Awakening The Warlord: My Genius Wife

nne

g water, I wrung it out until it was d

Even trapped in the abyss of his coma, the deep reflex pathways fired. His lean abdomen seized into rock-hard r

s convulsing!" Tess

erature contrast," I answered witho

ng carefully around the fresh, immaculate sutures over his ribs. Moving lower, I pressed the warm cloth across his

e wound, his breathing hitched. A deep, muffled groan scraped from the back of his throat, and

s. But my mind was locked in seventy years of surgical discipline. I cleaned the deep margins of every wo

ations, I bound fresh, boiled linen around his hips and thighs, finally

hit me-a nauseating fog of boiled alcohol, copper-scented

curved end of my bone probe beneath the rusted iron heads, I pried the nails loose one by one with sharp, deliberate cracks. Grab

ide, instantly scattering the foul fumes and cir

in my ribs reminded me that I hadn't eaten si

ud, cavernous rumb

e from

crimson, and she clamped both hands over her

exhausted face, and a rare,

too, Tessa,"

den recollection. She scurried over to the travel sack by the do

n-crusted Sun-Wheat brioches, glazed with the

spered, holding one out like an offering. "They're cold, Miss, but Sun-Wheat restores sp

e and rich, releasing the subtle flo

tress at the roots of the world, that simple

ing soul in this realm

the stone bed, eating in comfortable sile

nd stiffened armor, his breathing rose and fell in a steadier r

the open window. Tessa was nodding off where she sat. I sent her to the small adjoini

ike only a few heartbeats, but the l

-the reflex of a trauma

d fundamentally shifted. The air near the bed

lded arms, my gaze darting

caught in

o longer

rely motionless, he was