Chapter 8 ~ Sergio Prezlocki

With Sergio terribly injured, Milan is able to fix him up, but they need to find a way to get back at Nathaniel and the others without Sergio having to leave bed.

Chapter 8 - Sergio Prezlocki

“Agggh! Stop that, it hurts!”

“Mon cher, I know it hurts, but you need to relax, or I’ll never be able to get the bullet out.”

I lie down on a bed in another bedroom far away enough from the one we found Nathaniel’s crew in. Milan had to sever my pants and boxers so he’d be able to remove the bullet from my hip, then treat the wound so it won’t get infected. But since Milan’s using a knife to take it out, it really hurts, and isn’t comfortable in any way.

As Milan digs the tip of the knife close to the bullet, though it slices into my thigh again, I cry out in pain, trying to kick him away. He reaches over, and places a hand on my knee to get me to stop.

“Sergio, mon cher, you need to sit still,” Milan reminds me. “It hurts even more because you’re moving too much. If you’d just stop moving so much it won’t hurt as badly.”

I breathe out heavily, growling a little. “Fine, I’ll sit still,” I mutter.

Milan strokes my hair. “You said that twenty minutes ago,” he says.

“This time I mean it,” I say toughly, grabbing onto a pillow that I can squeeze when Milan continues the operation. “Go on. I can do this.”

Milan nods softly, and raises the knife again. I bury my face into the pillow, squeezing it tightly in my arms. I feel the same soreness as Milan tries to dig out the bullet again, this time, with much more strength. I don’t flinch, but instead, I scream painfully into the pillow, squeezing it tightly.

“That’s my Sergio,” Milan says softly. “It’s almost out, just keep relaxed.”

He digs in one more time, but not as harshly. I pick up my head, and snarl loudly as a result of the pain. All of a sudden, something pops, and my leg doesn’t feel stuck in place anymore.

“There! It’s out,” Milan tells me, placing a damp towel over the bullet hole. It doesn’t hurt as much as removing the bullet did, but it still stings a lot. I just remind myself that Milan’s doing it so that I won’t have to deal with infections in an opened wound. There really isn’t an efficient way to treat it, since Victor Logo, a very skilled doctor and surgeon, isn’t anywhere close so he can take care of it.

Milan whispers softly to me, reminding to keep calm while he stops the bleeding for it. It’s quite a lot of blood, so I begin to feel lightheaded. Milan must notice my face turning pale, because he immediately offers me a packet of sour candy, which I’m quick to eat.

It takes a long time before the blood stops, but when it finally does, both Milan and I are more than relieved. “Aggh. F**k you, Nathaniel,” I’m finally able to choke out.

Milan runs his fingers through my jet black hair once again. “Hey. Don’t worry about them right now,” he tells me softly. “Ugh, even though you were so close to taking the prince from them. If that stupid peasant wasn’t with him.” He’s quick to brush off his anger with a swift wave of the hand. “But never you mind, Sergio, mon cher. We’ll get them back. Right now, we need to patch you up so you’ll be able to walk soon.”

With that, Milan tapes a square of gauze to the wound after putting some cream medicine on the area, and wraps a spare brace around my hips and my waist. “There,” he says. “Now, just rest, and don’t leave this bed. Without any rest, this won’t get any better.” He must know that I’m worried and thinking a lot about getting back at them. And of course, with worrying comes pacing. With a hurt leg like this, I won’t be able to do too much pacing.

I sigh, nodding once weakly. “Alright then,” I say disappointedly. “But...what are we going to do if we can’t leave this room?”

Milan chuckles evilly under his breath, his irises flashing golden. “Don’t worry, mon cher,” he whispers. “I have an idea. They’ll have never seen it coming.”

My French boyfriend clasps his hands together, and lowers his head, muttering something under his breath in ancient Latin:

“Voca tibi ex inferni puteos, in profundo maris tenebrosa terrae, Canum praefectus inferni...”

There is then a strange vibe lingering around for a few minutes, when there is suddenly a growl from that of a canine. Milan has summoned a black dog from Hell.

He chuckles evilly again, giving the invisible dog a pat on the head. “Bonjour, chien,” he says softly. “Now, find Nathaniel and the others, and show them what Hell is really like, oui?”

There’s a bark from the Hellhound, before the air is still again as the dog runs off. Milan then turns to me, kissing my lips. “See? All taken care of now,” he reassures me. “And you didn’t even have to leave bed! Now, just lie back, and relax.”

As Milan reaches over and rubs my shoulders softly, I smile smugly, a magenta light flashing from my own irises. “Of course. Why, thank you, Milan, my dear,” I purr, touching his lips gently.

Knowing that the black dog is doing us a favor, I simply lie back with my eyes closed, and allow Milan to give my tense shoulders a rub.