Dark Princess: Shadows (The Children Of The Gods Paranormal Romance #89)

29. Brandon

29

brANDON

B randon took a sip of water from his personal Star Wars bottle and put it back down on the floor. "I wish you could tell me what you think about my stories, Princess. I don't know which ones you like more and which ones you like less. History or fiction, politics or romance, I can talk about any subject on the face of the planet, not expertly, but well enough to be entertaining."

That was a slight exaggeration since his knowledge of the sciences was limited, and he lacked even the terminology to describe them. Brandon was a humanities guy, so to speak. He was well versed in history, and his love of stories had made him a life-long reader. He read everything from abstract philosophy to raunchy romances, and his memory for stories seemed almost limitless. He wasn't like Shai, and he didn't remember all the details, but he remembered the essence of the drama.

A good, memorable story always had drama, even if it strived to be funny.

His voice, filtered through the teardrop device and translated into Kra-ell, filled the silence as he finished his explanation about the Constitution.

Why had he chosen that seemingly boring subject? It had been on a hunch that the daughter of a queen who had once started a rebellion would be interested in political structures. He might be wrong, of course, and perhaps Morelle detested everything that had to do with politics. He wouldn't know until she woke, and he could ask her in person.

"I'll keep telling you stories until you're ready to join the conversation and tell me what you want to listen to. There's so much more to share just about American history, and then there is world history, of which I have only told you bits and pieces…"

He trailed off as a strange sensation washed over him. The air in the room suddenly felt different somehow, charged with energy he couldn't explain. The medical equipment continued its steady rhythm of beeps and whirs, and Morelle lay as still as ever, only the rise and fall of her chest providing visual proof of her being alive.

If he listened intently, he could hear her heartbeat and the soft sound of her breathing. Maybe that was what had alerted him?

Brandon glanced at the monitors to see if there had been any changes, any spikes that would indicate that something was going on, but it didn't seem like anything had changed significantly. The graphs were moving up and down all the time, and unless they went haywire, he assumed that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Yet something had shifted. He could feel it.

Brandon stood and moved to lean over Morelle's bed. Her features were serene, almost luminescent in the soft lighting. She was pale, but her lips had good color, and they almost looked like someone had painted them with rouge. Without conscious thought, he reached for her hand.

Her skin felt cool against his palm, her fingers delicate and unresponsive.

"Hey, Princess," he said softly, "would you be offended if I kissed your hand?"

Was that the ghost of a smile touching her lips? No, it had to be his imagination, a trick of the light, or his own desperate wishful thinking. And yet...

"If you can hear me, and if you're willing to grant me that small liberty, could you give me a sign? Just a twitch of a finger or a flutter of your beautiful eyelashes?"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then…

Was that movement?

The faintest pressure against his palm?

Brandon held his breath, afraid to trust his own senses.

"I would love to take that as an invitation to kiss your hand, but could you do it again so I know it's real?"

This time, when he felt the light flutter against his palm, there was no doubt. One of her fingers definitely moved.

His heart leaped into his throat.

Brandon lifted Morelle's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the nearly translucent skin on the back of it.

"I need to tell Bridget about this," he told her, still holding her hand.

As if to confirm she'd heard him or maybe to stop him from leaving, her finger twitched again.

Brandon's chest felt too tight to contain the hope swelling within it.

"Bridget!" he called out, eyes fixed on the security camera in the corner. "Bridget, please come in quickly!" He then remembered to deactivate the device hanging around his neck and repeated what he'd said.

The doctor entered the room a moment later. "What's going on?"

"Morelle moved her finger," he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite his excitement.

"Involuntary movements are common in coma patients."

"She hasn't moved anything before, and she only did it after I asked her to give me a sign."

Bridget lifted one red eyebrow. "A sign for what?"

He was embarrassed to admit what he had asked for, but the doctor needed to know. "Permission to kiss her hand."

Bridget smiled. "That's sweet. I didn't know you were such a romantic."

"Given what I've been doing for a living for the past seventy years or so, it should have been obvious."

She chuckled. "You were promoting the clan's agenda, and sometimes you included the message we wanted to promote in romantic movies because it was easier for the public to swallow when delivered with a spoonful of sugar. That does not make you a romantic. I would say it makes you pragmatic."

That was a nice way to describe what most of his fellow council members thought of him. He had a reputation for being a shark, and it was well deserved.

"I'm many things."

Bridget smiled. "Aren't we all? So, you asked her to give you permission to kiss her hand by moving her finger?"

He nodded. "I asked for any physical sign. When I first felt it, I thought I had imagined it, so I asked her to do it again, and she did. If you take her hand, you will feel it too." He reluctantly let go so the doctor could take his place.

Looking skeptical, Bridget clasped Morelle's hand.

He activated the device before speaking to Morelle. "Can you move your finger for the physician?"

He held his breath, watching Bridget's face for a sign that she felt something as well and that he hadn't imagined it.

"I felt it." Bridget's professional demeanor couldn't quite hide her excitement. "This is very encouraging." She glanced at the monitors. "Her brain activity has been increasing over the past few days as you were talking." She nodded at him. "Good job, Brandon." She put Morelle's hand back on her bed. "I think we can help her along."

"How?"

"I'm going to give her a small amount of amantadine. It's sometimes used to accelerate emergence from coma states by increasing dopamine activity in the brain." She turned to the door. "I will be back in a moment."

When she left, Brandon lifted Morelle's hand to his lips again. "I might be overstepping my kissing allowance, so I'm apologizing in advance." He gently kissed the back of her hand. "I'm so excited. Soon, I might be able to see your eyes, maybe even your smile."

When Bridget returned with a syringe already filled with the medicine, he put Morelle's hand down and took a step back to give the physician room to work.

Brandon watched as she injected the medication into Morelle's upper arm "How long before we know if it's working?"

"It varies from patient to patient," Bridget said. "The key is to watch for any signs of increased awareness or movement."

He took hold of Morelle's hand again, his thumb stroking the back of it as he waited.

The seconds stretched into minutes, each one feeling like an eternity. The steady beeping of the heart monitor seemed to grow louder in the tense silence.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, remembering that the device was off only after he had spoken.

"I'm activating my earpieces," Bridget said. "You can keep the teardrop on."

He was also wearing his earpieces, but not for the same reason Bridget had activated hers.

He was doing it so he could understand Morelle the moment she woke up, provided that she said anything to him. Bridget was doing so because they were still afraid of the princess's powerful compulsion ability, and her lashing out the moment she woke up.

He thought about all the stories he'd shared with her over the past days, all those tales of human achievement, of progress and change, of hope in the face of overwhelming odds. Had they reached her in that twilight realm between sleeping and waking?

Had they given her something to hold on to, a reason to fight her way back to consciousness?

Bridget moved quietly around the bed, checking readings and making notes on her tablet. But Brandon barely noticed, his attention completely focused on Morelle's face, watching for any sign of change.

Was it his imagination, or had her color improved slightly? Did her breathing seem different? He'd spent so many hours by her bedside that he felt attuned to the smallest variations in her condition, yet he didn't trust his own observations.

Hope could play tricks on the mind, making him see what he desperately wanted to see.

But that finger movement had been real. He hadn't imagined that.

"The medication should give her a boost," Bridget said quietly. "But it will need time to take effect. Keep talking to her. It seems to be helping." She gave him a reassuring smile before leaving the room.

Brandon kept on holding Morelle's hand, afraid to let go and miss another twitch. "There are so many more stories I can tell you about the brave people who fought for equal rights and made the promise of freedom real for everyone. Would you like to hear more about it?"

He felt another slight pressure against his palm—stronger this time. His breath caught.

"That's it," he encouraged. "You're doing great. Can you try to open your eyes? I'd love to finally see what color they are."

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Brandon held on to Morelle's hand, hoping that a small point of contact might serve as an anchor, helping to guide her back to the waking world. He continued talking, his voice growing hoarse, but he didn't care.

He would talk until his voice gave out completely, if it helped bring his princess back.