Bigfoot’s Mate (Mates for Monsters: Sasquatch #3)

4. Dafydd

CHAPTER 4

DAFYDD

Seventeen days ago...

I watch my precious Deborah as she sleeps soundly. She's so beautiful, even as gaunt as she is. My heart clenches.

Pulling out my phone, I fire off another text to Frankie.

ETA?

The reply comes instantly:

Chill, big D. Almost there

I collect the barely-touched bowl of soup from the bedside table and wash up the few dishes. Then, I pace the length of my cave, which suddenly feels way too small for my anxious energy. Every few steps, I peek in at Deborah's sleeping form. My future. She’s mine, I know it.

Finally, after what seems like hours, I hear a soft knock at the cave entrance and bound across the entire space in two strides. Frankie stands there, medical bag in hand, looking even tinier than usual next to my bulk.

"Got everything?" I whisper-growl.

Frankie’s eyes roll skyward. "No, I thought I'd just bring an empty bag for funsies."

I resist the urge to bare my fangs. Now is not the time for sass.

"Let me see." I hover as Frankie unpacks the supplies. IV line, needles, collection bags. My stomach does an uncomfortable flip when I spot the large-gauge needle meant for me. I'm not afraid of needles, exactly. I just... strongly dislike them.

"You sure you know how to do this?" I ask for probably the tenth time.

“I’m sure. I studied nursing before I was promoted to custodian-in-training.” Frankie begins laying out the supplies with practiced efficiency. "Now sit down before you wear a permanent trench in the floor."

I perch on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my Deborah. My hand finds hers of its own accord, engulfing her delicate fingers in my furry grip.

"This will work, right?" I hate how uncertain my voice sounds. “My blood will cure her, won’t it?”

Frankie pauses in prepping the IV line. "Theoretically. I mean, all the folklore says it will. Honestly, though? I only know of one actual case where Squatch blood was used to heal a human. And it’s what started this whole thing—human women in Grotto, I mean.”

My heart rate picks up. "And?"

Frankie shrugs. “One case isn't exactly a clinical trial, but it worked. The child was on her deathbed and is now happy and healthy and one-hundred percent cured thanks to Squatch blood.”

I roll up my sleeve, exposing my forearm. "Let's do this, then.”

I fight hard not to wince as the needle slides in—okay, maybe I am a little squeamish when it comes to needles, but for Deborah, I’d do anything—and watch as my dark blood flows into the collection bag.

Once Frankie has collected enough blood, our attention turns to setting up Deborah's IV. I have to look away as the needle goes into her vein—watching it happen to Deborah is somehow worse than experiencing it myself.

“Alrighty, everything is up and running." Frankie packs up the supplies. "Call me if you need anything else. And Dafydd?"

"Hmm?" I'm already focused back on Deborah's face, watching for any sign of change.

"Let her awaken on her own. She needs rest. And you don’t need to hover, either.”

I wave Frankie off without looking away from my precious Deborah. How can I not hover? The woman on my bed is my other half. She’s…everything.

Once Frankie’s gone, I fall into a daydream, picturing Deborah healthy and vibrant, glowing with vitality. I imagine her living here with me, filling my cave with the warmth and laughter I never knew my life was missing. Maybe we'll have little Squatches running around the cave one day. Little ones with her gorgeous brown eyes and my...well, hopefully more of her features than mine.

First, though, my soulstone needs to wake up and do its job. I glance down at my groin accusingly. Any day now, buddy.

Sure, I know it's unusual for a Squatch to feel this strongly about a female without his soulstone singing. But I’m sure about her—about us. We are fated mates. Who needs a singing soulstone when your heart already knows?

I settle into the chair beside the bed, preparing for a long wait. "I've got you," I murmur, though she's deep asleep and can't hear me.

My mind wanders to all the things I want to show her once she's well—the underground river with its luminescent fish, the crystal caves that sparkle like a galaxy of stars, my secret hot springs that are perfect for romantic midnight swims...

The steady drip of the IV provides a rhythm to my thoughts as I watch over her. Drop by drop, my blood flows into her veins. Will it be enough? It has to be. I refuse to accept any other outcome.

She shifts slightly in her sleep, and I hold my breath, but she doesn't wake.

"I should probably mention at some point that Squatch mates are forever," I continue my one-sided conversation. "No takebacks or exchanges. Though I suppose that's a conversation for when you're actually conscious."

A curl of hair has fallen across her face. Without thinking, I reach out to brush it back, then freeze when she makes a soft sound. My hand hovers awkwardly in midair until I'm sure she's still sleeping.

The IV bag is almost empty. I check her temperature with the back of my hand—I think it’s normal. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be for a human. I should have asked. Should I text Frankie? Maybe I should text Frankie.

No, I need to calm down. Give it time to work. Give her time to rest.

"You're going to be fine," I tell her firmly. "And then, I'm going to spend the rest of our lives making you happy."

The IV drips its last drop, and I carefully remove the line. Now we wait.

I settle back in my chair, my eyes never leaving her face. "Take all the time you need, precious. I'll be right here when you wake up."