Nine Inches of Snow and the Ebony Princess (4 page)

“How is he?” Dad asked.

David almost zoned out at the litany of ailments the doctor outlined…compound broken bones…internal bleeding…torn spleen…bruised liver.... yadda, yadda, yadda.

He had faith that his unique anatomy was healing and taking care of the physical problems well enough. What concerned him more was mention of a deep coma and ventilator.

“There was brain swelling and intracranial pressure that we alleviated in surg—”

Mom gasped. “He’s not brain-dead, is he?”

“There is brain activity, so no; he’s not brain-dead, but—”

“Thank God.”

“
But
, I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. and Mrs. Healey. Your son’s condition is critical, and the next twenty-four hours are going to be crucial in telling whether or not he’ll recover.”

“Oh, horse pucky.”

“I’m sorry?” The doctor turned to Grampa, who pointed an accusatory finger at the medical man.

“You youngins with your highfalutin education and degrees and jet age medical breakthroughs think you’re God and know so much. Well, you don’t know my grandson.”

You tell ‘em, Gramps.

Mom threw Grampa a chastising look.

The old man returned it with a wide-eyed, what-did-I-do-wrong expression and said, “Well, it’s true.”

“I know this is a difficult time for you all, but I’m only telling you the facts. The longer David stays in a coma, the less likely his chances are of coming out of it.”

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“We understand.” Mom, ever the mediator in the family, grabbed the man’s hands in hers, gently squeezed, and held them.

“Thanks for your time and patience.”

“No problem.”

“Can we go in to see him?”

“He’s being moved into a room from recovery as we speak.

Once he’s settled, a nurse will come out to get you, but only two of you at a time, and only for ten minutes a visit.”

Mom thanked him again and shook the doctor’s hands before finally releasing him.

He gave her a sympathetic smile, then left.

David paced about his family, weaving between them like a human obstacle course before finally standing still to stare up at all of them in turn.

He had to reach them somehow, either in this form or human form.

That was it! He’d just shift back and merge with his body.

Non-responsive, his ass!

He trotted away to follow the doctor down the hall, where he soon found his body lying peaceful, still and on a ventilator.

Oh hell, this was bad.

He’d never once been sick or injured in his thirty-two years of life, aside from that one rebellious incident as a pup when he was determined to forage in the woods and see if he could survive on his own in wolf form.

He has been brought down by a hunter’s bullet, and had it not been for the superior healing abilities naturally built into his DNA, and the doctor the Healey family had on retainer to discreetly take care of such matters, his previous injury could have been much more disastrous—both personally and professionally.

David went closer, heart pumping, as if he had just done several wind sprints.

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Gracie C. McKeever

Seeing himself flat on his back, unresponsive and in such serious shape, shook him more than he was willing to admit.

He leaped into the chair beside the bed, noticed the wave patterns accelerate on the monitors and wondered if his human self was reacting to the proximity of his wolf form.

David watched himself for several long moments, wondered if he should try to shift. He hadn’t since the accident—accident, ha, that was a laugh!—and it would definitely be a test on this plane.

Only one way to find out.

He leaped out of the chair back onto the floor and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, mentally blocked all distractions, concentrated on his own heartbeat and the change.

He’d done this a thousand times, natural and often as blinking, and didn’t think he should have a problem, until he suddenly felt woozy and stumbled back onto his haunches.

Okay, he’d just have to try a little harder. He was used to challenges.

As the youngest, he’d learned at an early age to fight for everything he got, especially his clan position. He still wasn’t where he wanted to be and knew the only way to achieve breeding status was to disperse, leaving his natal pack to find his mate and start his own pack. As much as he loved his family, biding his time had never been his strong suit. He was a prime at heart, too impatient to work his way up the dominance hierarchy, especially not when he had four older brothers ahead of him, with more rank and so far biding their time, too.

David stood now, started the process over again, meeting with some success.

His comatose self hadn’t changed however. He’d thought with all the energy he’d expended to change back to human form, it would have affected his corporeal self. Not the case.

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David got into the bed to join with his body and for an instant, felt like he was falling into a bottomless pit. His body surrounded his recently shifted spirit like an empty shell.

This wasn’t merging. This was just filling a void, unable to affect change in it, unable to make his body respond to his commands. Not even the simplest one of wiggling a toe or finger, much more moving a limb.

Damn, he wasn’t comfortable with this situation at all, felt too vulnerable like this, especially considering who had been behind his injury: a woman dumped and scorned.

What if Philomena managed to bypass hospital protocol or security and was left alone with him for any length of time? He’d have no way to defend himself against her. He would have to rely on the attentiveness of the staff and his family.

His family he trusted implicitly, but even they couldn’t stay by his side twenty-four-seven, even in shifts. And he was well aware of the nursing situation—overworked, underpaid, short-staffed—

all conditions he and his foundation were working diligently to correct with aggressive recruitment and volunteering.

David remained, still hoping for some sort of miracle, some instantaneous symbiosis, but after several minutes with no tangible difference in his anatomy, he left his body to stand beside the bed.

He needed time and space to think, and he thought a whole lot better on his feet than not. At least he felt less vulnerable when he was up and around with the illusion of activity and life.

Several minutes later, his parents finally made an appearance, practically tip-toeing across the threshold of his room over to the bed like he was a baby sleeping in a crib and they were afraid of waking him.

Wake me! Scream, shout, stomp on the floor and jostle me! Just
don’t treat me like I’m already dead.

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Gracie C. McKeever

His mother went to his bedside, didn’t hesitate to gently plow her fingers through his hair, murmuring maternal words of encouragement.

David felt her touch, heart strumming at the tender caress of her fingers against his scalp.

Excellent! He wasn’t lost. He
would
come out of this.

And he would make sure Philomena paid for trying to kill him.

* * * *

Philomena almost spewed her late morning coffee across the dining room table in shock and disbelief. But there it was, splashed across the front of her morning paper in black and white, a headline about David Healey lying in a coma after the hit-and-run the evening before.

Philomena swallowed the mouthful of coffee with distaste, and not just at the unlikely news. The coffee wasn’t fit for human consumption.

She yelled for Marisol.

“
Si, Senora
?” The maid, some immigrant from Guatemala or Mexico or one of those poor South American countries with water that gave tourists the bends, appeared at her shoulder almost instantly. Like a ghost.

Philomena had never liked Marisol. The girl gave her the creeps. But Aziza’s father had insisted Marisol was a stellar employee with an impeccable work ethic and excellent skills.

The man had just been too kind. It was his fatal flaw. That, and his blindness to the flaws of those he loved, all the more better for Philomena to pull off her plans to climb the social ladder in less than half the time it would have taken her to do on her own.

“This coffee is atrocious. Take this away, and make another pot.”

“
Si, Senora
.” Marisol picked up the sterling silver pot and took it back to the kitchen.

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One just couldn’t find good help nowadays. Philomena was seriously considering getting rid of the girl, except she didn’t want to jump from the frying pan to the fire and wind up with someone ten times worse.

Philomena went back to the article she was reading, doubt about how well she had covered her tracks the night before mounting.

This was twice now she had underestimated David, the first time with her belief he would fall for her charms easily and irrevocably as had Aziza’s father. But such was not the case, especially if David’s cool brush-off last night was any indication.

Seems she had unfinished business to tend to at the hospital, and quickly, before the police found a reason to talk to her.

She’d taken advantage of a pre- and extra-marital affair to get her car disposed of at an all-night chop shop.

Johnny Lemeauix, the owner, and a friend-with-benefits, wasn’t aware of the hit-and-run when she asked him to make the repairs. He wasn’t curious, didn’t ask any questions, basically didn’t care how Philomena smashed her car. In fact, he was the perfect combination of ignorance and apathy, and this suited her needs perfectly.

Philomena doubted Johnny would have made a fuss even if he had known how her car got damaged. Johnny had very few scruples, even less if a nice piece of ass like hers —was thrown into the mix as incentive.

In addition to his many dubious attributes, Johnny was better than average looking, handsome in a rough-hewn sort of way. He fucked pretty well, too. At least she had attained the prerequisite orgasms during their sundry times together.

Philomena might have considered Johnny her perfect foil except for several serious drawbacks. He wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box as far as IQ went, and personality-wise, he was a pretty dull boy. He could never touch David Healey in the witty banner 34

Gracie C. McKeever

or intelligent conversation department, and he certainly wasn’t sophisticated or rich like David.

Pity.

Johnny did have his uses, but playing sugar daddy to an already rich and pampered socialite wasn’t one of them. He was good for sex and grunt work in Philomena’s book. It was for the latter reason she might have enlisted his help in taking care of her little problem at St. Frances, but she didn’t think Johnny was clever enough to pull it off.

Philomena wouldn’t totally discount using him if the need arose, however. She just preferred finishing what she’d started wherever possible.

Besides, she wanted the pleasure of being there when David took his last breath.

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When Aziza reported to work on the ICU the next evening, the nurses’ station was abuzz.

In addition to three sets of nurses present during the shift change jawing about the club scene the evening before, or the amazing thing their two-year-old did, or the silly thing their significant other did that morning, the main topic of discussion was the hit-and-run that had occurred several blocks away and the esteemed patient now in their midst as a result.

Aziza punched in at the nurses’ station and checked the roster, surprised David Healey was one of her two patient assignments for the evening shift.

She would just have to switch with one of the other nurses, plead a conflict of interest, even though she barely knew him.

Well, if one didn’t count a little tonsil hockey and dry humping in the hospital kitchen as knowing each other.

Normally, she wouldn’t have been so doubtful of her ability to care for a patient and competently carry out her duty, but David Healey was too much of a distraction. She was sure a coma would have little effect on the power of his aura, or his ability to unnerve and turn her on in equal measures.

And what did that say about her morals, lusting after a comatose man? Maybe that she was just one sick sister?

Gloria Goodwich, the supervising nurse and something of a maternal figure to all the nurses in the ICU and under her direction, caught Aziza’s eye from the center of the gathering at the nurses’

station and waved her to the side.

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Gracie C. McKeever

“I’m sure you’re already aware of what’s happened and who our most recent patient is.”

“I heard about the hit-and-run on the news, yeah.”

“I don’t have to tell you that Mr. Healey is to receive the utmost VIP treatment during his stay at St. Frances, like all our patients.” Nurse Goodwich went on to brief her on the basics of David Healey’s condition. She stressed his unresponsiveness since the ambulance brought him in last night and the doctor’s bleak prognosis for improvement. Though the patient’s body seemed to be undergoing a miraculous recovery, he yet remained in a coma.

“Nurse Goodwich…”

She arched a brow. “Yes, child?”

Aziza swallowed, took a deep breath. “Surely there have to be other nurses more qualified and experienced to take care of Mr.

Healey while he’s here than me?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Nurse Goodwich waved a

dismissive hand. “There’s no one more qualified for this job than you.” She put the same hand on Aziza’s shoulder and squeezed.

“You’ll do fine. Just go in there and do what you were trained to do.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

“His family’s here and has been since last night. But they’re a wonderful group of people and shouldn’t give you any trouble. A little eccentric, especially that grandfather. Oh, he’s a pill, by the way. But like I said, they’re all nice folk.”