My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest-Chapter 4 - Fever
Pain—pain so consuming, it was a lake of fire that August was drowning in. She wasn't breathing—or at least if felt like she wasn't breathing, but the short bursts of fire in her lungs could only mean they were trying.
There were black cursive lines that said nothing, meant nothing, writing themselves behind her eyes… simply scrawling along her mind with the pain, and she followed them. This must be hell. The thought sent a new shot of panic through her, but her throat was raw and collapsed like a tunnel in the earth, and there was no way for her to get the panic out.
"You said she hurt her back," a female voice echoed somewhere above her.
"She did. I'm surprised it's not broken," a gruff male voice answered.
"Well, she's also burning up—Lucas, can you get ice in the bath…"
"Fuck no, I'm not helping with this." And then the voices were swallowed by darkness again.
A small spark of hope that she was actually alive had August trying to locate her arms to reach or swim for a surface up out of this lake and toward the voices. She tried to access her lungs and ended up taking a quick, deep breath. It was a mistake. The flames erupted around her—the cursive lines of pain drawing themselves deeper on her skin. Her skin! She could feel it… It was excruciating, but she could feel it, it was there.
"She's conscious," the female voice was back. So close to her. And kind—the kindness of it soothing the pain. But then there was silence.
Voices had been rumbling around her this whole time, but she only now realized it in their absence. Now the prior conversation came flooding in, as if the words were those cursive lines that had been writing themselves behind her eyes and on her skin, and only now was she able to decipher them. She winced.
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Graeme?"
"She was hurt. Fuck off Lucas."
"Hurt? HURT! No shit. Who survives that part of the forest? They're likely searching for her corpse right now!"
"What happened to her arm?" The kind female voice was like an oasis—a pause—creating a plateau of calm amidst the cursing and growling.
"There was a tracker…"
"You really screwed us, Graeme. Again. Big fucking surprise there."
"If you don't shut up, Lucas, I swear to the Goddess…"
"Where's the implant now?"
The voices swirled, layered and falling over each other until August sucked in a deep breath and jolted up, eyes open. She did it—she resurfaced. And now it was bright and she had to squeeze her eyes shut again. A wave of nausea crested from her sudden movement, and she was bending over, heaving and coughing stomach acid.
"Lucas—the ice," the female said calmly and seemed to be rummaging through something to her side. A male cursed and bolted out of the room. Another wave of nausea hit August, and she was consumed by the force of it as it pushed more out of her.
"You're going to be okay," a friendly voice said and rubbed her back gently, and she sucked in a breath from the pain that shot through her at his touch.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Finn," the gruff one growled behind her.
"Oh, sorry. Here's a towel," and one was placed in August's hands.
"Thanks," she said weakly. She didn't even recognize her own voice.
"Finn, can you make sure Lucas is actually taking care of the ice? We'll bring her right up," the female voice was back.
"Of course," this Finn replied eagerly, and she heard him retreat.
Patches of August's vision seemed to finally begin registering when she opened her eyes again. She looked to be in a living room of a log cabin. Large wood beams sat one atop the other running the length of the room. August was awkwardly bent over the side of an old plaid couch that reminded her of an equally old English professor, and there was vomit on the wood floor below her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she croaked out and wiped her mouth, but even that movement had her wincing in pain.
"Don't be, dear. Just give me a sec while I find…" the soft female voice returned and trailed off, drawing her attention to a chair at her side where the rustling continued.
When August turned to acknowledge the voice, a searing pain suddenly erupted behind her eyes. She hissed. The intensity of it was white hot, and she felt it grow and open—radiating down the length of her and leaving a gaping hole at its center. But before August could get sucked into the void that the hole created, the pain would erupt again from its center and radiate out in white hot spikes. Over and over again. Like a firework erupting inside of her and burning her with its sizzling fingers.
"What's happening to me?" August whimpered, clutching the side of the sofa with her eyes shut against the pain. Someone groaned behind her. Or was that her?
"Hang in there. We're trying to figure that out," the girl replied. "Graeme, get her upstairs while I look for… dammit, where is it?" More frantic rustling. When no one replied, "Graeme—"
"Greta, I…" The gruff voice sounded hesitant.
"You brought her all the way here! What are you afraid of now?" the girl hissed impatiently. She was met with silence. "Are you kidding me? Here—take my bag." Something flew across the room and landed with a thud, and then August's rigid body was lifted gingerly and moving.
The water was another hell entirely. When August was lowered into it, she screamed. She couldn't help it. The noise was forced out of her without her permission. Just when she thought there was no higher level of pain, it was ratcheted up. And up. And up. Silence seemed her body's usual way of trying to fight against the pain and keep it at bay, but the ice cold water broke through that defense.
"What's your name?" the girl who had carried her asked gently, her breezy presence somehow fanning over August, and with it a measure of calm.
"Au-August," she ground out, teeth chattering and eyes squeezed shut. A wet cloth found its way to her forehead and the sides of her face, and she flinched.
"August, I'm Greta. I know it's cold, but bear with it for me, okay? We're going to take care of you." Hot tears slid down August's cheeks as she forced herself to nod. "Stay here and watch her for a sec, Finn." She felt Greta's calming presence leave her side. 'Who are these people? Where am I?' she wondered.
"I'm going to puke again," August warned weakly. She heard someone, presumably 'Finn,' scramble for a container, and she was once again getting sick in the presence of strangers. Not that she really had the capacity to care at that moment.
"We just need to get this fever down," Greta's breezy presence was back and mumbling to herself. "She's so hot, this ice isn't nearly enough. Finn, you're going to have to run and get more." August sensed the boy leave her side.
After a few moments of Greta rummaging through something once again, she spoke. "You can't just hide in the corner. Help me," she hissed, but a looming silence swallowed it. "Graeme, for the love of—"
A sudden lurching movement from the corner cut Greta off as someone approached the tub. August whimpered as pain spiked through her again, and the approaching steps froze.
"Get over here," Greta snapped, but it sounded sweet somehow. "Rag. Forehead," August felt an ice cold rag placed on her head, and she winced—her lips trembling with the effort of stifling more of the cries that wanted to break free.
"Help me with holding one of her arms steady. I'm going to try something for the pain, but at this rate, she'll probably burn right through it."
There was a deep sigh from this 'Graeme' who clearly wanted nothing to do with helping her, and August felt the rag leave. Then his arm wrapped around her and drew her into him while propping her arm from behind. The pain of being moved from her position shot through August again, and she heard another whimper escape her. She hated it. She hated being this vulnerable and weak. But then the fireworks of pain suddenly dulled as a soothing sensation replaced it, swiftly spreading through her and causing her body to relax. She let out a long, shaky breath of relief.
"It worked, thank you Greta," she whispered as her head slumped against Graeme's chest. It was faint, but she thought she heard the girl chuckle.. And then there was the pinch of a needle in her arm that was still being held, and August's brows furrowed before the cold and the room and the voices and everything else once again slipped away.
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