The Fifth Kingdom by Caridad Piñeiro

teased, parroting his earlier words to her.
    “Please,” he said, needing to muster some control before he embarrassed himself.
    With a nod, she rose and left the room. Bill somehow managed to get one arm out of his shirt, but his suffering prevented him from going any further. Luckily, Deanna had returned, holding a small jar that she placed on the bed beside him. She immediately assisted him once again despite his earlier protestations.
    The shirt came off and then she tackled the bulletproof vest. Each zip of the Velcro straps seemed louder than the one before and then she was lifting the vest over his head and tossing it aside onto the mattress.
    She sucked in a surprised breath as she took note of his side.
    Bill tracked her gaze and realized why. There was a large reddish patch along his ribs that was already showing signs of a deeper purplish bruise at the point of impact. The blow was closer to his midsection and the tip of his rib. He wondered if the intense pain was because it had broken. Not a good thing. Any wrong movement could drive the tip through something vital.
    “Don’t move,” she said, apparently realizing the same thing.
    “Not sure I could right now.”
    As she had earlier, she kneeled before him and reached for the jar. When she opened it, a mélange of tantalizing aromas wafted to him. She scooped out a glob and then smeared it on a spot along the far edge of his injury. Immediately a weird hot/cold sensation penetrated his skin.
    “What is that?” he asked, watching as she carefully spread the lotion along his ribs, inching ever closer to the worst part of the bruise.
    “A mix of botanicals known for their healing properties. I take it with me for when I get any aches and pains on a trip,” she explained while she continued smoothing it along his skin. She paused for a moment when she neared his midsection and then more carefully traced the line of his abused rib. With each careful stroke, the lotion slowly dispelled some of his discomfort.
    “That feels good,” Bill said. As he met her gaze, the furrow of worry between her brows communicated her state. “I’ll be okay. I’ve been hurt before and survived.”
     
    Deanna didn’t doubt it. His body told a tale of assorted injuries as she continued to explore the bone in the hopes of determining if it was broken. There was a stellar-shaped silvery scar up close to one shoulder. A bullet wound, she realized. Bisecting the middle of his trunk was a thin white line from a knife, she assumed. A network of smaller scars crisscrossed both sides of his body.
    With a final stroke along his rib, she pulled her hand away because she was too tempted to examine more of his superb torso. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we should bind it to be on the safe side.”
    She didn’t wait for a reply, returning to her room and her knapsack to pull out her medical kit. She returned to the room with it and earned a surprised look from him.
    “You travel prepared.”
    A nonchalant crunch of her shoulders answered him. She placed the kit on the bed and rooted through it for a long enough wrap for his ribs. Pulling out the carefully rolled bandage, she said, “Raise your arms midway if you can.”
    That he could, although it was obviously painful, confirmed to her that the rib was only badly bruised in a very awkward place. “Exhale slowly and then hold,” she said. Once he had done as she asked, she efficiently bandaged his ribs, wrapping the bandage around and around to offer support.
    When he finally drew a breath, he said, “That feels better already.”
    He reached for his damaged shirt and she asked, “Do you need to run out to the Secret Spy Store for another one?”
    He grinned and a boyish dimple emerged along the right side of his face. “Like you, my bag is already packed. I’m just waiting for the next watch to bring it from my office.”
    She supposed that he thought the reminder of the violence troubled her. He’d be right, but what