Heart of Iron
Page 38“You knew?”
“Her temperature’s too hot. It’s not human. And I could guess.”
He took a step toward her, suddenly angry. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“You were in no condition,” she replied simply. “And we knew little about the loupe. I needed to find out more before I could start to treat it.”
“Ease up, lad,” Blade warned, his eyes darkening. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, but the way he rocked onto the balls of his feet indicated swift movement if needed.
Will turned away, shaking his head. No point getting angry. The only thing that was important now was Lena. “Have you found anythin’? Anythin’ at all?”
A slight hesitation. “There’s nothing about how to deal with the transition or the first initial stages of the virus. The loupe isn’t a very well-documented disease in Britain. I don’t think anyone in the Echelon cared whether people survived it. What did they do when you were first infected?”
He stared at the wall. “I don’t know. Don’t remember much.” Just heat, incessant heat. His body aching. Screaming through a newly reknitted throat as his body changed. And the merciful coldness of the cellar as his da’ tried to bring his temperature down. “Cold,” he said. “The cold helped. Me father put me in the cellar where it were cool.” He turned around. “She’ll be thirsty. You have to keep her drinkin’.” A shrug. “I can’t remember anythin’ else.”
“That’s not a lot to go on.” Honoria bit her lip.
“I know,” he snapped. “I were only five and barely lucid. Do you think I wouldn’t mention somethin’ if I could remember it?”
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Will.”
Blade had taken a step closer.
Will turned away, fists clenched. “I’m sorry. I’m on edge. I can’t believe—” His worst nightmare. Come to life.
A hand slid over his lower back. “We know,” Honoria whispered. “Come. We’d best get prepared. I don’t think it will be long before her temperature starts spiking. She’s already got the rosy cheeks. It’s the following fever that will…”
As if realizing what she was about to say, she stopped.
“Hold,” Blade said.
They both turned toward him.
“There’s nothin’ in your books and Will don’t remember,” he said. “But there’s some in London right now who might know how to deal with this.”
“The Scandinavians,” Honoria whispered. She clapped a hand to her head. “Why didn’t I think of them?”
“You’re distracted.”
“Are they likely to help?” Honoria looked up at Will.
He frowned. “I barely know ’em. But they might.”
“You’ll have to go,” Honoria demanded.
“I’m not leavin’ her.”
“This is her best chance,” she stressed. “Please, Will. You know I’ll look after her. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”
He wavered. Honoria would do her best, but he could hardly bear to leave, knowing that Lena might… Baring his teeth, he nodded. “It’s her best chance. I’ll fetch one of ’em.”
“I wish that didn’t sound as if you were goin’ to drag ’em ’ere, willin’ or not,” Blade muttered.
Will pounded on the door of the manor that the Norwegians were leasing for the duration of their stay. Rain dripped incessantly, tangling in his hair and running down his face. The journey into the city had been a mindless one. He could barely remember any of it.
Glancing at his watch every few seconds did little to alleviate the tension riding him. It had taken him twenty minutes. Twenty minutes in which he didn’t know what was happening to Lena.
Footsteps finally sounded in the entrance and the door opened on a harried-looking butler. “Yes?”
He pushed forward, into the doorway. “Is the Lady Astrid in?”
“I’m afraid she’s not at liberty—”
He had the man by the throat in seconds. “You go and fetch her,” he said quietly. “Or I’ll rip your heart out through your nostrils, you understand?”
The man went sprawling as Will released him and scrambled back across the marble tiles.
“What’s going on here?” someone barked.
The Fenrir stepped out of the shadows of the library, clad in his court attire. The wolf fur was secured around his broad shoulders with a polished bead of amber, and his gray beard and hair had been combed. The menace in his eye nearly threw Will over the edge.
Don’t look him in the eye. Deep breath…
“You dare come into my house like this?” the Fenrir asked in a deadly soft voice. “You dare treat my servants like this?”
“Uncle.” Astrid’s voice. Soothing and calm. She strode to Magnus’s side and eased a hand over his arm. “Look at him. He’s barely containing himself. Something’s set him off.” With an appeasing look, she turned to Will. “What is it?”
He took a deep breath, overwhelmed by the scent of too many of his kind. “It’s Lena.”
“Your woman?” She frowned, then understanding dawned. “She’s got the loupe, hasn’t she?”
“I were only five. I don’t remember how to deal with it, how to help her—”
“May not be any help, lad,” Magnus grumbled, subsiding. He stroked his beard. “She’s the small girl?”
Both he and Astrid exchanged glances.
“She’s strong willed,” Will blurted. “She’ll fight.”
“You should have stayed away from her,” Magnus said, lips thinning. “There’s a reason we don’t mate with humans.”
“I ain’t touched her.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Astrid said, shooting her uncle a look. “Let me fetch my cloak. I’ll come. Whether it helps or not…”
“Thank you.”
“Where’s your carriage?” she asked.
Will shook his head. “Came on foot. By rooftop.”
Astrid stared at him, her pale white skirts swishing around her ankles. Then a blinding smile crept over her lips. “How interesting. Let me change.”
Magnus caught her arm as she turned to go. “You’re not going alone.”
“The Duke of Morioch,” Magnus replied dryly. “Take Eric. I’m sure he’ll relish the opportunity to avoid another night of boredom.” He turned his gaze toward Will. “I’m giving you my son and my niece. You bring them back to me or I’ll mount your head on a spike, you understand?”
He nodded. A man who spoke his language. “Perfectly.”
***
“The rookeries, eh?” Eric leaped off the rooftop onto the muddy streets below, his fur-lined cloak swirling around him.
Will followed, pushing past to lead the way. The warren came into view and some of the tension went out of his shoulders.
“I expected a manor,” Astrid murmured, landing beside them and staring up at the decrepit appearance of the building. “Do you have a cellar? Or ice?”
“You’d be surprised,” he muttered, shoving the front door open.
Rip guarded the front door, his hand straying to his belt as the door opened. Charlie and Lark sat on the bottom of the stairs, arguing over who’d won the game of jacks. Charlie’s jaw dropped as Astrid followed him in.
She’d changed into a pair of tight leather breeches, with a vest that cinched her waist to a ridiculous span. Her hair had been braided back tightly, leaving her cheekbones bare, and the fur cloak she wore turned her into a barbarian princess. Even Rip’s eyebrow rose.
Eric followed. The Norseman smiled, ruffling Lark’s hair as if she were a little girl. Charlie looked like he was contemplating a fur cloak and chain mail addition to his wardrobe.
“How is she?”
Charlie blinked, tearing his gaze away from the exotic pair. “Don’t know. Honor won’t let me in. What’s goin’ on, Will? I heard Lena crying—”
He shoved past, heading straight up the stairs.
Soft whimpering sounds came from within Lena’s room. Rapping softly on the door, he poked his head in.
Lena writhed on the bed, her cheeks burning with fever. Her nightgown clung to her body with sweat, and Honoria hovered by her head with a cool cloth. Blade was trying to keep her still, a glass of water in his hand.
“Did they come?” Honoria asked, strain showing around her mouth.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Lena. “How is she?”
Honoria’s mouth twisted. “Her temperature’s getting higher.”
Something shoved him out of the way and Astrid pushed past. She took in the scene at a glance, slinging her cloak over a nearby chair. “You need to cool her. Fast. We’ll need ice, and something large enough to put her in.”
“A bath?” Blade asked.
“Do you have one?”
“In me rooms,” he replied.
“Perfect.” She pressed a hand against Lena’s temple, closing her eyes. “Very close to the peak, but not there yet. There’s time.”
“She’ll get hotter?” Honoria gasped.
“She dies if she does,” Astrid replied bluntly. “Will, fetch me ice. Lots of it.”
He spent the next twenty minutes smashing the heavy ice blocks to pieces, then carrying it from the deep cellars to Blade’s room. The cellars were freezing; Blade needed a continuous supply of ice in order to keep his blood chilled.
“Are you certain this is safe?” Honoria asked. “They used to do this to the inmates at the institute I worked at. It was awful.”
“It will hurt, yes,” Astrid replied, her expression unchanging. She met his gaze, knowing he’d be the one to protest. “Whatever she does, you must not interfere.”
“How much will it hurt?” he asked.
“Like fire.” She put a hand out to stop him. “This is her only chance. In Norway, we use the snow to quench the fever.”
He hovered on the balls of his feet. The worst thing was knowing how much pain Lena was in right now. How much pain would come. He’d spent two days clawing at the dirt in the cellar before the fever broke.
But there was no help for it. “How long?”
Astrid gave him a serious look. “Two or three days. Perhaps one has already passed. She seems halfway through it.”
This was her only hope, he reminded himself, though the thought of hurting her made him feel sick. “I’ll go fetch her.”
Twenty-three
The moment they put her in the water she started screaming.
Will held her down, despite her weak thrashing, his teeth clenched and his body tense. Astrid had said the shock of the cold might kill her, but without it her temperature would keep rising until she died.
The ice water burned his arms, his fingers eventually numbing. He could only imagine what it felt like for Lena. And it was all his fault. His eyes blurred with heat as he held her down, whispering to her that he was there, that she would be all right.
It didn’t take long for her thrashing to subside and her body to slump into his arms. “What’s happening?” he asked. “Lena?” There was no response. Only the slight quiver of her lip as she shivered.
“Bring her out,” Astrid commanded.
Will cradled her carefully in his arms, icy water splashing all across the marble floors. They dried her off, with Astrid monitoring her temperature and the timepiece Honoria had given her.
“What now?” he asked. “Is she better?”
“Her temperature’s dropped a degree,” Astrid said, taking the thermometer away. She exchanged a glance with Honoria. “Will, I need more ice.”
“More ice?”
“For next time.”
He shook his head. Lena lolled in his arms, her skin clammy with cold, yet burning with an inner radiance. “How many times?”
“Each time her temperature goes up. Until the fever breaks.”
The hopelessness of the situation hit him. “She’s not goin’ to make it, is she?”
Astrid stroked the wet strands off Lena’s forehead. “You told me she is strong willed, no?”
“Stubborn as rock.” Tears burned in his eyes. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">