Chapter 30: Fever Pitch
Kali's world tilted. The concrete floor rushed up, but Takeo's arm was a sudden iron band around her waist, hauling her back. Her vision swam with black static, the greasy smell of engine oil and leather sharp in her nose."Look at me." Frankenstein's voice was suddenly right there, close enough to feel the cool exhale of his words. His fingers, smooth and impossibly strong, pressed against the side of her throat. His eyes, locked on hers, were no longer amused. They were scanners. "Her pupils are sluggish. fever's spiking." He spoke past her, to the others.
Takeo's curse was a low, guttural thing. He swept her legs up, carrying her the last few yards toward the private jet's lowered airstairs as if she weighed nothing. The transition from gritty industrial air to the jet's climate-controlled, sterile atmosphere made her shiver violently.
She was laid on a deep leather couch in the lounge area. A crystal chandelier above her swam in and out of focus. Tao, a man with eyes older than his face, was already there, a sleek black medical case open on the low marble table. Muzaka, a mountain of a man whose presence seemed to swallow the light, leaned in, his nostrils flaring.
"Infection," Muzaka grunted, his voice like stones grinding together."Deep. Chemical tang to it. Thorne's people coat their bullets sometimes. Nasty stuff."
"Get the bandages off," Frankenstein said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He was already shrugging out of his tailored jacket, rolling up his pristine white sleeves with crisp, efficient movements.
Takeo's hands, usually so sure, hesitated at the hem of the soft gray hoodie. Kali managed a weak swipe at his wrist. "Bought... this for me..." she breathed, the words costing her.
"And I'll buy you a hundred more," Takeo murmured, but there was a raw edge to his voice. With a sharp tug, he and Tao cut the fabric away, peeling it back from the bandage beneath.
The smell hit first. Sweet, cloying, wrong. The bandage Tao removed was saturated not with fresh blood, but with a yellowish-green discharge. The wound beneath was a angry, puckered crater, the edges blackened and weeping. The skin around it was streaked with lurid red tendrils, creeping toward her ribs.
Frankenstein let out a soft, disapproving hiss. "How long has it looked like this?"
"Since the motel," Takeo said, his voice tight. "It was red.Hot. Not...this."
"You were shot, then submerged in sewage," Tao said flatly, preparing a syringe. "It's a miracle she's conscious. This will hurt."
He didn't lie. The needle sliding into the inflamed tissue was a white-hot brand. Kali arched off the couch, a ragged cry torn from her throat. Takeo's hand found hers, gripping it hard enough to grind bone.
Frankenstein ignored the pain, his full attention on the wound. He accepted a scalpel from Tao. "The necrotic tissue needs debridement.Hold her."
Takeo moved immediately, pinning her shoulders with a gentle, immovable pressure. Muzaka placed a massive hand on her thigh, anchoring her lower body. There was no malice in it, only absolute necessity.
Kali focused on the chandelier. On the way each prism broke the light. She bit down on her own lip, tasting copper.
"I apologize for the discomfort, Kali," Frankenstein said, his voice a calm, hypnotic counterpoint to the fire in her side. The scalpel flashed. There was a strange, pulling sensation, then a sharp, deep pain that stole her breath. "The alternative is systemic sepsis. And while I have extensive resources, even I cannot replace an entire circulatory system on short notice."
He worked with a chilling, artistic precision.Slice. Lift. Discard a piece of blackened flesh into a metal bowl Tao held. The sound was wet and terrible. Kali's breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, hot and furious.
Through the blur, she saw him. Not the charming host, nor the intimidating power broker. This was the scientist. The immortal pragmatist. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but his hands were steady as planets in their orbits. He was saving her life with the same detached focus another man might use to repair a watch.
"Who is Cadis Etrama Di Raizel?" she gritted out, the question forced between clenched teeth.A distraction. A piece of information to claw back some control.
Frankenstein didn't even look up. "He is my Master. And your future employer, should you wish it." Another slice. She flinched. "The school you were so curious about is his. I merely manage it."
"And me?A management project?" she spat.
"At the moment," he said, finally glancing at her face, "you are a patient. And a guest. Whether you become an asset is a discussion for when you are not actively rotting. Almost done."
The last piece came away. What was left was raw, angry, but clean. Blood, healthy and red, welled up. Tao moved in with swabs and a pungent antiseptic that made her see stars. Then came a salve, cool and thick, spread with careful fingers, and a fresh, sterile dressing.
The relief was so profound it felt like a new kind of pain. The constant, feverish throb receded, leaving behind a deep, clean ache. The hands holding her down released. Takeo wiped her forehead with a damp cloth, his own face pale.
"Broad-spectrum antibiotics, intravenously," Frankenstein instructed, washing his hands in a basin Tao provided. The water turned pink. "We need to flood her system. The jet has a full medical suite. Hook her up. I want a saline drip as well, for hydration."
As Tao set up the IV stand and deftly inserted a line into the back of her hand, Frankenstein turned his attention to Takeo. "You.Come with me."
He led Takeo to the back of the lounge, near the sealed door to the cockpit. Their voices were low, but the jet was silent except for the deep thrum of its engines preparing for takeoff.
"The leak," Frankenstein said, his voice devoid of its earlier charm. "It came from the penthouse. My systems."
Takeo's shoulders stiffened."Not possible. They're air-gapped. Isolated."
"Nothing is isolated from a sufficiently motivated and informed attack." Frankenstein's gaze was piercing. "Thorne didn't just want her dead. He wanted her to run. To lead him to me. He used her as live bait in a trap for a bigger predator. My security protocols have been meticulously designed over centuries. This required intimate, recent knowledge."
Takeo's breath caught. His eyes flicked to Kali, then back to his master. "You think it's an inside job."
"I know it is. The question is who. And how deep it goes." Frankenstein placed a hand on Takeo's shoulder. The gesture looked comradely, but Kali saw the pressure in it. "You are compromised. Your loyalty to her is now a vulnerability he can exploit. He will expect you to be with her."
Takeo's jaw tightened. "So you're benching me."
"I am repositioning you. Muzaka will stay with her at the safe house. You will come with me. We will peel back Thorne's operation layer by layer, starting with the rot within our own." He leaned closer. "He shot her to get to us, Takeo. This is no longer a corporate hostile takeover. This is a declaration of war on my household. On my Master."
The engines rose to a whining scream. The jet began to taxi. Kali felt the vibration through the leather couch. The IV bag swayed gently. She watched the two men, the unspoken history and loyalty between them a tangible thing. Frankenstein was cutting Takeo out of her protection detail not as a punishment, but as a strategic feint. To make Thorne think she was vulnerable.
Frankenstein turned, walking back to her as the jet lifted smoothly into the air. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "You will be taken to a secure location. Muzaka will guard you. You will rest. You will heal. You will not use any electronic devices. You will speak to no one. Is that understood?"
It was an order. Delivered with the quiet certainty of a man used to being obeyed across millennia.
Kali met his gaze. The fog of pain and drugs was clearing, burned away by a cold, clarifying anger. Thorne had tried to erase her. He had used her, poisoned her, turned her body into a battlefield. And in doing so, he had dragged her into a shadow war she was only beginning to fathom.
She thought of Takeo's hands washing the filth from her skin. Of the trust in the pipe. Of the unspoken thing that had passed between them in a cheap motel room.
"Understood," she said, her voice hoarse but clear. "But when I'm back on my feet, I'm not just hiding. I'm settling accounts."
A faint, approving smile touched Frankenstein's lips. It didn't reach his eyes. "I would expect nothing less from the woman who bankrupted NovaGen in a weekend." He glanced at Takeo. "Say your goodbyes. We have work to do."
Takeo approached the couch. He stood there for a long moment, looking down at her. The words he'd spoken so easily in the dark seemed stuck in his throat now, in the sterile light of day and under the gaze of his master.
He simply reached out and took her hand, the one without the IV. His thumb stroked across her knuckles once, a silent echo of his touch in the shower. Then he turned and followed Frankenstein toward the front of the jet, disappearing through a door without looking back.
Muzaka settled into a plush chair opposite her with a sigh that sounded like settling rock. He picked up a magazine, seeming to read it upside down.
Kali stared at the ceiling, feeling the powerful thrust of the engines carrying her away from the city, from the fight, from him. The clean, medicated ache in her side was a promise. A receipt for pain not yet repaid.
She closed her eyes. Not to sleep. To plan.
The game had changed. The board was bigger and far more dangerous than she had ever imagined. And Kali Tice, the asset, the patient, the guest, was now a player. She would heal. She would learn. And then, she would make her move.
The gentle hum of the jet was the sound of the hunt, paused but not ended. It was the sound of the predator, licking its wounds. And Kali smiled, a thin, sharp thing in the quiet cabin.