“Don’t look!” he commanded sharply as she tried to turn her head.
Andi obeyed him but only barely, especially when worrisomely disgusting sounds began behind her. “Why?” she asked in a hiss.
Damian brought his forehead to hers to trap it, his golden eyes shining bright. “Do you ever stop with the questions, princess?”
She shook her head, rocking it against his. “No. Never.” And then she winced as it sounded like bones began to break, accompanied by a wet slurping that had no place in a hospital. He closed his eyes as if in prayer, and then when the sounds stopped he rose up to look, and it was like she saw a mighty weight lifted from his shoulders in real time, as he happily sighed.
“Okay,” Damian breathed, before giving her a triumphant grin. “It’s over. Don’t scream.”
Andi slowly turned around, like a contestant on a game show nervous to see what she’d won. Both men were gone, and in their place were two motherfuckingly huge wolves now panting behind her. Each of them was the size of a couch, wide shouldered but lean and long from nose to tail-tip. One of them had the same rust colored fur as Austin’s hair in mottled splotches across its body as it shook its shaggy head, and the other was an almost scatter-camouflage combination of white, black, and gray.
Damian walked over to them like he knew them because—she realized—he did. “I’m glad to see you back in one piece,” he addressed the one that had to be Zach. “I don’t know what the fuck you did to yourself, though. We’ll figure it out later—when you can talk.” He then went over to the sink and started washing his hands.
They were werewolves.
Her hands. Were covered. In werewolf blood.
Andi pressed them away from her, holding them out at arm’s length. Zach’s wolf whined while Austin’s gnashed its teeth at Damian, before giving her a baleful look.
“Yeah, I know,” Damian answered in response, like he understood them, drying his hands off before pulling out his phone. “Max is already on his way.”
Andi didn’t care who the fuck Max was right now; she couldn’t take much more strange tonight. “So…Austin…and Zach are werewolves?” Her voice went high as she said it aloud because it was so dang crazy, and yet here they were, carnivores the size of pro-linebackers, and she was close enough to see their claws and fangs. She skittered around the edge of the room to where the sink was, and then Austin growled. She quickly stepped to hide behind Damian.
“Well, I can hardly deny it when she’s standing right here, gentlemen,” Damian said. “Plus, she’s saved your life twice now, Zach. That’s a blood debt. If you ask me, you both owe her.”
Andi tried to wash her hands super thoroughly without turning her back on the two massive killing machines, and it was hard—especially when the gray one shuffled around Damian to look at her more clearly. Its eyes were blue and piercing under an intelligent brow.
“Zach, Andi. Andi, Zach,” Damian said.
What were you supposed to do when you were introduced to a werewolf? Andi thought of curtsying and then stopped from manically laughing at herself but only barely.
“Hi puppy,” she squeaked instead.
Damian laughed. “Wait until I tell Grim that.”
Andi tentatively reached her hand out, and Damian’s mood changed. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped. She yanked her hand back and held it to her chest like it was wounded.
“Petting a werewolf? Maybe? Should I have asked for permission first? I don’t know.”
“You don’t pet werewolves,” Damian said, every word punctuated with disbelief.
“Why not?”
He blinked at her. “Because…they’re…they’re monsters.”
Zach went down on all fours like the world’s largest stuffed wolf and let his tongue loll out as if to debate that fact.
“So?” she asked, biting her lips and creeping up on Zach slowly. His ears were as big as her hands, and they looked so soft.
“They’re also men, the vast majority of the time. Just because they’re fuzzy now, don’t let it fool you.”
Andi crossed her arms. “So, it was entirely okay for me to have my hands in Zach’s guts when he was a man a few minutes ago, but right now, I can’t pet him?”
Austin gnashed his teeth at her as if to emphasize this point, whereas Zach sat back, and…beat his tail. Which was intentionally doglike, if you asked her. His brother looked utterly disgusted with him. Damian yanked the room’s curtains shut and sat on the visitor couch, closing his eyes. Which meant he wouldn’t see if she pet Zach. She leaned out and Damian spoke up again, without looking. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asked, not moving.
“Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing,” he answered her.
“But…” she protested.
Damian’s golden eyes opened and took all of her in. “I need to think, and I’m tired of words.”
All he wanted was a moment to himself. Just one moment, to clear his head and think things through—and somehow stay angry. At her. Because everything about her made him weak. He was angry that she’d seen him for what he was and hadn’t run, angry that he wanted to let her in, angry that all of his attempts to frighten her away tonight hadn’t done a fucking thing—not even when she’d almost died from a lurker. She should be cowering somewhere, mind broken, utterly panicked, begging him to take her home—not trying to pet his werewolf best friend like he was some goddamned Fido.
But she couldn’t even give him that—because of course she couldn’t, when had she ever done anything easily?—and he opened his eyes up and saw her standing there looking bereft.
There, he had what he wanted. Right?
Zach cocked an eyebrow at him meaningfully.
Goddammit.
Damian moved over on the couch. “Come here, Andi.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think you can just order me around all the time?”
“NOW,” he barked.
She didn’t move a muscle. She really wasn’t going to listen to him. He was tempted to lunge over the wolves and pick her up to get her away from them and then do whatever the fuck he wanted to her, but instead, he collapsed dramatically backward and clutched at his rib cage.
“Damian?” Her voice rose in an arc of worry as she rushed to his side.
“It’s just…I…,” he said, mock-groaning as her hands fluttered, chasing his. Up close, she smelled amazing, and then her hands were on his chest and he wanted them elsewhere—wanted more of everything with her—and he forgot to keep up the act.
“You!” she shouted, shoving at him the second she realized.
“I did hurt there. For a second,” he lied, smirking.
God, she smelled so right. And an unwise part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms, to just breathe her in, and know that she was whole and okay. He snuck his arm around her waist, ready to hold onto her if she tried to move away.
“Just…stay away from the wolves, okay? They have more teeth than sense.”
She rocked away and stopped touching him, but she didn’t stand up. “I’m getting a strong current of pot-kettle-black here.”
He snorted. “Good, because I’d tell you the same thing about my dragon. We share the same body, but he isn’t me. And he’s not pettable, either.”
Why not? his dragon asked him.
Not-the-fuck-now, Damian replied, making sure that none of his internal exchange showed upon his face.
“If he’s not you, then who is he?” Andi asked, her brow furrowing.
Damian closed his eyes and groaned in pain for real this time. “It’s too complicated…”
And when he opened his eyes, she was frowning at him again. “Why won’t you ever answer anything?”
“Because, princess, just because,” he answered like that was enough, although from her expression it clearly wasn’t. She was so close beside him now and his body roared to move against hers. His arm was already looped behind her; it would be nothing to scoo
p her into his lap and hold her there—pressed against him. How come her presence—the very smell of her, even!—kept clouding his mind like some kind of drug, making him hyperaware of her proximity at all times, and aching for his next hit? No one had ever made him feel like that before—which was yet another reason to be angry.
Because this was not who he was. He was Damian Blackwood, in control of himself and his dragon—always, completely—at all times. If he lost control, people died.
But he reached out against all of his better judgment and stroked the blue streak in her hair off her cheek and back behind her ear. Her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted, and all of this was her fault somehow. Even if she wasn’t doing it on purpose, it was still happening. He had to get away from her—or closer, now, dear God, yes—there was no in-between.
Then he heard a sound coming to save him. Maximillian and his Forgetting Fire. Damian dropped his hand, back to business, and ignored the noises coming from the wolves that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“About damn time,” Damian said, standing suddenly, leaving her hanging again. Andi fought not to sway. He’d wanted to kiss her, and she didn’t know what she wanted, but she hadn’t really wanted to stop him, and then a switch inside him flipped. How could he turn himself on and off like that? He was glowering now and Andi wondered if he even realized when he did it, or if being the definition of mercurial was just his natural state.
There was a crackling sound outside—increasing in volume—like either a giant was tramping through a forest, or the whole building was on fire. She kept expecting to hear a Code Red announced as the crackling sound got louder, passed them, presumably reached the end of the hall, then turned back before silencing right outside their door.
There was a rap on the glass. “Damian?”
“We need at least two spheres in here, but I’ll take four if you’ve got them,” Damian said, loud enough to be heard. The glass door slid open, and four marble sized things rolled in.
Damian picked up all of them and held out two in one palm toward the wolves. They each daintily took one into their mouths, and as they did so, Andi watched them completely disappear and she yelped in surprise. Damian ignored her. “You can come in now, Max.”
The door opened all the way, but there was no one there. Just the hallway.
“A…ghost?” she guessed aloud. She knew there was such a thing as werewolves now, so why the fuck not?
“No, spheres. A magical object that protects the outside world from seeing us.” Damian handed one over to her and she took it. She didn’t feel any different, but now she could see the wolves again, and the ghost turned out to be a very-pale skinned man, clad mostly in black leather, who had what looked like welders goggles on over a mohawk of ice blond hair that wasn’t spiked but rested to one side like Death’s horse’s mane. He held out a lantern that had all its windows covered—for now.
A second later, Damian joined them there, in their hidden world just under other people’s noses. Maximillian coughed and not-so-subtly swung his lantern in Andi’s direction. Damian shook his head. “Get the boys home and stay out of trouble. Hunters might be present.”
“Understood,” Maximillian said with a nod, then opened the door again. The wolves ran out under fluorescent lights, their claws clicking on the linoleum tile, even more improbable outside the room than they’d been inside it. Zach looked back at her and gave her a short ayoo as she waved helplessly at him. Without him here to distract her, everything was real again. And it was all going to really hit her—soon.
Damian turned. “This is your floor, right?”
After everything she’d seen tonight, she wasn’t sure anymore. “It was,” she answered.
He gave her a suggestive look. “Can I borrow some bath wipes?”
Andi blinked. Was he being serious? After all that?
“I mean, if you didn’t use them all up on your doctor friends,” he went on.
She inhaled, thought about hitting his arm hard, and then settled on saying, “You know there’s something wrong with you, right?”
“It’s called being incorrigible,” he said. “Come on, where’s your locker?”
Chapter 20
They stepped out into the ICU together, and everything was normal. Doors were open, beds were where they belonged, and staff and patients were carrying on like nothing had happened.
“Can they hear us?” she whispered while directing him to the locker room.
“No.”
“Will they see if I open the door?” It was nightshift. If things were back to normal, she could guarantee that someone was sleeping in the dark on break.
“Not if they want to see darkness.”
“Okay, that’s so confusing, but anyway.” She gave up and went inside. He followed her and sure enough, three of her coworkers were stretched out on couches or chains of chairs, snoozing. She opened her locker to rummage through her bag and gave him the first handful.
“Thanks,” he said, wiping himself down, starting with his hair. She looked him up and down, telling herself she was being professional, merely trying to assess if he had suffered any injuries that hadn’t healed and needed to be cared for. But the bottom of his shirt had been torn off, revealing those insane rippling abs. “Are you going to?” he asked her, gesturing with his hand at her. “I mean, I can help if you want,” he said with a leer.
Andi swallowed and hopped back. “I’m good. It’s just…silk and bath wipes…don’t mix, I think.”
“Of course,” he said sarcastically.
She wasn’t the one covered in monster blood—just her coat was. If only she’d known that this was going to happen before she’d dropped that hundred-dollar bill for dry cleaning on the ground at Belissima’s. She snorted and turned to look at her coworkers in an effort not to look at him. How had they missed all the excitement outside? Nightshift’s abilities to sleep on breaks were legendary, but come the fuck on. Then realization hit her. “Wait, was that Forgetting Fire in the lantern? Like you wanted to show me?”
He slowly nodded. “Yes.”
“And it did…all this?” She gestured at her coworkers, who were all sleeping like serfs at Sleeping Beauty’s castle.
“Yes,” he agreed.
It was like it had undone time! “Oh, thank God!” Andi leaned against her locker and heard it click. “Jessica’s back, right?”
Damian frowned, shaking his head as he finished rubbing a hand across his stomach. “No.”
“What do you mean, no? Can’t you…bring her back?”
His countenance changed when his eyes met hers, and it was like he was made out of steel again. “I can’t. That’s not how it works.”
“But…she was here. People will remember—”
“Yes. And they’ll find her car in the parking lot. I assume they track your badges, so they’ll know that she got in, but they won’t have a record of her dying, nor will anyone have much of a memory of her working here tonight. That’s what happens when you die for Unearthly reasons. Most human minds can’t handle it.” He finished wiping off his forearms and shoved the stained wipes in his pocket.
“But…there are cameras!” Andi protested. The woman had kids, for Christ’s sake!
“The fire will have gotten to them, too. And in a week, it’ll be another unsolved mystery.” He raked his eyes over her, taking in her surprise and pain with a sympathetic frown. “Death is death, Andi. Not even I can change it.”
“But—” she whispered, and he cut her off.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said, then pressed on. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She was not all right. Not in a global sense, knowing all the shit she now knew about his world, and definitely not in the here and now. Andi stared past him for a moment. “But I’m really good at compartmentalizing, so I figure I’ve got three or so hours before everything sinks in and I lose it.”
Damian appraised her and seemed to take her statement at face value
. “Fair enough. Let me get you home.”
They rode the elevator down in silence, but Damian held the ‘closed’ button down before it landed. “Pocket your sphere.”
“Why?” she asked, as she did as she was told.
“Because I want to make sure the cameras down here see us leaving,” Damian said, letting the button go and zipping up his coat to hide everything that’d happened to his T-shirt.
She dropped the metal ball into her coat pocket and put on a brave smile as they approached the security kiosk.
“Leaving so soon, Miss Ngo?” Omar asked.
“Turns out my friend’s not feeling well, and the ICU has more staff than they can handle. That’s what happens when you offer double time!” She forced herself to laugh and shrug playfully as Omar let them out the door.
Andi followed Damian back to his car and got in without talking. It was her turn to be tired of words and think.
She had just seen the literal definition of too much. Up until now, she’d have thought it was that time she’d had a Steven Johnson’s patient’s colon slide right out of their body, semi-intact, before popping open and spilling shit everywhere. She’d called in sick for three nights after that, but tonight had that night beat—hands down.
And Damian had understood that. It was why he’d been cruel to her at the restaurant and why he was driving her back home in silence now.
“I get why you push people away,” she said aloud. This…was his life. What had happened today was his actual, normal Saturday.
He kept driving like he didn’t hear her until he downshifted like mad, surprising her by pulling over underneath an overpass in the dark, with only the dim light of the dashboard for illumination. Andi could hear each of the cars passing overhead and feel the vibration of the bridge as it shook from them.
Damian looked over at her, his face framed in the dark. “Do you?”
He did what he did, although clearly it tormented him, and stopped him from ever letting himself relax. The only doctor she’d ever trusted had told her a wise thing once—that every person who practices war or medicine has a little graveyard somewhere inside of them they visit, full of all the ghosts of their what-ifs. She knew she visited one inside of her from time to time, when she was feeling broken, like nothing she did at work mattered.
Dragon Called: A Slow Burn Sexy Paranormal Romance Page 17