by RJ Blain
“—a very angry, naked, and badly burned woman,” the paramedic concluded, his tone mild.
Naked? The shock of having, for the first time in my life, shifted without clothes momentarily distracted me from my burns. I was already grateful for my nudity; Malcolm’s touch hurt enough without adding clothing to the mix. “I’m not a pet,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
The paramedic ignored me, shaking his head. “We’re not equipped to transport a lycanthrope, Mal.”
“I’m not a damned lycanthrope, either!”
Malcolm tightened his hold on me, and tears blurred my vision. “She’s a shifter, Rex. If you’re too scared to touch her, I’ll handle the work, just tell me what to do.”
Like it or not, I was going on a ride in an ambulance, as Malcolm ignored my protests, yelps, and curses, dragging me out of the ditch as though I weighed no more than a feather to him. I found another silver lining in the shit storm I called my life; I was about to cost the devil a great deal of money.
Maybe that’d teach him a thing or two about involving himself in the affairs of unlucky mortals like myself.
Chapter Eight
Under normal circumstances, shifting altered every bit of my anatomy, right down to my nails. Only my eyebrows and eyelashes escaped the flames, and my burns ranged from red, raw skin to pale white blisters. Shifting had spared me from any actual charring. Several nurses under the supervision of two doctors applied salves. By the time they were finished bandaging me, I resembled a mummy.
I could deal with mimicking Bastet and Cleopatra, but mummies were an entirely different matter. They were the reason I refused any job dealing with Egyptian artifacts. Too many myths about mummies, especially those of pharaohs, existed for me to wave them away as superstition.
The last thing I needed was a curse added to the rest of my problems.
According to the triage nurse, shifting had saved my life, lessened the severity of my burns, and would help mitigate scarring. It would take several years before the scars all faded. To make matters worse, my hair was gone, and unless I got really lucky or could pay absurd amounts for special treatment, it could be years before any of it grew back.
I could deal with burns.
I could deal with scars.
I would miss my hair, my one true vanity, a symbol of my heritage, and a badge of pride. I hadn’t cut it since the day I left my aunt’s home; she had hated long hair and had demanded I keep mine short. Would shifting help it grow back?
I’d never been bald before, and even when I transformed into a sphinx and adopted ancient Egyptian hair stylings, my hair grew back to its natural length when I returned to my human form.
Tears blurred my vision, and I clenched my teeth to hold them back. No matter how many times I called myself a sex kitten, I turned heads because I was exotic, not because I was beautiful. I’d turn a lot fewer heads if I ended up with half as many scars as the nurses claimed.
Crying wouldn’t help. Revenge wouldn’t, either, since the bastard responsible was dead. I couldn’t even get the satisfaction of kicking his corpse. That left me with the pyro’s boss. One way or another, I’d find them. When I did, they were going to die a slow, painful death for torching my hair.
While I stewed over my misfortune, the three nurses mummifying me tortured my tender skin, making it difficult to keep my tears at bay. A little old lady with too much spring in her step bounced to the examination table armed with a clipboard “Dear, there’s an issue with your insurance.”
“Now what?” I snapped, and then I grimaced at the waver in my voice and my shameful behavior. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. What’s wrong?”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it one bit, dear. You’re hurting. I tell you, last time I got burned, I was a bear for a week.” The nurse smiled at me and tapped her finger to her papers. “Says here we need to notify the main policy holder whenever you come in, but I think there’s a mistake. It’s not a valid number.”
I could make a guess at the devil’s number, and the nurse was right that it wouldn’t be valid—not normally. “666-666-6666?”
Her eyes widened. “It’s a real number?”
“Whatever you do, don’t spell his name wrong. He hates that.”
“There’s also the issue of your relationship with the policy holder…”
“Take it up with him; I gave you all the paperwork I have.” Of course, the paperwork I had was a single card and a policy number involving a lot of sixes. The devil needed to let go of his unhealthy obsession with the number. “I wish I could help you more than that, but everything else burned. I don’t suppose there’s a chance I can be discharged today, is there?”
I needed out of the hospital before something else went wrong—or Malcolm broke free of Hagnar’s drug and ran for the hills.
The nurse sighed. “If the doctor approves. I’ll go ask.”
As soon as the woman left, my trio of torturers giggled, and Nurse Meredith flashed me a grin. “666-666-6666?”
“The number’s owner has a wicked sense of humor.”
The nurses snickered and returned to their mummification work. At least they hadn’t embalmed me first. That really would’ve ruined my day.
While I was having a devil of day, miracles happened, too. Malcolm was waiting for me in one of the lounges, and several plastic bags littered the floor around his feet. “While you were being treated, I left long enough to get us some clothes and a rental. You should change. Wearing a hospital gown out of here’s a little tackier than I can handle.”
Rising to his feet, Malcolm snagged one of the bags and held it out. He pointed across the waiting room. “There’s a bathroom over there.”
It hurt to take the bag, but I held on, lifted my chin, and limped away, determined not to wince even once. I lasted two steps before I hissed at the throbbing pain in my feet. I set the bag in the sink so I wouldn’t have to bend over more than necessary and dug through his purchases.
While Malcolm had talked a lot of shit about my legs to his friends, his clothing selection exposed the lie—or made him a lot better of a guy than I had initially thought. When the painkillers wore off—which would be within the hour—I would appreciate the loose, lightweight slacks and the thin, flowing blouse. I wasn’t fond of the bright blues and greens, but I’d buy clothing for myself later. At the bottom of the bag, I found a pair of sandals with minimal straps, easy to put on and take off without hurting my feet even more.
I’d definitely appreciate that over the next few days.
When I returned to the waiting room, Malcolm looked me over and nodded. “You got lucky, you know.”
No shit. Had I been a vanilla human, the forensics crew would be working to identify which bits of ash were mine. “You’re remarkably helpful for someone who swore he’d thwart me at every turn.”
“That was before a pyro tried to kill you. I prefer a challenge.”
I canted my head to the side, wincing at the pressure of the bandages around my throat. “What does that have to do with anything? My death would benefit you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at one of the waiting room’s clocks. “In twelve hours, you won’t have to obey me at all.”
Malcolm scowled and lifted his left hand, displaying the suppressor bracelet. “The advantage still belongs to you. I need my magic, and you control the bracelet. I tried to take them off after the crash. I couldn’t.”
I upped the value of the bracelets to priceless. I’d really have to thank Hagnar for giving me such a great deal. I was still forcing Malcolm’s cooperation, but he retained his free will. Holding him hostage wouldn’t be easy, especially when I needed to deactivate the bracelet for the sake of his health. I’d cross that bridge when I reached it.
Even knowing I had some control over Malcolm, my situation wasn’t good, no matter how I spun it. Some omens I couldn’t ignore, and having my rental lit on fire counted. I should’ve taken more care—and paid attention to the combat boots. I h
ad survived so far, but I worried about what tomorrow would bring.
A wise woman would have requested a wheel chair, but I chose to limp out of the hospital. Malcolm kept a few strides ahead of me, stopping to wait whenever I fell behind. Outside, he crossed the parking lot to a sporty red car, pulled keys out of his pocket, and disabled the alarm. I couldn’t drive, not with my feet already throbbing from the relatively short walk.
In unspoken agreement, he slid behind the wheel while I eased into the car, hissing at the pressure against my burns. If I sat perfectly still, I could tolerate the discomfort. My seatbelt proved a problem, especially where the edge of the strap dug into my shoulder.
Malcolm fastened his seatbelt and started the engine. “Where are we headed?”
“West,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Where west?”
“Just west.” Until I had a chance to heal, it didn’t matter. Walking had hurt, and just sitting in the car morphed my pain into nauseating misery. I controlled my breathing so I wouldn’t throw up all over the leather interior. “Stop at the first decent pharmacy you find, please. Also, I’m not responsible for anything that happens to this car.”
“Feeling sick?” Malcolm’s expression softened. “Don’t worry about it. I was aware of the risks when I picked the rental. I took a page out of your book and got full insurance on it just in case. I’ll try to keep the ride smooth.”
Why was he being nice to me? I hadn’t done anything to earn courtesy from him. Still, if he could play nice, so could I. “Thanks. I’ll chart a route for us after I get a new laptop. For now, just take us west.”
“West it is.”
My bracelet warmed around my wrist, and I frowned at the sensation. Instead of the searing discomfort of his rage, something gentle and soothing spread up my arm. Malcolm eased the car out of his spot, maneuvering around the shallow holes most would’ve driven over without a second thought.
A man capable of killing someone without remorse should’ve been the type to make me suffer for what I’d done to him. Had I kidnapped an onion disguised as a human? Each layer I uncovered made me want to peel away at him until I learned everything I could about him.
When we were on the road, Malcolm asked, “Why did that guy want you dead anyway?”
“I’d say your guess is as good as mine, but I’ve never seen him before.”
Malcolm hummed. “Any guesses why?”
I took my time thinking about it. Why would someone want to kill me bad enough to hire a pyro to do it? Hagnar topped the list of possibilities despite having given his word. Blackmail and backstabbing was his bread and butter, and everybody had a price, especially him. With enough money, I bet he’d talk about my plans. Well, he wouldn’t talk. He’d just leave the inventory of supplies I had purchased out where someone could find them, which wouldn’t violate his oath of silence.
What I had purchased exposed my intentions.
“I could make a few guesses.” For the moment, I’d eliminate Hagnar as a suspect, which left a disgruntled enemy. I had plenty of those thanks to the gigs I’d done over the years. “He was probably hired by someone I’d pissed off.”
“And how many people might that be?”
I cracked a grin at Malcolm’s annoyed tone. “In Tennessee?”
“That worries me for some reason.”
I shrugged and flinched at the pressure of the bandages against my burns. The accursed seatbelt strap dug in deep, and my eyes watered. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on my breathing until the throbbing diminished to an ache. “Grudges happen in my line of business.”
“Kidnappings do tend to upset people. Statistically, most victims of a kidnapping are killed if they aren’t rescued within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
“I already told you I don’t intend to kill you. Anyway, I freelance, thank you very much.”
“Interesting. So today you’re a kidnapper. What were you before you picked yours truly as your target?”
“I didn’t pick you, your cousin did. He just hired me to do it. You’re not my type.” I hoped my liar, liar pants on fire tendencies wouldn’t lead to even more burns. I had enough of them already. “I’m also not your type, according to your cousin.”
“I do tend to favor blondes, but I might make an exception this once. Nice attempt at dodging my question. What had you been doing before you kidnapped me?”
I grumbled curses over the reminder of my encounter with the devil. “Climbing a tree to fetch a cat.”
“I’ve fetched more than a few cats out of trees. And before that?”
Even wrinkling my nose hurt. It’d been over a year since my last major job, and I’d done hundreds of small jobs to keep afloat, much to my disgust. “I do whatever people need. Unfortunately, that’s why I gave myself the worst business name.”
Malcolm chuckled. “What’s your business name?”
“Whatever for Hire.”
The stunned silence didn’t last long before Malcolm laughed so hard he cried, which in turn forced him to pull over so he wouldn’t wreck the car. Then he laughed some more, slumping over the steering wheel while beating his palm against the dashboard.
“It’s not that funny.”
Choking back his mirth, he replied, “It really is. My cousin hired a no-name mercenary with a ridiculous business name to kidnap me?”
Since killing Malcolm would violate my contract with his cousin—and ruin my reputation—I lifted my chin and crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the pain. “I pulled it off, didn’t I?”
That shut him up. People often laughed at my business name, but I hated it all the same. Once I finished the toughest job of my career without murdering the man I’d sworn to keep safe, I’d put some serious thought into a new business name, one less likely to land me in trouble.
It took Malcolm over an hour to find a pharmacy that met his standards. While I filled my prescriptions, he handled acquiring the rest of the things we’d need for our road trip.
The devil had a great prescription plan, and I spent five dollars on painkillers, special bandages, two jars of salve, an antibiotic, and a vitamin supplement. The supplement confused me, but I kept my mouth shut. Only an idiot questioned the devil when he was footing the medical bills.
While the pharmacist went through the mile-long list of warnings for my medications, I looked over my list of medical expenses. I found a perverse satisfaction over the cost of my care; my medications alone dinged the devil thousands. A wise woman didn’t make a deal with the devil in the first place, but a smart one didn’t look a demonic gift horse in the mouth. After I added in the hundred an hour he owed me, the fifty thousand in incinerated supplies didn’t seem like a big deal.
I looked forward to the day I invoiced the devil for almost half a million dollars. The sum made the hassle of dealing with Malcolm worthwhile. Basking in the glow of costing the Lord of Hell so much money, I hummed a happy tune, handed over the money I owed the pharmacist, and smiled all the way to the door.
Malcolm intercepted me, grabbing my bag of medications and medical papers out of my hand. At a single glance at the invoice, he burst into laughter. “I need your healthcare plan.”
I shot him a glare and snatched the documents out of his hand. “Aren’t you a millionaire? You can afford any plan you want.”
“I have a poor relationship with my insurance company.”
Of course he did. I remembered the picture of him rescuing kittens and puppies. “That’s because you run towards fires rather than away from them. Last I checked, insanity counts as a pre-existing condition.”
“Point,” he conceded.
I limped to the car while Malcolm followed, and he hovered close enough to catch me if I tripped. I suspected if I did fall, he’d be carting my unconscious body back to the hospital. To distract myself from my burns, I focused on work—and pondered how I’d keep Malcolm contained and cooperating. “Your cousin hired me to keep you in my custody for six months. He paid
me ten thousand up front and is paying an additional ten thousand per month.”
“You got ripped off.”
No kidding. “I have supplementary income.” Some things Malcolm didn’t need to know, and the devil’s involvement counted. “I don’t like being put in a situation like this, so while I need to live up to the terms of my contract, nothing says I can’t help you with your business dealings, assuming you can work remotely. Can you?”
“I can. My cousin’s an idiot if he thinks getting rid of me will sink my company. All I need is a laptop and an internet connection.”
“We’ll stop somewhere and buy you a laptop and a cell with a data plan, neither of which you’ll use to screw me over.”
Malcolm chuckled, unlocked the car, and opened the back door, tossing his bag of purchases and my medications inside. “I needed a vacation anyway.”
How wonderful. Why did I always find the crazy ones? “You’re not supposed to like being kidnapped. You’re supposed to be fighting me every step of the way. Aren’t you super wealthy types supposed to be smart?”
“I’ve been bored. This is anything but boring. You’re interesting, and while I’m a little annoyed my cousin went this far, I can appreciate the change of pace. I’m tired of the grind. It’s usually the same old shit on a different day. I go to work. I volunteer at the firehouse. I go home. Bubba did me a favor without realizing it.” Malcolm waited for me to buckle up before starting the car. “I’m particularly grateful you’re not some musclebound freak. That’d make this trip a lot less pleasant.”
“Normal people would say you have Stockholm Syndrome.”
“I don’t have Stockholm Syndrome. I just looked for ways this situation benefits me.”
“I fail to see how any of this benefits you.”
“I already told you I’m not bored.”
Were all handsome men crazy, or was it just Malcolm? I’d already given my word, so like it or not, I was stuck with him for six months. I could handle six months, couldn’t I? Between Malcolm and his cousin, I already had my plate full of trouble. Add in the devil, and I feared what tomorrow would bring.