms.
The first day, her wings had been retracted by some kind of magical procedure Archer couldn’t remember the name of, which had left the bed full of what looked like stardust until a crew cleaned it up. She’d laid unmoving throughout. In fact, for the first three days, her only movement was the rise and fall of her chest as the ventilator breathed for her. Archer’d gripped her hand and wept, for it no longer felt like she was in another room. She felt so far away he couldn’t be sure she existed.
Day two, they ran a tube up her nose for feeding. Her hair fell out and her skin peeled. Tvaris and Foraoise visited, cleaning her skin and the bedding when he was too weak to do so. Then, to his surprise, they’d laid her hands on her scalp and regrown her hair, a process that had taken nearly two hours. When it was finished, they’d braided it and pulled it over one shoulder.
Day three, a blue glow sparked in her chest and forehead. The light was subtle, noticeable more at night. Archer laid there in the semi-dark, watching her skin glow from in and listening to her artificial breathing. He’d refused sleeping medication.
Day four was his discharge day. He remained, holding her hand as they successfully took her off the ventilator and replaced it with an oxygen mask. That was also the day he’d called his agent and explained he and his partner had been in a severe accident and that while he had been discharged, she was still in a coma and he would need an extension. He expected to feel relief when his agent called back to say it has been granted and that everyone was praying for her, but he just wanted to be off the phone.
Day six, they removed supplemental oxygen altogether. Her bruises faded, faster even than Archer’s own.
Day nine proved even more monumental, Asa and Dr. Eḥāyi stood bedside and told Archer and Deirdre’s parents that she did not seem to have Long QT Syndrome any longer.
“I don’t know how it’s possible,” Asa declared, awed. “Unless—”
“Unless nothing,” Dr. Eḥāyi replied. “Her heart was very damaged. Too damaged for her to survive if she were a human.”
Archer jerked his head around to stare at Asa, who nodded solemnly.
“But,” Eḥāyi continued, “she is not human. Her magic is repairing her body from the great insult it received. Should things continue as they are, I have every reason to expect a full recovery.”
Archer nearly fell apart with relief, the fatigue he’d been holding back making him so lightheaded that Asa made him lay down and took his blood pressure.
And then nothing changed for a week.
Asa spent every other day with them, driving back and forth to tend to patients. He brought Archer’s laptop, which sat untouched in its bag on the bedside table. Liam and Tvaris brought Fae, who was, at that moment, sunning herself in the window.
Hospital staff were in and out as usual. A nurse came regularly to supplement Deirdre’s circulation, helping her to avoid pressure sores. Other staff came to bathe her, or see to her personal needs.
At the moment, however, they were alone.
Archer reached out, tracing the shell of her ear with his fingertips. Then he traced the line of her jaw. His fingers moved to her lips, soft and smooth now. He traced their shape, then ran his fingers down her neck and rested his palm over her heart, careful not to disrupt her leads. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Just like that, he felt her. Deirdre stepped into the room.
He pulled back, staring intently at her face as the light under her skin faded.
She made a tiny noise. A huff. He lifted his hand from her chest and grasped her hand. Deirdre? Her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted. “Mmm…” Her breathy moan brought tears to his eyes.
“You’re all right, love. I’m here.”
Her lashes lifted, and her blue eyes briefly searched the room before focusing on his face. She blinked rapidly, and he felt her fingers twitch in his hand.
“Hi!” The greeting was inadequate, but his throat seized up and a fat, hot tear ran down his cheek and into the scruff of his facial hair.
Deirdre’s throat worked, and he heard the dry click of her mouth. She gave a hoarse cough, swallowed hard, then whispered: “A-Ar-ch-cher…”
Relief made him briefly close his eyes, erupting out of him as a laugh that sounded more like a sob. He tried to compose himself and felt his features crumple as he drew a shuddering breath.
“Shh…” Deirdre’s hand squeezed his, more of a twitch of her fingers.
“You’re… all right!” It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a reassurance. He opened his eyes.
“All… right,” she agreed, his tears reflected in her own.
***
A month later, Archer woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed.
Rather, he awoke with Fae on his chest and Deirdre’s side of the bed empty.
Archer felt a frisson of concern before he sensed her. She wasn’t in the cottage, but she wasn’t far off, either. And, more importantly, she seemed to be fine.
He could just tell these things now. He reminded himself that already, she’d remastered fine motor tasks, walking, and beginner flight maneuvers. Dr. Eḥāyi explained, again, that fae recovery differed from human recovery, and that Deirdre’s access to magic accounted for the speed at which she met milestones.
Still, Archer gently scooped Fae up from his chest and sat up, finding her a spot on the sheet warmed by his body. She meowed at him, then curled into herself, covering her nose with her paw. Archer raked his hand through his hair and climbed out of bed, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.
He made his way through the cottage, dragging a fleece blanket off a chair as he passed. Wrapping it around his nude shoulders, he opened the front door. The night air, surprisingly warm for the time of year, slipped in and kissed his skin. Archer closed the door behind him and, wearing nothing but the blanket and loose pants, padded barefoot down the moss path. The light reflected off the moon and stars illuminated his path until another light source caught his attention. A blue light, coming from the place in the forest where they had nearly died.
Quickening his steps, Archer made his way to that spot in the trees. When he’d last seen it, semi-conscious and still afraid that Deirdre would slip away, it had been a dead zone. Broken trees, dry soil, dry brown moss. As he walked, he kept expecting the lush forest to shift to that barren wasteland.
Instead, he found Deirdre, naked, on her hands and knees, light pulsating from her chest and running down her arms and into the ground. Her wings, whole again, hung shimmering down her back, occasionally ruffling as she rocked gently back and forth.
The dead zone had gone. The moss under his feet felt fresh and dense. Saplings sprouted in the gaps left by fallen, dead trees. Even the air felt alive, moist and scented of ozone. A winged insect fluttered against his cheek and then buzzed away past his ear.
“Deirdre,” he murmured, announcing himself even though he knew she sensed him, too. The light pulsated for several more seconds before fading out. Archer moved close, pulling the blanket from his shoulders and draping it around hers. He extended his hand. Deirdre slipped her hand in his and tugged him down beside her. Archer sat with his legs bent and stretched out in front of him. She mirrored his posture, the side of her body pressed against his.
“You…” he gestured, at a loss for words.
“I could not sleep. I knew it was time to fix what I wrought. I came out the past two nights, too. You slept through it before…” She leaned her head against him. “You were worried.”
“Only briefly.”
“I would have come back immediately if you’d been worried for long.”
“You are all right.”
“I am all right.”
She tipped her head up and Archer bent to kiss her. Beneath the blanket, she folded her wings until they disappeared. Then she turned toward him, her arms sliding around his neck. The blanket slipped off her shoulders as he gathered her close, her breasts pressing against his chest. He felt her nipples pebble. She spoke, her lips moving against his skin. “We should visit a human courthouse and get married.”
Archer blinked in surprise. “Did you just propose?”
“We are joined in every way that matters,” Deirdre said. “But… Archer, if something happens and you end up in a human hospital, I want the rights of a wife.”
“Yes,” he said quickly. “Of course, yes.”
“We will bring Asa. And my parents.”
“What do you think about a small outdoor wedding? As soon as we can arrange it?”
Deirdre tightened her arms. “I like that idea even better.”
Archer dipped his head to kiss her lips, then the corner of her mouth, then her forehead. “And a honeymoon. Somewhere that’s safe for you to fly.”
“There’s an entire database of places,” she said, her voice lifting in excitement. “I will show it to you tomorrow.”
“Mmm.” Archer kissed her mouth again. “Databases. Sexy.”
She laughed and closed her eyes, presenting her mouth again. He kissed her hard, both of them inhaling deeply through their nose as they parted their lips for each other. He ran his hands up and down her back, feeling her soft skin. Need for her blossomed and grew, a need he saw reflected in her eyes when he leaned back. Archer released her reluctantly and picked up the blanket, shaking it out and then unfurling it onto the moss. Deirdre crawled backward onto the blanket and lay back on her elbows, her legs spreading before him. Her eyes glinted at him in the near dark as he stripped off his pants and tossed them to the side. Then he joined her on the blanket, framing her body with his arms and settling between her thighs, letting her feel his rapidly growing erection.
“Ánrhen,” he whispered, caressing her cheek.
She turned her face into his touch. “I love you, Archer.” Her hips moved slowly beneath him as she rubbed herself against his cock.
“I love you, Deirdre.” His hips mirrored hers, thrusting gently against her. He propped himself up on one elbow and slipped a hand between them, searching out the apex of her thighs. He rubbed a circle around her nub and leaned in to kiss her deeply, their tongues seeking each other out.
Archer dipped his thumb just into her wetness, then slid back up to circle her clit. He drew smaller and smaller circles until he rubbed her directly and she moaned into his mouth. Her chest heaved, and he bent his head to capture one of her brown nipples, lashing it with his tongue and then drawing the tip into his mouth.
Deirdre gasped and ran her nails lightly down his back. She grasped his buttocks, her pelvis rocking as she sought a deeper connection. Archer lifted his head and attended to her other nipple, chuckling as she groaned with both arousal and frustration. Then he rose over her and kissed her mouth, his hand shifting to guide himself home.
One of her legs bent and wrapped around him. He started slow, gliding his length in and out of her warmth. Deirdre shuddered. Neither of them would last long, not for this first time since he’d almost lost her. Since he’d almost followed her. Archer ran his hand up and down her smooth thigh, then reached down and slipped his hand underneath her, pulling her closer. He rocked into her faster, a quiet groan escaping him.
“Archer,” she moaned, her back arching. Bending her knee, she planted her foot on the blanket and levered herself up against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. “Yes! Don’t stop, Archer!”
He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries. She felt vital in his arms, healthy and strong in a way she hadn’t before. Archer found her hands and pulled them above her head, linking his fingers with hers and taking his weight onto his elbows. “Deirdre,” he gasped, uncertain how much longer he could hold on as her warmth and wetness gripped him.
His hips jerked harder against her, satisfaction filling him when she bowed up, crying out in release, her hips shuddering and her channel spasming. He lost his rhythm, thrusting erratically several more times until the gathering sensations took him and he found his own release.
After, they lay tangled together, wrapped in the blanket. Archer held her close, her hair draped across his chest. Occasionally, he pressed a kiss to her temple and ran his hand up and down her back. Deirdre drew shapes upon his skin with her fingertips, her breathing slow and deep. Neither of them spoke; no words were needed.
