Chapter 58: Taran

The sound of raised voices wakes me up. I sit, pushing the wild tangles of hair out of my face. I'm groggy, unable to focus for a minute. I must've been far more tired than I thought when Diogo brought me downstairs. He helped me take my clothes off, then laid me down and kissed his way down and then up my body. Not in a sexual way, though I was plenty turned on by the time he finished. His exploration was sensual, worshipping. He kissed each healing scrape, kissed my hipbones and ribs, the arch of my feet, the tip of my nose and the top of my head. Then he turned me onto my side and pressed his lips against the birdcage tattoo on my back.
A possessive reminder of my place in his life? I don't know, and in the moment, I didn't care. I felt safe and satisfied, drifting to sleep in my husband's arms.
"Pardon my disrespect Warlord, but this is important. I must insist." The emphatic voice, raised in agitation, draws me from my comfortable bed.
I pull on my clothes, neatly folded and placed on the bench in front of my desk. I'm about to run a brush through my hair when I hear Diogo raise his voice in anger. I'm shocked. I don't think I've ever heard him shout, and I've given him plenty of reason. I drop the hairbrush and rush to the door, fearful that there'll soon be a bloodbath on the other side if I don't intervene.
Doctor Bishop is sitting at the table, his face smooth and serene as the last time I saw him. Diogo, on the other hand, looks ready to kill the older man. His dark eyes are narrowed in fury and his rigid posture with a hand resting on his knife suggests my fears were not unfounded. I step between the two men and smile at the doctor.
"Bishop, so good of you to stop by," I exclaim. "Are you here to examine me again?"
He nods, shifting his gaze from Diogo to me. A smile creases his face and he reaches for my hand. I give it to him. "Among other things," he says enigmatically. "Let's have a look then."
He stands and presses me into the chair, then pulls another up. He lifts the bandage with clinical precision and looks at the wound. I wince as he presses his fingers to the edge of the bite wound.
Diogo leans in. "It looks bad," he grunts.
I roll my eyes while the doctor rebandages it. "She tried to rip out my throat. I didn't expect it to look good."
"It's healing quickly," Bishop interrupts. "Has a nice pink look to the edges of the wound. It'll scar though." He looks up at Diogo, concern etching his rugged features.
"Do something about it then," Diogo says bluntly.
Bishop raises an eyebrow before leaning forward in his chair to lift my leg and examine the ankle. "There's nothing to do about it. We aren't equipped for cosmetic surgery, and even if we were, I'm not a cosmetic surgeon. She'll just have to live with the scar. Now, Taran, how does this feel."
"Very little pain," I murmur as he presses his fingers against my ankle bone.
"Good, the swelling has gone down. You should be walking around just fine by tomorrow."
Before I can thank him, Diogo interrupts. "What do we need in order to remove the scar? I'll send some men to Sacramento Sanctuary for supplies."
The doctor sighs and sits back in his chair giving Diogo a stern look. "I appreciate your concern, son, but she's going to scar. Period. By the time your men get back with a doctor and supplies, the wound will be well healed. The skin would have to be cut away and re-grafted."
"I don't want that!" I say, appalled.
Bishop pats my knee. "You don't need it. You'll heal up beautifully, with a few little marks as a reminder to run faster next time."
I start laughing but stop abruptly when Diogo's fist slams into the table next to us. He points at Bishop. "You know what'll happen if anyone sees those marks on her. They'll know she was bitten."
Bishop nods soberly. "Yes, they will."
I shrug, not really understanding the gravity of the conversation. "I'll wear collared shirts and scarves. What's the big deal?"
I expect Diogo to explain it, since he's the one that's so desperate to get rid of my new scar. But Bishop is the one to speak. "You weren't around during those first years after the Great Fall. Neither of you." He rubs a hand over his short dark grey hair, his expression serious. "We didn't know much about Primitives, except they were spreading fast and civilization was toppling at an alarming rate. As a species we can be reactive instead of thoughtful. Instead of studying the creatures, we just killed them. We killed anyone bitten by them, killed animals that we thought might be incubators for the virus." He falls silent for a moment, his grave eyes searching mine, reminding me once again how close to death I came, either by turning or by Diogo's knife. "But more disturbing than that, was when people started turning on people. All a person had to do was point a finger at a neighbour and they would be attacked and killed before anyone stopped to find out the truth of the accusation."
"That's terrible!" I exclaim, shuddering at the brutality of humans.
"Terrible, but not uncommon," Diogo says. "It's what humans do because they have a strong survival instinct. They destroy the weak, the competition. You can't survive in these times without it getting a little messy."
"Yes," Bishop agrees. "I saw the hysteria with my own eyes as people turned on each other, not waiting for proof of the Turn. Something as simple as a dog bite, or the common cold, would be called Necrotitis Primeval and the so-called carrier executed without a trial. Sadly, we haven't come much farther in the years since. We still react with a certain level of instinctive fear to the Death Kiss."
"Which is why I won't allow Taran to become the subject of public hysteria," Diogo growls, his hand curving protectively over my shoulder.
"I understand, son, but surgery isn't the answer," Bishop says patiently. "I can help though. If you allow me to work with Taran, find out why she survived  "
"I will not allow her to become the subject of your tests," Diogo snaps. "Don't ask me again."
"Your concern for your wife is commendable, Commander, but she is one person. Compare that to the fate of our civilization. To millions of people."
"I don't care about millions of people right now. I only care about one." Diogo's voice is so hard, so lethal, it sends a chill right through me.
I finally realize what they'd been discussing so heatedly when I came in. Doctor Bishop wants to find out why I didn't turn. Come to think of it, now that I've had sleep and perspective, I want to know too. Was this an isolated incident? And was it the Primitive who was special, or me?
"We should retrieve her body," I murmur, interrupting their argument.
Bishop smiles brightly. "Yes, we definitely should. It's been just over a day." He looks up at Diogo expectantly. "There's probably still enough of her out there that I can do a proper autopsy."
Animals tend to stay away from Primitives, alive or dead. Something about the rotting flesh turns them away from eating the remains. Still, the hot desert sun and the wind will do a number on her.
"If I deliver the body to you, then you will stop discussing Taran, she's off limits."
Bishop nods his understanding, but I notice he's careful not to verbally agree. I think Diogo notices too, but he just grunts and turns away, reaching for his military jacket. "I have to go into the station." His gaze captures mine. "You'll be okay? Grayson is on the other side of the door. He'll come in after Bishop leaves."
"I'll be fine," I tell him. He nods and leaves.
An awkward silence sits between the doctor and myself. We're both thinking the same thing, but I'm the first to speak. "I think you should examine me."
"Good girl." He grins and pats my leg. "This is more important than your husband can comprehend."
"No," I say admonishing him. "Diogo comprehends the implications just fine. What he objects to is my involvement. If there's something I've come to understand about him, it's that I will always be his priority. Over Sanctuary, over himself, over the whole damn world."
The doctor thinks about my words for a moment. "And this way of thinking suits you? I would've thought the Desert Wren would object."
I laugh. "You are a wily one Doctor, trying to appeal to my rebel side."
Despite his manipulation, I think about his question. Does Diogo's insane level of protectiveness suit me? It drives me crazy. I can't leave without him or an escort. He curtails almost all of my activities and allows me to do only those things he deems safe. Yet, we haven't had enough time to settle into a suitable routine. I think it's possible to work around Diogo's protective instincts.
"It neither suits me nor sits particularly well. It just is," I explain. "Diogo is the Warlord of Sanctuary. His job is to protect, his entire life geared toward that one thing. It's only natural that it should extend to me. And I won't argue that there's something appealing about his feelings toward me. The constant knowledge that I'm taken care of is not something I've ever really experienced. But will it make me happy in the long term? I don't know."
"You are very wise for someone so young," Bishop says, his voice gentle.
I shrug. "Is anyone in this world really young? We've all seen horrors. The difference in age is only chronological, our souls have all aged from the Great Fall."
"Too cynical, my dear."
"But true, nonetheless."
"Yes, true." He smiles sadly, before wiping the expression from his face and going to his pleasant fallback. "Now, we'll need to discuss a plan. How do we get you tested without your husband murdering me?"