by Ellie J Duck
He groans in agony when I take a corner a bit too fast, flinging him against the door. When I reach the gates, I scan us in and drive as close as I can to the door into the base before killing the engine and dragging Hilton out of there. He stumbles heavily, almost out of his head.
“Hospital room,” he mutters in my ear, leaning on me heavily as I try to maneuver us both up the stairs.
“I’m not an idiot, you know,” I snap at him, not meaning to take my anger out on him when he’s already injured but unable to get past what a stupid thing he’s done. When I drag him into the emergency room Greg had installed for just such an occasion as this, I help him over to the operating table.
“How do I get the silver out?” I ask him seriously.
“Got to strap me down,” he says, opening his eyes to stare at me. The copper shade of them has been replaced by lupine gold and I can tell he’s fighting the urge to change as his inner wolf riles with the need to protect him from the pain he is in.
As nutty as it sounds, I don’t even stop to think about not doing as he suggests, realizing that whatever I’m going to have to do to him to save his life might result in hurting him more and needing to be safe from his slashing claws. Taking each of his limbs I stretch them out to the binding cuffs that are already attached to the operating table, clearly for this reason.
When he is tied down, he begins to writhe in agony.
“Magnet,” he gasps, his eyes wild. “Use a magnet to get the silver out. Don’t stop until I stop screaming.”
I pale in horror at the very idea of doing that, realizing that with a strong enough magnet the metal will be sucked right out of his skin. His shoulder in mangled and he is completely naked but for a utility belt turned wolf-collar that must be where he stored his phone to carry it whilst shifted. If I had to guess, based on his injuries, I’d say he and his brother fought as wolves. He might even have been set upon by many of them. I feel sick when I notice that inside some of the deep gouges and wounds there are flecks of powdered silver. As though the bastard ground it up and dusted it over Tobias’s wounds.
I grab the magnetic machine Greg must’ve special-ordered from somewhere. I can tell by looking at it that it will have even more magnetic power than an MRI machine, only this one is hand-held. I suspect there must be magic involved in its creation. Flicking it on I hold it over the wounds on Hilton, gritting my teeth when he first begins to snarl and then to howl in agony. He thrashes against his bindings and I feel ill when sticky red mist comes from him; blood and flesh clinging to the particles of the silver powder they used on him.
He is incapable of words, simply howling in pure agony and I feel my hands begin to shake to know I’m hurting him so much more. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing that if I don’t remove it, he’ll die. Tears drip off my chin as he arches off the table in excruciating pain, his vivid gold eyes fixed on me. The amount of silver that comes from him is staggering and I wonder how he survived this long.
I pause, turning the machine off so I can wipe it clean before continuing. More silver pours from his skin and I bite my lip hard enough to make it bleed until finally he flops back to the bed, the last of the silver gone from his body. It must’ve entered his blood stream. The wounds begin to pour with blood and I panic when he doesn’t appear to be healing.
“Hilton!” I shout, drawing his attention when he looks to be in a daze. “You’re not healing! Why aren’t you healing?”
He seems incapable of speech and I doubt he can comprehend my words.
Panicking, I frantically try to stem the bleeding before recalling my own healing process and how it doesn’t kick in unless I’m injured badly enough. Perhaps for a werewolf these injuries aren’t bad enough to trigger the process when so much silver has been racing through his system. Doing the only thing I can think of, I bend forwards and bite his shoulder as hard as I can, tasting blood in my mouth and feeling his flesh give way. He hisses at me for the wound, but I am relieved to see that even as I pull back, he begins to heal, the wounds knitting back together.
“Unchain me,” he commands seriously, blinking away the gold from his eyes as the wounds close over.
I do as he says, sensing urgency in his voice.
“When you do… run,” he says as I free his feet first.
“What? Why?” I ask, alarmed at the warning.
“Silver poisoning triggers the fever,” he tells me, his voice growing gravellier by the minute. “And if I get my hands on you in the throes of the fever, you probably won’t ever walk right again.”
“Why?” I ask, horrified and a little fearful now.
“Because I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name,” he promises, and I feel like he might as well have hotwired my body for the way heat engulfs me and makes me want him more than I ever have before.
A feral look comes into his eyes as I free one of his hands and I skitter back out of his reach when he lunges at me. A husky laugh and a predatory grin follow me as I edge around the room to get a better angle on his chained hand. I have no choice but to move within his reach and if I’m being honest I don’t much mind the idea of sleeping with him again. I turn my back to him before approaching so that I can free his hand.
My knees nearly buckle when he immediately shoves aside the collar of my shirt and nuzzles into my neck, nipping and kissing the sensitive skin. I almost drop the key to the chains on his wrist when his already freed arm curls around me, pressing me against every hot, hard inch of him. A whimper escapes my lips when he shakes his other hand free the moment that I unlock it, sliding it beneath the hem of my shirt and over my stomach, both hands making short work of my shirt.
I shiver at the feel of the cool air against my suddenly bared flesh, momentarily despairing when my sports bra disintegrates beneath his claws.
“Oh God,” I moan when he cups my bared breasts, still tormenting my neck with his lips, teeth and tongue. I arch into the touch, unwilling to run from him despite his instruction to do just that. On some subconscious level I’m aware that he’s suffering healing induced lust that means he’ll probably regret this later, but I can’t bring myself to walk away from him.
Even knowing that I’m going to wind up heartbroken over it later, I can’t bear to do anything but let him have his way with me. He is rougher than he was last time and vaguely I realize that while last time was all about living out every single one my perverted fantasies, this time is all about what Hilton wants. He spins me in his grip and claims my mouth hungrily, his lips pressing against mine and making my toes curl with need. I bring my hands up, tangling them in his messy hair even as I feel his hands at the front of my pants, making short work of the fastenings before stripping them down my legs.
He begins to walk us out of the room, pressing me into several walls along the way. Somewhere in the halls between his bedroom and the operating room I lose my panties and I cry out when he hitches me up his body, urging me to wrap my legs around his naked narrow hips. We don’t even reach his bedroom before he drives himself inside me. I cling to him, lost in the sensations he is bombarding me with and swept away in the feel of his body against mine once more.
I lose track of the number of times he brings me undone, reveling in the roughness and the completely unleashed passion he inflicts upon me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known. It drives me to delirium and I lose all control of myself beneath his touch, calling out for him and savoring every moment of him wanting me so desperately. It’s like he can’t get enough of me and the feeling is intoxicating. I lose track of the hours I spend in his bed, Tobias, consumed by the fever wracking him and driving him to such lustfulness and me, lost to the feeling of him unleashing that lust on me with unbridled passion.
He barely pauses to rest and by the time the fever wears off, I’m not sure I can move.
∞ ∞ ∞
I blink my eyes open slowly, uncertain of the time or even what day it is. Dimly I am aware that I feel warm and safe,
wrapped in Hilton’s arms and for a moment I wonder if I’m dreaming. He would never hold me like this. I begin to wriggle around with the intention of stretching, but even the slight movement of wriggling causes agonizing pain to crackle through me, making me groan.
I feel Hilton jerk awake at the sound and I feel claws press dangerously against my bared flesh before he realizes where he is.
“Anna?” he asks, his voice gravelly with sleep the way I love. Despite its usual effect however, even his barely-awake voice has no effect on my entirely sated body.
“Mhmm,” I manage to moan softly in response, discovering that my throat is ragged and sore from the way he had me calling out for him repeatedly. I’m too sore to be bothered when he reacts immediately, skittering back from me across his bedsheets and staring down at me in horror.
“Oh God, what have I done?” I hear him whisper. All I manage to do in response is blink at him. My whole body aches painfully and the thought of moving so much as to sit up makes me want to cry.
“Please tell me you remember this time?” I whisper, my eyes searching his horrified face. Dimly I’m aware that I’m completely naked and bare beneath his gaze but I can’t bring myself to care.
“I remember,” he answers hoarsely. “Can you move?”
I bite my lip, wincing when even that movement brings me pain.
“I don’t think so,” I mutter, gritting my teeth and wriggling around enough to face him properly. Once I get moving the pain isn’t quite so bad, mounting to a dull, deep-seated ache inside my pelvis. I manage to wriggle until I’m sitting up, dragging the sheets with me to cover my exposed chest from his gaze.
Vaguely I notice that I’m covered in finger-shaped bruises. I flinch back just a little bit when he reaches out to move my hair away from my neck. I hiss when it stings as the hairs are pulled away from the dried blood and messy wound on my shoulder where I recall being bitten repeatedly and harshly.
“Shit,” he curses at the sight of the ragged wound. There are bruises and scratches littering my flesh as well, evidence of how rough he was. Despite the current pain, I know I wasn’t complaining at the time. In fact, I was groaning for more.
“Don’t have a heart attack, Hilton,” I mutter, unable to stand the way he looks like he’s going to freak out.
“I broke you,” he replies miserably, looking like he doesn’t know if he should be horrified, furious, or pitying.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Just hand me a shirt and I’ll get out of your hair,” I retort, unable to take the torment on his face.
When he doesn’t move, I put aside my dignity and bite back my groan of pain as I throw back the sheets and crawl across the bed until I can get to my feet. Unwilling to risk walking out into the rest of the base bare-ass naked when the team might be back by now, I scoop up one of his discarded shirts and pull it on over my head.
“Cane,” he begins when I limp toward the door. Every step is agony and my nether region throbs painfully, my body twinging with each movement. I glance back at Hilton at the call of my name, seeing the way he is pulling on some pants hurriedly like he means to follow.
“Don’t worry, Hilton,” I tell him bitterly, pre-empting his concern. “I’m an expert at pretending I’ve never slept with you. Your secret will be safe.”
He stops midway through buttoning his pants to stare at me wide eyed even as I slip from the room. My need for painkillers outweighs the urge to shower or even find additional clothing. A sigh of relief escapes me when I learn that the rest of the team still haven’t returned as I limp toward the first aid box in the kitchen. The first thing I dig out is the strong painkillers, followed by a heat P
ack, which I pop in the microwave until it’s warm, sighing at the relief as I press the warmth of it to my abdomen. The heat sinks through my skin to my abused abdominal muscles and eases some of the pain.
I close my eyes as I lean against the kitchen bench, waiting for the painkillers to kick in and for the coffee to brew in the fresh pot I manage to put on. I startle when I feel Hilton’s hand tucking my hair over my undamaged shoulder before swiping a stinging fluid over the wounds that he left on me.
“Ouch!” I hiss at him, gritting my teeth even as I open my eyes to glare at him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, looking like he can’t believe what he’s done to leave me in this state. The only relief is knowing he at least remembers it this time.
“Stop it!” I snarl when he wipes at the bites again, intent on cleaning them.
“Do you want me to trigger your healing response?” he asks me seriously and I wonder how messed up we are that whilst I’m wounded and aching from what he did, he thinks it’s wise to offer to hurt me even worse to trigger the healing process. I silently debate for a moment, not much fancying the idea of having the team see me like this. Not because I’m ashamed of having slept with him, but because I hate the fact that anyone – even Tobias – is seeing me look vulnerable. At least, any more vulnerable than I already am as a human in a paranormal world.
“I think that ought to do it, actually,” I say through gritted teeth as he sticks a saline bottle tip directly into one of the puncture wounds and squeezes the bottle, causing agony to overtake me. A particularly animalistic growl escapes me as most of the pain subsides and my body begins to itch as it starts to heal.
Before I can recover, he jostles me aside and begins making us both coffees. If I wasn’t so itchy, I’d stamp on his foot.
“You alright?” he asks a minute later, handing me my coffee.
“I’ll live,” I reply. I can tell he feels awkward and doesn’t know what to say to me.
What can he say, really? We’ve now spent two incredible nights shagging each other into a stupor even though he barely tolerates me most of the time.
“I’m really sorry, little human,” he says quietly after a few minutes of drinking our coffees in silence.
I glance at him, noticing that he looks tortured.
“Why?” I ask. “Because you don’t want to give me the wrong impression that it’s acceptable for this to keep happening between us? Or because you’re feeling sorry for yourself over having now spent two nights shagging a human?”
“Because you didn’t have much of a choice last night,” he answers, looking mildly annoyed at me for my questions. “I shouldn’t have let you unchain me until the fever was gone.”
“I suppose turnabout is fair play,” I reply. “You didn’t have much choice the first time around.”
“No, but whatever that leech compelled us to do didn’t break me,” he points out.
“I’m not broken, you idiot,” I roll my eyes.
“You’re clutching a heat pack to your womb and trembling, Anna, stop putting a brave face on everything and realize that I could have seriously hurt you!” he growls at me, losing his temper with me like he always does.
“Yes, you could’ve,” I answer seriously. “But you didn’t. And I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“You infuriate me,” he tells me after glaring at me in frustration for several minutes.
I shrug my shoulders unrepentantly.
“When are the team likely to be back?” I ask him, choosing to change the subject rather than dwell further on the fact that the two nights I’ve spent having mind blowing sex have been with someone who barely tolerates me.
“That’s all you have to say?” he demands, levelling me another glare.
“What do you want from me here, Hilton?” I demand. “Are you expecting me to act like some sappy lovesick puppy and beg you to love me just because we happened to have sex a couple of times?”
“A couple of times?” he repeats, looking outraged. “Damn it, Cane! I’ve spent more hours shagging you than any other woman in my life, and I don’t even remember half of them!”
“You mean consecutively?” I ask curiously.
“I mean at all. I don’t shag humans like the rest of the team, and I don’t usually look outside my species for
it, either. And She-wolves are bitchy after about an hour,” he answers truthfully.
“Isn’t sex supposed to have the opposite effect?” I ask, confused by his statement and wrinkling my nose at the idea of him being with anyone but me. A particularly possessive anger takes hold of me at the idea of him bedding others, even in the past but I try to squash it down as best I can.
“You would think so,” he agrees, looking mildly amused by my statement. “Female werewolves are a weird bunch, though. They get bitchy because they’re driven by an urge to have kids young. Like, really young. Most female Lycans have their first kid between fifteen and eighteen.”
“Urgh, why?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
“No idea, some instinct they have to reproduce and so create more Lycans. It’s a Pack mentality thing. Shagging them is a nightmare. Constantly need to be on guard to make sure they’re not going to trick me into knocking them up.”
I clench my hand tightly around my coffee cup.
“No offense, Hilton,” I say curtly. “But I really don’t want to hear about your sex life with other people.”
“Right,” he mutters, eyeing me strangely for a moment.
“Are you going to answer my question about when the team will be back?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything else for a few minutes.
“I’ve got no idea. Before the full moon, probably. Greg can’t stand it when Tara goes out to get laid. It offends his fatherly sensibilities. He usually leaves the state, but this time it looks like he’s gone to Faerie and staying there.”
“What is Faerie?” I ask, noting the way he uses the word like a name for a place rather than for a magical being.
“A magical realm that exists alongside this one. Most of the Winter and Summer Court fey live there, though a few of them do venture into our realm on occasion. Greg’s mother is fey; one of the princesses in the Summer Court. He has duties there that sometimes call him away, though he hates to go there.”