Illuminated

Chapter 29

It'd been a long time since Blaine had flown freely. The cold air licked his face and shoulders like an affectionate puppy, calming his racing heart.

Though his wings were built for flying faster than the speed of light, tonight he beat them in a slow and steady tempo. Humans were fragile.

But despite his best efforts, Andromeda vomited nonetheless.

After nimbly dodging putrid globules of bile whizzing past him, he gazed down at her in sympathy. He'd been in the same state recently himself, so he could totally relate.

Better out than in.

And just as it had with him, it seemed to make her feel better; her heartbeat and temperature regulated, and she stopped shivering. Perhaps there wasn't any need to take her to a hospital now.

Maybe it was in his best interests if he didn't. He wasn't sure how well he'd be received dropping her off in Accident and Emergency in all his winged glory. It wasn't exactly a stealth move in an area of town that was bound to be mobbed on a night like this. He was liable to be seen no matter how hard he tried, but he'd been too panicked earlier to really consider the logistics of it. But now that he was thinking more clearly, he still didn't know what the Hell else he was supposed to do with her.

He supposed he could always take her back to the Foyer. Ring the doorbell and boost. She'd already told him where she lived, so it wouldn't look suspicious. But then she might wonder why he didn't stick around till someone opened the door. How would he explain leaving her, unconscious, on the porch at 3am? Uh, sorry Andromeda, I lost my shirt in transit and didn't want to offend any God-fearing nuns.

That ought to go down like a lead balloon.

And to top it off, he doubted the old nuns would be strong enough to lift and carry her inside. Dead weight was always heavier.

Realistically, that only left him with one viable option.

But no... That was crazy talk... He didn't know the first thing about caring for a sick mortal. And his apartment wasn't exactly human friendly.

But as he scrutinised Andromeda's tiny, swathed face, he realised he had no other choice.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. It was easily another golden opportunity to play the chivalry card. A surge of anger swept through him at the memory of Lara leaving him when he was helpless, which cemented his decision.

Swiftly changing course, he headed in the direction of his apartment. Humans rarely looked up at the sky anymore; they were always glued to their screens, so they were safe in the dark for now.

He swooped into his bedroom through the open skylight, landing softly on the padded carpet. After placing Andromeda, cocooned in her cloak like a fuzzy caterpillar, on his unused king-sized bed, he proceeded to close every window and turn on the heating at full blast. He didn't want her to die of something as ridiculous as hypothermia after all his efforts to save her.

When he was done, he stared down gormlessly at her lifeless body, wondering what to do with it. He sniffed the air a couple of times and his nose wrinkled in disgust. Her cloak was stained with vomit, so he guessed that was a good place to start.

He untied the ribbon drawstring and unravelled it carefully from around her shoulders. Looking her over, he realised her chin and neck hadn't escaped the unfortunate onslaught either. Tutting like a high-strung matron, he bounded to the en suite and brought back a moistened towel to clean her.