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clarepreed · 3 months

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Neighborly

Story Content and Summary - 8,171 words. Larissa and Mitchell try to save a choking neighbor. Choking, on-site resuscitation, explicit sex.

Previous installment: Micro-Story: Larissa's Decision

Mitchell

Mitchell ruffled his hands through his hair and dropped them to his sides, his eyes on the boardwalk path ahead. They’d been home a few days, and the sunny weather tempted them out for a walk.

Larissa reached for his hand and he let her take it, curling his fingers around hers. The gesture felt right, despite everything that had gone on between them lately. Larissa, he thought, looked lovely dressed in blue, with her hair loose and her face freshly washed and free of makeup.

“I’m glad we’re home,” she murmured. “It was nice to see Momma and Daddy and Poppy, but I enjoy being home with you. Especially here.”

“I feel the same way, baby.”

They walked for a while until they approached the gate that closed off their boardwalk trail from the gated community behind their property.

“Keep walking?” he asked, smiling over at her. “I’d like to continue if you’re up for it.”

Larissa nodded, unlocking the gate and holding it open for them both. She had to release his hand for them to walk through, but she recaptured it once the gate closed behind them. “How’s your head?” she asked, referring to his recent accident at her grandfather’s home.

“My headache from this morning is gone,” he told her. He reached up and brushed the sore scar near the top of his head. “And it feels like there’s hair growing back.”

“It’s white,” she said matter-of-factly. “The new hair is silver. I peeked.”

“Oh.”

Larissa squeezed his hand. “I didn’t mean it in a negative way, honey. Just an observation.”

“I’m lucky it didn’t kill the hair follicles.”

“They make very fancy hairpieces now.” Larissa grinned and squeezed his hand again. “Which would be entirely about your vanity, as I would not be put off by a measly bald spot.”

“You have enough hair to spare some for a custom piece, I’m sure,” Mitchell said, rolling his eyes.

“I have enough hair in the shower in a single week to make you a hairpiece.”

Mitchell laughed. “Really?”

“I do clean up after myself, Mitchell.” She leaned toward him and kissed his shoulder, softening her retort.

They fell into companionable silence. The air was just north of cool, bathing his skin and keeping the humidity at bay. Mitchell reached out and let his fingers graze a leafy plant growing against the boardwalk handrail.

“We need hobbies.” Larissa spoke without preamble, her bluntness born from what sounded like nervous energy. He heard it in the slight pitchiness when she spoke. “Or part-time jobs.”

“Oh?” Mitchell bent his arm, pulling her hand up with his. He studied their interlocked fingers, then used his other hand to trace the hills and valleys of her knuckles.

“Don’t you miss having a task you can get lost in? Really set your mind to?”

She sounded so tentative that he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “What do you want, Larissa? Is there something you’d like to do?”

“Drawing classes,” she blurted. Mitchell watched as the cheek closest to him flushed pink.

“I’m certain we can find art classes for you on the island, baby. Or a private tutor. Whatever you’d like.” His brows dipped. “Surely you know that you are free to do whatever you’d want, Larissa.”

“So are you, Mitchell.”

Mitchell slowed to a stop and reached for her other hand. He pulled them both up and kissed the back of each hand, his brow furrowing as Larissa’s expression mirrored the tentative tone of her voice. “Of course, I would prefer if you sometimes showed me your drawings, if you wanted. And whatever we do, I’m always going to be happy to be with you at the end of the day.”

Her eyes took on a glassy appearance, as though she might cry. Instead, Larissa leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. When she rocked back on her heals, she asked him: “And what would you like to do, honey?”

Mitchell raised his eyebrows. He had an answer to her question, and the answer was that he did not know. Oh, he’d thought about it, surely, but—

“HELP!”

Mitchell whipped his head around. The shout was unmistakable, and not too far off.

“What is it?” Larissa asked. “Mitchell?”

“OH MY GOD! HELP!”

“Someone is shouting for help…” Mitchell released one of her hands and took a step toward the sound. He stopped, looking indecisively at Larissa.

“We should try to find them, then.” She tugged on his hand. “Mitchell?”

“We don’t know why they are calling out. If it’s safe.” His mind served up an image of Larissa sprawled by a fountain, dying from blood loss.

“PLEASE! STELLA! HELLLLP!”

Mitchell gritted his teeth. Larissa tugged on his hand. “Are they still yelling? We’re at home. Someone might be hurt! It’s safe enough, Mitchell.” When she tugged his hand again, he joined her, and they jogged down the boardwalk.

It didn’t take them long to find the source of the voice. A man half dragging, half-carrying a semi-conscious woman. He heard Mitchell and Larissa’s footsteps on the boards and turned, struggling to hold up the woman as her knees went out. Mitchell took in her half-open eyes and her darkened face.

“Oh, God! Stella, don’t—” The man caught the woman around the chest with one arm, her head sagging forward as he pounded her between the shoulder blades.

“Is she choking?!” Larissa exclaimed, her voice rising as Mitchell released her hand and they both ran to the couple.

“May I help?” Mitchell asked in a rush, a cold sensation dousing him from head to toe as he reached for the man’s weakly struggling burden.

The unnamed man all but shoved her at Mitchell, who caught her sideways and spun her in his arms. Larissa came around the front, her hands gripping the woman’s arms and helping to hold her upright. “My husband is going to help you! You’ll be all right!”

Mitchell drew his arms around the woman’s waist and searched out her navel with his right hand. He curled the left into a fist and pressed his knuckle just above his right hand, then moved that hand up to cover his left. He jerked in and up.

“Again, Mitchell!” Larissa almost shouted. “What’s her name?”

“Stella—”

Mitchell thrust his hands into the stranger’s abdomen again, grunting as he nearly lifted her off the boardwalk. Stella didn’t make any noises; he heard Larissa encouraging him to continue, and the male stranger babbling away in a panic. But he didn’t hear any air moving. No gasping or coughing. Not even gagging or choking. Another abdominal thrust, and the weak scratching at his arms stopped.

“Have you called 9-1-1?” Larissa asked, her fear evident in her rasping speech. He met her eyes inadvertently, saw his own remembered trauma reflected at him. He heaved hard up toward Stella’s diaphragm, his stomach hollowing out as he felt her knees give. Larissa reached out and grasped the woman’s face. “Stay with us, Stella. Keep your eyes open!”

Larissa

“Have you called 9-1-1?” Larissa managed, her eyes darting to the distraught man standing next to her. She looked back at the woman as Mitchell tried again to dislodge whatever was killing her. Stella’s face turned a dark reddish purple as she watched, her eyes and nose streaming and saliva dripping from her open mouth. As Larissa watched, the woman’s eyes rolled, and she saw Mitchell trying to keep her on her feet. Her heart pounding and her own eyes watering, Larissa reached out and cupped Stella’s face in her hands. Dark curls draped over the woman’s face, incongruously soft considering the circumstances. “Stay with us, Stella. Keep your eyes open!”

As she brought her face close to Stella’s, a hot and sweet scent tickled her nostrils and hit her with a wave of nausea that nearly made her lurch away from the other woman. Cinnamon candy.

“No, I… I’ll do it now! I’ll do it now. Stella, you have to cough it up!” To his credit, the trembling, panicked man immediately dragged a cell phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear.

Larissa shook her head and swallowed hard.

Mitchell performed a fifth abdominal thrust, the woman’s head pulling free of Larissa’s gentle grasp and tipping back against his chest. He shifted her, his leg slipping between Stella’s as he cradled her in one arm and pounded her between the shoulder blades with the other. Her arms swung limp and her head lolled, mouth gaping. Larissa caught her head in her hands again, gasping: “Mitchell, she’s losing consciousness!”

The man, standing on her deaf side, was barely audible as he spoke to the 9-1-1 dispatcher. Mitchell wrapped his arms around the woman again, his eyes huge as he desperately jerked his fist into her abdomen. Her lightweight sweater rode up, bunching beneath her breasts and leaving her abdomen exposed. Larissa looked down, watching as he pulled his fist hard into the reddened skin of her stomach.

Suddenly, the woman went completely limp, her head falling toward Larissa as Mitchell yelped and held her unconscious form against his chest. “Help me lay her down!” Together, they eased her flaccid body to the boardwalk, Larissa guiding the woman’s head as Mitchell laid her flat on her back. She was vaguely aware of the man kneeling beside her as she used a hand on the woman’s forehead and another at her chin to tip Stella’s head back.

“STELLA!” Larissa shouted at the woman before thumbing open her mouth. She used her finger to sweep between her teeth, hoping the position change had dislodged the unknown item. Stella’s brown eyes were half open, bloodshot, and staring up at the tree canopy. Larissa felt nothing but the woman’s tongue and teeth. Removing her finger, she leaned her good ear by Stella’s mouth. Mitchell reached out and pressed his fingers to the pulse point in the woman’s neck.

Rather than announcing that the woman wasn’t breathing, Larissa hastily swiped her hand over the woman’s wet mouth and then pinched her nose. She covered Stella’s bluing lips with her own and attempted to give her a breath. Stella’s cheeks rounded, followed by Larissa’s own. Then the seal broke, making her lips tingle as they buzzed against the other woman’s skin. She adjusted the tilt of Stella’s head and tried again, blowing harder. The air escaped between them and out of her own nose with a Pthhhbbt! sound. The other woman’s mouth was sticky from the candy that choked her.

Mitchell bent over the woman as Larissa leaned back, his hands tracing the woman’s ribcage and then stacking over the bottom of her sternum. He rolled his shoulders forward and then forced her sternum downward. The woman’s head wobbled in Larissa’s hands, and she saw her abdomen distend as Mitchell thrust his hands into her chest. “One, two, three, four, five…”

“Oh GOD! YES… yes, they are d-doing CPR. Oh, Stella…” Larissa looked at the man out of the corner of her eye. He had the phone in one hand, and a death grip on Stella’s hand with the other. She spotted a wedding ring on his finger.

“…fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

Larissa reached up and scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. Her face and hands felt tacky. A combination of panic, disgust, and shame rolled through her as she returned her hand to the woman’s chin. Leaning closer, she used her thumb to open the woman’s mouth further. The woman’s tongue was in her line of sight, keeping her from seeing into the back of her throat despite the bright sunlight.

“… nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

Before she could talk herself out of it, she used her thumb to pin the woman’s tongue against the floor of her mouth. The moist muscles tried to slide free as she peered down toward her uvula.

“… twenty-six, twenty-seven…”

As Mitchell hit thirty compressions, Larissa slipped her thumb out of the woman’s mouth and took a deep breath. Closing her nostrils, she tried to give her two breaths. Neither were successful.

“One…” Mitchell thrust the heel of his bottom hand hard into the woman’s chest, repeatedly, at nearly two times per second. The woman’s neck looked tense, the vessels and tendons standing out. Her shoulders moved with each compression, lifting slightly from the boardwalk. Further down, her sweater still exposing her stomach, Larissa saw the force of the compressions seesawing the woman’s abdomen. “… nine, ten, eleven…”

“Oh my God! Stella?! Graham, what happened?!” A woman’s voice, loud enough for Larissa to hear, made her lift her head and look up the boardwalk. A pair of women a little younger than Larissa and dressed for running came to a stop at Stella’s swaying feet.

“She choked!” The man, evidently named Graham sobbed “She’s… oh, God!”

“… twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…”

“How can we help?” The second woman asked.

Larissa was already peering into the woman’s mouth again, ready to give her another two attempts at breath. As she bent to do so, she heard Mitchell respond. “Is there an AED in the clubhouse here? We may need it.”

“Yes!” the second woman exclaimed. “Amy, you’re faster—”

“Come with me. You can wait at the trailhead and direct EMS!” her partner exclaimed, taking her arm.

Mitchell resumed chest compressions as the two women quickly turned and sprinted down the boardwalk.

Graham

“W-We have someone going for an… an AED.” His voice was hoarse, barely making it past the clenched muscles in his throat. “And someone else who will wait at the end of the path.”

The dispatcher said something that sounded like a confirmation of that being the right course of action, though it was hard to concentrate as he watched a couple of strangers try to save his wife’s life. The man, maybe a decade older than himself, with silver-blonde hair and a determined expression, pounded his wife’s chest with a speed and depth that looked like he knew what he was doing. The procedure was ugly, harsh enough that he heard what sounded like cartilage or ribs popping in Stella’s chest. With each compression, her sternum sank and her stomach popped. Her green flats, her favorite shoes, swayed side to side almost comically as she lay there dead or dying.

Everything had happened so fast.

Moments before, they walked hand in hand, Graham yammering away as Stella unwrapped a hard candy and slipped it between her lips. She’d been about to respond to him when her inhalation stopped with a gurgle, an abortive cough, and then nothing.

She’d jerked her hand from his and come to a stop, fanning the air with one hand as she hit her fist against her chest. He’d figured out what was wrong but didn’t know how to help her, reaching around hesitantly to pound her on the back. At first, he expected her to spit out the candy and start coughing, but she didn’t. He pounded harder, and then she turned away from him and threw herself against the boardwalk handrail, slamming her abdomen against it and nearly tipping herself over the side. He’d come up behind her and helped her apply force, thrusting his body against hers, panicked enough now that he pushed past his fear of hurting her. But the candy hadn’t come up.

As the seconds flew by, Graham screamed for help. He pulled her into his arms and tried the Heimlich maneuver, though he couldn’t recall exactly where to place his hands or how hard to pull. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed sharply three, four times.

Then, against her silent, struggling protests, Graham lifted his wife and laid her down on the wooden boards, quickly throwing his leg over her body. Her wide, panicked eyes stared up at him as she clawed at her throat. Straddling her, Graham pushed his hands into her abdomen, right above her belly button, and shoved hard. Stella’s body bowed and jerked, but still she didn’t breathe. Her heels drummed on the wood and one hand darted out to grab his forearm. The other scrabbled uselessly at the planks of the walkway.

Graham continued his improvised abdominal thrusts, pumping her stomach hard and shouting at her to throw it up. Stella’s face went splotchy, then red. Her lips began to turn purple.

That’s when he truly panicked, heaving her upright again and dragging her back toward the trailhead, hoping someone who knew what they were doing would come along.

Now someone had, but he was afraid they were too late. The couple worked as a team, more competent than Graham himself had proven to be, though he could see from their strained eyes and frantic movements that even this couple felt scared. The minutes ticked by, coloring Stella’s face with frightening shades of blue and purple.

Graham watched as the strange woman pushed her long hair over her shoulder and pressed a life-saving kiss to his wife’s mouth, both women’s cheeks bulging with the effort. She performed the kiss again, and then exclaimed: “I still can’t get any air in her!”

“One, two, three…” The other man resumed chest compressions, sinking his hands deep into Stella’s chest. Stella, for her part, did nothing, her open eyes staring as the color faded from her cheeks.

“We will have an ambulance on-location in fifteen minutes,” the dispatcher said.

Mitchell

“Fifteen minutes!” the man, Graham, gasped. “Is there no one closer?! It’s already been…”

Mitchell closed his eyes briefly, though he didn’t stop the chest compressions. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Larissa staring back at him, stricken. Mitchell kept pushing into the woman’s chest, trying not to think of the fact that they weren’t getting any air into her. In another twenty or more minutes, the woman would be long dead, assuming she wasn’t already.

“… nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

“Please, Stella… God, please…”

“… twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“Mitchell! I see it! Don’t stop!” Larissa jammed her fingers into the woman’s mouth again, two of them sweeping deep. She grunted and changed position, her body leaning far over the woman’s face as she twisted her wrist. “Don’t stop!”

“One, two, three…” Mitchell kept up his rhythm, forcing his hands deep into Stella’s chest and making sure he released the pressure completely each time. Graham suddenly dropped her hand and reached out to steady her head as Larissa tried to grasp the obstruction. The woman’s body jerked under his hands, though Graham’s grip on her chin kept the force from moving her head around. To Mitchell’s surprise and dismay, her legs drew up slightly, then stretched out again. The action repeated a few times before her arms joined in, her hands curling under. “… sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

“She’s moving!” Graham exclaimed. “Stella?”

“…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

“Roll her on her side, Mitchell!” Larissa cried out. “I’ve almost got it!”

Mitchell stopped compressions and seized Stella by her arm and her hip, rolling her onto her side, facing away from him. Larissa swept her fingers between Stella’s teeth again and dragged out a red, sugary disc. His heart lurched as she flung it to the side, but there wasn’t time, so he rolled the unconscious woman onto her back again. Her face was unchanged; pale in spots, lavender in others. Saliva glistening on her bottom lip. Dark eyes stared at Mitchell’s knees until Larissa righted her head.

He watched his wife quickly open Stella’s airway, pinch her nose, and seal her mouth with her own. This time, the dying woman’s chest rose. Her breasts fell when Larissa let the air escape, then rose again when she gave her another deep breath.

“Stella? Stella!” Graham cried out, as Mitchell pressed his fingertips hard into her neck, sliding them over until he found the spot where her pulse should beat. He waited. Counted out the seconds.

Shaking his head, Mitchell quickly restarted chest compressions, pumping Stella’s chest hard and fast. Now, he heard air huffing rhythmically from the woman’s mouth, held open by Larissa as she bent in wait for the next opportunity to give her needed oxygen. “…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…”

His own breath came fast as he worked on her, his attention zeroing back in on the way her chest gave underneath his hands. Periodically, the woman moved, limbs spasming or her face grimacing. She let out a long snore.

“Stella?!” her husband gasped, subsiding each time when he realized Mitchell and Larissa weren’t stopping their efforts.

Mitchell hit thirty again, and he watched Larissa perform mouth-to-mouth. A soft sound escaped the women each time that her lips parted from Stella’s. Then came the soft puffing of air as he mercilessly beat her heart by pinning the organ between her spine and her sternum. The woman’s eyes rolled back, the discolored whites showing. “Huh… huh… hungh… hrrggggh…”

“…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…” Mitchell wondered how far away the clubhouse was from the trail. Granted, he didn’t even know if an AED would do any good. He just knew they needed to try. This stranger spasming beneath his hands deserved no less. “… eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

“Mitchell, I’ll switch with you after the breaths,” Larissa broke into his thoughts. She was correct; he needed to switch out with her. But he eyed her weak left arm, knowing she still struggled with pain and numbness.

“I’ll do it,” the woman’s husband blurted, setting his phone down on the boardwalk. “I put the phone on speaker and I will do it! I don’t know how, though.”

“Thirty! Come around beside me!” Mitchell barked, as Larissa gave the unconscious woman a full breath. She kept the woman’s nostrils pinched as she let her exhale through her mouth, then gave her another respiration. Mitchell resumed chest compressions as the woman’s pale, teary husband laid her hand down on the boardwalk and scuttled around to come in beside him. “…five, six… Hold your hands like this. Yes. Bring them right beside me. You’re pushing down at least two inches, twice a second. You have to come all the way up each time. This is what circulates her blood. Do you understand?” Mitchell’s voice shook from adrenaline and his exhaustive efforts. He paused again so Larissa could breathe for the woman, watching as Stella’s breasts rose. He lifted his hands and scooted to the side. “Get in place now!”

Graham slid in, his eyes wide as he pressed the heel of his clasped hands into the spot Mitchell had just abandoned. Mitchell guided his shoulders over his hands as Stella’s chest fell a second time.

“Go! Count out loud!”

“One, t-two…”

Mitchell watched carefully, nodding as the man pushed deep enough. “A little faster. Like this.” He clapped his hands to the disco song playing in the back of his mind.

“Come on, hon. Please… please!”

“You have to count, Graham. Just count and think about everything you need to do. What you’re doing is helping her.” Mitchell leaned back on his heels and tried to recover his breath, though the terrible excitement of it all kept his heart racing.

“… t-twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

Footsteps pounded down the boardwalk, the steps growing louder as the seconds passed. Then Mitchell heard a woman breathing hard and fast. The runner from before, Amy, came into view, arms and legs pumping furiously as she sprinted.

As Larissa curled over Stella and blew into her open mouth, Amy slipped the AED bag off her shoulder, dropped it onto the boards next to Mitchell, and then staggered past. Her momentum carried her into the handrail, where she caught herself.

Mitchell snatched up the case. “Keep going!” he barked sharply at Graham, jolting the man back into action. His hands made a dull thumping sound as he resumed pumping her chest. Unzipping the AED, Mitchell laid the device on the wood and turned it on.

“… seven, eight, nine, ten…”

“Apply the pads and plug in the connector!” the device barked.

“… fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

Mitchell tore open a packet of adult pads and dumped them out into his hand. He shook out the leads and connector, then laid them beside Stella.

“… twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“Apply the pads and plug in the connector!”

“… twenty-nine, thirty!”

He found the trauma shears and cut through the bottom hem of Stella’s lightweight sweater. Amy dropped beside him and held the fabric taught as he cut up the center of the garment. The woman’s chest rose and fell with Larissa’s breaths as he clipped the center of Stella’s purple, lacy bra. Mitchell dropped the shears to the side and quickly parted the fabric of her sweater, moving the cups of her bra out of the way and fully exposing her chest. A bruise was forming over her sternum, with reddened spots spreading down beneath her left breast. More splotches marred her abdomen.

Graham resumed chest compressions without having to be asked. “One, two, three…”

“Apply the pads and plug in the connector!”

As the woman’s pink-tipped breasts wobbled violently and her soft stomach oscillated, Mitchell and Amy stripped the backing off the AED pads. Mitchell applied one pad beneath and slightly to the side of the woman’s left breast, while Amy applied one above the right. Mitchell rubbed them both several times for good measure as Amy found the connector and plugged it in.

“Analyzing rhythm!” the device interrupted. “Do not touch the patient!”

“Everyone, back off of her!” Mitchell called out, scooting back and raising his hands. “Don’t touch her!”

Graham lurched back and Larissa released Stella’s head.

“Shock advised.” Mitchell’s eyes closed briefly as the tiniest bit of relief washed over him. “Charging. Do not touch the patient. Charging. Do not touch the patient. Device charged. Do not touch the patient. Press the shock button.”

Mitchell’s hand hovered over the flashing orange button. “Don’t touch her!” He depressed the button with his index finger and heard a quiet whine. Stella’s torso tensed and released within the span of a split second, and her head tipped to the side. Larissa quickly righted it and reopened her airway.

“Shock delivered. Perform two minutes of CPR.”

Graham hesitated. “Did it not wo—”

“Chest compressions!” Mitchell urged, cutting the man off.

Graham made a sobbing noise, but he complied, his hands finding the bruise and his shoulders rolling forward. As he thrust his hands into the bottom third of Stella’s sternum, he resumed counting. “One, two, three, four…” Despite his upset, Graham performed compressions properly, shoving her sternum deep. Stella’s breasts jerked toward his hands with each compression, jiggling and wobbling with the force. Her abdomen, too, moved with the deep thrusts, bulging and then deflating, popping and heaving at a rapid rate. Her shoulders jerked and shrugged, pulling up toward her neck. Larissa kept the motion from moving her head, gripping the woman’s jaw firmly and keeping her mouth open with a thumb on her chin. Stella’s face was no longer a dark reddish purple, but he was concerned by her white cheeks and blue lips.

The motion of the chest compressions made her legs rock, feet swaying side to side. He could even see her thighs shaking through her leggings.

Gurgling, growling, and huffing noises occasionally escaped the woman’s open mouth. When Larissa gave Stella breaths, Mitchell heard Larissa’s exhalation, followed by the slight smacking sound of their lips parting. Then chest compressions resumed, Graham’s shaky counting accompanied by quiet thumps, huffs of air, and the occasional pop or crackle. “... f-four, five, s-six…”

Stella’s legs drew up further, splaying her thighs wide and making her hips jerk. Mitchell, uncertain what exactly to do, leaned over and held her legs down, trying to keep her left knee from bumping into Graham. He felt her muscles spasms beneath his hands. The pressure he applied kept her upper legs in place, though her lower legs shifted and her hips continued to jerk grotesquely.

“… twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

He watched his wife bend over the spasming body, left hand sealing the woman’s nose and her own mouth opening wide before she covered the other woman’s lips. Her exhale made the woman’s chest heave. Larissa drew back slightly, and he saw a string of glistening saliva stretch between them. Another breath, and this time, when Larissa broke the seal, she swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she quickly resumed holding Stella’s head in place as Graham pumped his wife’s lifeless chest.

Stella’s arms drew up toward her armpits, hands curling at the wrists and her fingers twisting. When he looked at her face, her eyes were closed.

“… twelve, thirteen, fourteen…”

“They are?” Mitchell heard Amy ask. “Okay. Um… The ambulance is in the neighborhood. They should be at the trailhead soon.”

“… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…” Graham’s voice cracked. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Will they be able to help her?”

“The ambulance crew can do a lot of things we can’t,” Mitchell said, meeting the man’s tortured gaze. “And they can take her to the hospital, where even more can be done.”

“But…” Graham’s voice trailed off as the sound of Larissa’s second breath tapered off. He squared his shoulders and resumed his work over his wife’s body. “One, two, three…”

Mitchell looked at Larissa and found her staring at him. Her eyes were wet.

Larissa

Stella gurgled and growled and huffed as her husband forced blood to move through her heart. Larissa held her mouth and airway open, crouched low so she could quickly provide breaths after each set of thirty compressions. Her neck ached from the position, but it wasn’t the pain that made her look at Mitchell with tears in her eyes. As they gazed at each other, his lips thinned and he swallowed hard.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve…”

Larissa looked away first. Her eyes dropped to the woman’s gray face. Occasionally, her facial muscles spasmed, threatening to pull her chin from her grasp. She also felt the force of Graham’s chest compressions rocking up through her neck. His hands collapsed her chest harshly, his breath ragged. The other woman’s breasts swayed, her nipples erect. Below his hands, her belly popped up and down, bulging as his thrusts displaced organs and air. Further down, Mitchell gripped the woman’s legs in a gesture that was probably more about how upsetting it was to watch her gently seize than it was for any medical purpose.

“I can take over after the next shock,” Amy the runner said. “And then soon after that, the paramedics will be here.”

“I did not realize it would take EMS this amount of time to come out here,” Mitchell said, his voice so flat she wondered if he knew he spoke aloud. As it was, his voice was quiet enough that she barely heard him, her bad ear pointed in his direction.

“… twenty-nine, thirty!”

Larissa inhaled and pressed her mouth yet again to Stella’s, exhaling to make her chest rise and then lifting her mouth to feel the air rush back up into her face. She covered the cool, slack lips again, her eyes darting to the side to watch the woman’s breasts swell.

The bruise on her sternum disappeared under Graham’s hands. “One, two…”

“Do you know how to do chest compressions?” Mitchell asked Amy.

“I’ve taken CPR a few times,” she said, handing the phone over to Mitchell. “But you’ll have to let me know if I’m doing something wrong.”

Mitchell nodded.

“… seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty—”

“Analyzing rhythm,” the AED broke in. “Do not touch the patient!”

All four of them released Stella and shifted backward. She lay mostly still, her skin ashen, though her eyelids lifted enough to show the whites of rolled-back eyes.

“No shock advised. Continue CPR for two minutes.”

Damn, she thought, her hands automatically reaching out to reopen Stella’s airway. Simultaneously, Amy got into position and started chest compressions. Graham sagged back on his heels, breathing hard.

“One, two, three…” Amy’s compressions looked deep and fast, and Mitchell nodded in encouragement when she glanced at him. Short but powerfully built, Larissa could see the muscles cording in Amy’s forearms as she efficiently drove her hands into Stella’s sternum. “… four, five, six, seven…”

Distant sirens sounded in the distance.

“That’s more than one vehicle,” Mitchell speculated.

“… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

The group fell silent aside from Amy’s terse counting and the soft huff of air escaping Stella with each compression.

“… twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

Graham muttered something that Larissa didn’t catch.

“You got her help,” Mitchell responded.

“… twenty-nine, thirty.”

Another breath, pressing her mouth against the cool, damp skin that still smelled like sugar and artificial cinnamon. Larissa followed up quickly with a second breath, feeling just slightly lightheaded as the scented air wafted back into her face.

“One, two, three…” Amy rocked her body hard into Stella’s chest, her fingers pressing into the unconscious woman’s left breast and inadvertently brushing her taut nipple. Larissa kept finding that her eyes were drawn to the exposed flesh in front of her. Like driving past the scene of an accident, she needed to know what was happening, what the effects looked like. Her mind, stressed from what had happened now and in the past, superimposed her own naked body over Stella’s.

She saw her own long torso rippling as Amy pumped, her large, freckled breasts bobbing, nipples drawing circles in the air. Her chest sinking and her stomach seesawing up and down. The face below her was her face, her eyes staring and her mouth agape, a cinnamon candy lodged deep in her throat.

“… thirty!”

Larissa dragged in a deep breath, coughed as some of her own saliva went down the wrong pipe, and sucked in another. Then, cursing the seconds she lost, she forced another pair of breaths into Stella. Then compressions resumed.

“One, two, three…”

“Larissa?” Mitchell asked.

“I’m fine,” she protested, coughing again.

“… six, seven, eight…”

Mitchell shifted, obviously intending to spell her, when they both heard heavy footfalls on the boardwalk.

“… twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

A pair of medics came into view, wearing gloves and carrying bags, led by Amy’s partner. Shortly behind them walked another pair, wheeling a gurney laden with more equipment.

“… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

As Amy sat back on her heels, Larissa gave Stella another two breaths, trying not to inhale directly as the cinnamon-scented exhalations wafted up toward her face.

“Keep going until they tell you to stop,” she heard Mitchell say, and Amy resumed her position.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”

The medics moved with purpose, but without running or rushing about. They did not immediately take over, instead setting down their bags as one of them stepped closer. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

“She choked on a piece of candy,” Mitchell responded, hanging up Graham’s phone. “We tried back blows and abdominal thrusts until she lost consciousness. Then we started CPR. We eventually got the candy out. She’s had one shock from the AED, but the last time it did not advise a shock.”

“…thirty!” Amy called out. Despite the presence of the medics, Larissa leaned over once more. Their cheeks rounded as she exhaled once, then again.

“Thank you, ma’am,” a woman behind her said. “I can take over now.”

“Who is her next of kin?” The lead medic asked.

Graham

Everything sped up. The medics spoke with his neighbor, who, he learned, was named Mitchell. The women were relieved by paramedics, who checked Stella’s pulse and then continued CPR. Graham was asked to move back, and he complied, feeling numb as he walked over to stand next to Mitchell and his wife, who directed him to sit on a nearby bench.

From this angle, he couldn’t see her face, but he could still see her abdomen popping up in rhythmic waves as the gloved hands plunged into her chest over and over again. One of her shoes had fallen off. She’d neglected to wear socks, and he could see the flat brown mole in the center of her left arch.

The youngest-looking medic of the four peeled away the AED pads and turned the device off, setting it to the side. Graham opened his mouth to ask if they’d given up, when Mitchell leaned over and murmured: “They have their own pads that connect to their defibrillator.”

Sure enough, the young medic applied a set of larger pads, smoothing them quickly to her skin. The medic performing chest compressions resumed her efforts, thrusting the down into Stella’s breastbone. Shortly after, the monitor alarmed and he saw a series of lines crawl across the screen.

“Pause compressions for analysis. Asystole.” The lead intoned. He said several other things, most of which Graham couldn’t make out or interpret. He just knew they hadn’t stopped yet. They were still trying.

“They won’t be shocking her right now, so they will continue CPR and give her IV medication. They are going to suction her airway and put a tube in to make sure she’s getting plenty of oxygen.” Mitchell spoke quietly and slowly, his eyes on Stella.

“Is she going to live?” Graham asked.

Mitchell hesitated long enough that Graham knew he had his answer. But the other man spoke anyway, his eyes on his own wife as she spoke with Amy and her partner. “I don’t know. They don’t know, either. But I’ve seen… people beat the odds before. And I hope to see that happen again.”

Graham returned his gaze to the scene surrounding Stella. A couple of firefighters had joined the four medics, creating a busy ring around his wife. Still, he could see enough of what was going on. One medic crouched by her arm, holding it in his lap as they cleaned the inside of her elbow. The medic who acted in charge lay stretched out on his stomach, with some sort of metal device opened up in Stella’s mouth. As he watched, a firefighter opened a long package and used gloved fingers to extract a tube, which he handed over to the lead. Another medic unbuttoned Stella’s jeans and slipped two fingers just inside.

“There’s a pulse there,” Mitchell told him, leaning forward with his knees on his elbows. “They check pulse points during CPR to make sure the blood is circulating.”

“You know a lot about this. Are you some kind of doctor?” His hands were shaking again, and he thought he might have to get up and pace soon. Wishing he had something to do, he instead talked with this unfamiliar but very helpful neighbor.

“No,” Mitchell murmured. “Sometimes I wish I was.”

“Pause for analysis.” Compressions paused, and he watched as one firefighter traded places with the medic who’d been performing them. “Asystole. I want sodium bicarb now and another epi right after. Oxygen is up to ninety-three. Jim, come swap with me. I’m going to suction her.”

The firefighter started chest compressions as soon as the word “asystole” was out of the lead’s mouth. Graham realized that since they’d intubated Stella, the compressions didn’t stop at thirty. The firefighter pushed hard and fast at the same rate as before, Stella’s belly moving in sync with his hands. Instead of a mask pressed to her face, they’d attached a bag to the end of her breathing tube and squeezed it regularly, at a much slower rate than the chest compressions.

Graham ran over the moment she choked. Was it his fault? Had he made her laugh, knowing she’d just put a piece of candy in her mouth? Was it his expectation that she keep up her end of the conversation that made her draw breath at the wrong moment? He saw her face staring up at him after he laid her on her back and started pumping her abdomen. Terrified, eyes bulging, tears and snot and saliva running down her face. Her body jerking each time he plunged his hands into her stomach, nails clawing at her throat and his arms and the boards beneath her.

She’d held on so long. Long enough for help to arrive. People who seemed to know what to do. And yet it hadn’t been enough, and Graham watched her slip away, her body slowly changing as it reacted to the lack of breath and heartbeat. He’d felt a momentary flash of relief when Mitchell’s wife swept the disc of candy from Stella’s mouth, only to have the relief die a quick and bitter death. Everything had gone downhill from there.

Graham stood abruptly and walked a few paces down the boardwalk so he could see her face. The medic named Jim had her head in one hand, holding her head back at an angle. His other hand squeezed the giant bulb attached to the end of the tube. The tube itself jutted up from between her teeth. They’d secured it in place with medical tape wrapped around the tube and stuck to her face. Stella’s eyes were closed now, her lashes resting on her discolored skin. Her dark hair fanned out beneath her head, the curls tangled. At this angle, he could see the firefighter’s gloved hands pumping hard and fast, sinking her chest in the requisite inches before allowing it to recoil. Each time he thrust downward, her stomach bulged and her feet rocked. They had a blood pressure cuff wrapped around her left arm, and defibrillator pads stuck to her chest. The leads wound over to a display that Graham couldn’t interpret. Beeps and whooshes and thumping sounds filled the air. The medics surprised him by how little they spoke to each other.

“Pause for analysis,” the lead said, eyeing the monitor. The firefighter lifted his hands from Stella’s bruised chest. “V-fib. Charging to three-sixty, continue compressions until we are ready to shock.”

The firefighter snapped out a series of deep thrusts into Stella’s chest.

“Alright, everybody off. Disconnect oxygen.” The firefighter lifted his hands, Jim disconnected the bag, and everyone backed away. The lead made a quick check around the group. “Clear. Administering shock.”

He pressed a button, and Stella’s torso flinched. Her head lolled to the side, toward Graham’s feet. Jim quickly righted her head and reconnected the bag as the lead leaned in and started chest compressions. Graham’s eyes rested on the man’s gloved, interlocked hands. They sank down and snapped back up over and over. Pump and pump and pump and pump, with her breasts exposed for everyone to see, wobbling endlessly. He couldn’t stop staring. Her chest crushed down, re-inflating again and again. The man’s shoulders bobbing as he pushed his weight down through his arms. Her abdomen rippling down into the open waistband of her pants.

“Marked increase in tidal volume… pausing compressions,” the lead said abruptly, his eyes on the monitor. “Pulse check! Sinus rhythm on the monitor.”

To Graham’s surprise, multiple gloved hands plunged into Stella’s neck, wrists, and the crease of her thigh. Mitchell got up and joined him, gripping him by the shoulder. “‘Sinus’ means they got her pulse back, Graham.”

“Sinus confirmed,” the lead said. “Any attempts at breathing on her own?”

“She’s alive?” Graham asked, his voice gravelly. He looked from the monitor with its bouncing heart rhythm that he did actually recognize down to his wife’s face. She didn’t look any better, not yet. The only difference was that they weren’t having to beat her heart for her.

“Get her prepped to go while I update her next-of-kin,” he heard the lead say. Graham let out a shuddering breath.

“Do you need us to drive you to the hospital?” Mitchell asked.

“Millie and I will take you, Graham.” That made sense. They were his next-door neighbors.

“I’ve given Amy my number,” he heard Mitchell’s wife say.

Graham watched the lead medic approach. “You got her back,” he said, his face contorting with tears he was trying not to shed.

“Yes, sir.”

Graham doubled over, his hands grabbing his knees. He felt Mitchell grip his shoulder hard. His legs shook. “Hang on, Stella. I’m here…”

Mitchell

Fifteen minutes later, Mitchell and Larissa walked in silence back the way they’d come, her hand gripping his as tightly as he gripped hers. He let them in to their gated path, their steps growing faster and faster as though to carry them away from the previous scene.

When they finally spilled onto the grassy path that wove between flower beds, Larissa stopped and turned toward him, nearly crashing into his shoulder. Mitchell released her hand and wrapped his arms tight around her. He felt her chest heaving against him, her hands clutching at his shirt.

“Larissa…” he murmured, though he didn’t know what to say.

She tipped her head back, eyes wild and lips parted. Mitchell met her in a kiss that immediately deepened, her mouth opening for his tongue. Mitchell gathered the back of her dress in his hands, pulling up the skirt until he cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her tight against him. Her hands scrabbled for the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath and running up and down his back. One of her hands came around to the front to unfasten his belt and unbutton the fly. Larissa made quick work of the task, her dexterity making him grin. She ran her hands around his hips and then down the back of his pants and into his underwear, her nails digging lightly into his bare skin.

Mitchell found the tie of her wrap dress and pulled it loose, letting the dress part in the front. He dipped his head and nibbled his way down her neck and along the tops of her breasts. Slipping his hands inside the dress, he reached around to unfasten her bra. Then he lifted her breasts free from the loosened cups and gathered the soft globes together so he could move quickly back and forth between her nipples, licking and sucking and biting. Larissa moaned and reached into his boxer briefs, pushing the fabric down and pulling his hardening cock free. She worked him with her hand, moving up and down and running her thumb over the head until he was rock hard and throbbing.

He pushed her dress off her shoulders and let it puddle in the grass, followed quickly by her bra. She reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. Their mouths met again in a needy kiss. Mitchell slipped his hand down into her underwear and found her wet, dragging some of that moisture up to her clit and massaging.

“Mitchell!” she cried out, and then she pulled him down to the grass with her, her hair fanning out around her head. He stripped off her underwear, and she laid back, coaxing him to lie between her thighs. His belt jingled as he thrust against her, running the head of his cock up and down her slit. Her hips jerked up against him, seeking. Then he thrust home, sinking all the way to the hilt and groaning as she cried out.

Mitchell began a forceful, punishing rhythm. Their bodies smacked together, Larissa’s breasts jerking and bobbing as his body met hers. She clawed at his back, letting out guttural moans and squeezing her eyes shut. He kissed her, their tongues thrusting against each other as she writhed beneath him. He grasped her hips for leverage, fingers curling into the soft flare of her body.

Larissa gripped his shoulders, mewling, rising to meet him. Mitchell scooped one hand beneath her ass, shifting the angle and squeezing his own eyes shut when she threw back her head and cried out his name. She was close, she had to be close, she’d better be close—

He tore his eyes open, watching her as she came, her mouth falling open and a wail of pleasure tearing out of her. Larissa shook and spasmed beneath him and around him, and he followed, burying his face in her neck as he whited out with the force of his release.

As their mutual spasms subsided, Mitchell held himself up on his elbows, surprised to feel himself trembling. Larissa, breathless from exertion, reached up and stroked her fingers through his hair. He knew he should get up, help her to her feet, and go inside. They could clean up and cuddle on their soft bed. Instead, he found himself unable to move, resting in the cradle of her pelvis. He dipped his head and kissed her beauty mark.

Larissa cupped his cheek and pressed her lips softly to his. Then she laid her head back in the grass and closed her eyes, the tension of the last forty-five minutes draining out of her. Mitchell gathered his fleeting energy and slipped his softening erection free. Then he bent and kissed the scars above her heart and down her arm.

Rolling to his side, he collapsed onto the grass. Mitchell gathered her close, slipping his arm over her stomach and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

Larissa took a deep, slow breath and whispered: “I love you, too, Mitchell.”

#resus writing #female resus

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clarepreed · 3 months

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Okay, after a significant delay, this will be the next story. I'm about halfway through writing it. ❤️

Neighborly - Larissa and Mitchell encounter a neighbor in dire straits, bringing them closer together. Choking, on-site resuscitation, explicit sex.

Coming soon

#resus writing #female resus

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clarepreed · 3 months

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have you ever considered writing about a character who's pregnant and suffering medical complications, leading to cardiac arrest?

Hi! Thank you for the Ask!

I have considered it because it might be interesting to write about, but as I don't have a fetish for pregnancy I actually thought it might just make me sad.

It's not on my "absolutely not" list, but I would put it in the "probably not" category.

❤️ Clare

#resus writing

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clarepreed · 3 months

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an idea...

what if you made a post about what your different characters' heartbeats sound like? like with links to YT videos or posts here on Tumblr...I think it would be interesting and it would add a unique layer to your stories!

Thank you for reading and for the Ask!

I'm admittedly not much of a cardiophile, though I do find it can be romantic or attractive to include heartbeats in a story. And it can be very comforting to listen to the calm heartbeat of a loved one. Alternatively, listening to arrhythmic hearts makes me anxious!

Thank you for the suggestion!

❤️ Clare

#resus writing

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clarepreed · 3 months

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May I what is your next larissa story be about? that's my favorite series! Will it resus or non resus?

Hi! I love Larissa and Mitchell, too! 😍 I'm partway through Neighborly, in which L&M are on a walk and encounter a choking neighbor.

Thank you for reading and for the question!

❤️ Clare

#resus writing

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clarepreed · 3 months

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ASA 😭 that man deserves love!

(...and a cardiophile girlfriend lol)

Did you read my mind? 😘

The characters from Fade will return some day in the future. I have other things to write first, and I think chronologically there's a story to write about Archer and Deirdre before I return to Asa, but I do have intentions there. 💖

Thank you so much for reading and for the Ask!

❤️ Clare

#resus writing #fantasy resus

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clarepreed · 3 months

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Fade Part Six: Epilogue

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.”

“There’s equipment coming for Archer,” Eḥāyi reassured him. “Any minute now.”

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.

“… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

Don’t do this, Archer…

“… twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

“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.

The End.

#resus writing #female resus #male resus #fantasy resus

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clarepreed · 3 months

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i cant wait to read the epilogue! when are you planning to post it? and are you working on another story after this?

Hi! Thank you for reading and for the question! ❤️

I hope to have the Fade epilogue up sometime this evening (US Eastern time) and if not then it will be up tomorrow evening.

I have partially written stories for Larissa & Mitchell and Ginnie & Holly that I plan to work on next.

❤️ Clare

#resus writing

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clarepreed · 3 months

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Epilogue: After the Part 5 cliffhanger, the fate of Deirdre and Archer must be determined. Magical and human resuscitation and hospitalization methods. ♂️

#resus writing #female resus #male resus #fantasy resus

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clarepreed · 3 months

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Fade Part Five: Fated End

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

“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.

The forest fell silent.

Part Six

#resus writing #female resus #fantasy resus

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