by Zoe Chant
Natalie wished she could do something to help. Heidi’s touch had steadied him, but Heidi was a dog. Human touch was so much more… complicated. Fraught. But if she’d been trying to do a difficult task while in danger and in pain, she was certain she’d feel a lot better if he was touching her.
They stopped at a red light. Before the light could change or she could lose her nerve, she blurted out, “Can I put my arm around your shoulders?”
He glanced at her like he couldn’t believe his own ears. Just as her face began to burn with embarrassment, he swallowed and nodded.
She leaned over and put her arm around him. The locked tension in his shoulders was shocking—they felt like they’d been carved from stone. But they softened slightly under her touch, and she felt as much as heard him give a sigh of relief. The light changed to green, and the car moved forward—for the first time, without a lurch.
So softly that she wouldn’t have heard it if her face hadn’t been so close to his, he said, “That’s better.”
She squeezed his shoulder, willing him her strength as he threaded his way through a warren of narrow streets in a rundown neighborhood. He parked on the street near an apartment building like many others on the street, worn and anonymous, the sort of building you’d never give a second glance. When he turned off the engine, the lack of sound and vibration was startling
Ransom closed his eyes briefly, winced, then opened them. “We’re safe now. They didn’t track us.”
Natalie realized that she’d been clenching her jaw for the entire trip when it finally relaxed. “You said ‘enemies,’ but who are they? Why are they after me?”
“They’re… It’s complicated…”
He looked and sounded so exhausted that she broke in, “You know what, never mind. Explain later, okay?”
“I will. If you could take the keys…? I don’t think I could get a key in a lock just now.” Ransom sounded apologetic, as if he was imposing on her rather than having saved her life.
“Of course. Here, let me help you out.”
She unsnapped his seatbelt and put her arms around him. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, but he was shivering, his skin cool verging on cold. If he hadn’t already told her it was a migraine, she’d have thought he was in shock.
“Come on,” she said. “Lean on me.”
Once he was out of the car, she put his arm over her shoulders, then grabbed the suitcase and pastries. Heidi and Wally followed them. She had thought it would be difficult to get him inside—she was strong, but he was much taller than her—but he could bear more of his own weight than she’d expected. He wasn’t weak so much as disoriented, and needed guidance rather than support.
Natalie expected a bunch of nosy neighbors, but the few people who were around ignored them. It should have been a relief, but she instead felt indignant on Ransom’s behalf. Why weren’t his neighbors concerned that he was obviously sick or hurt, and with some woman they’d never seen before? If she’d shown up at the circus barely able to walk and being led by some strange man, everyone would have descended on them at once to make sure she was all right and find out who he was.
She opened his apartment and kicked the door shut behind them. He winced, and she felt immediately guilty, realizing that the noise had hurt him.
It was a tiny one-bedroom apartment with an open kitchen off the living room. The living room wasn’t just uncluttered, it was barren. It had a beautiful polished hardwood floor, but no furniture, no pictures on the walls, and no knickknacks. Aside from some brand new puppy toys on the floor, the one concession to anything personal was a small fold-up bookcase crammed full of books.
She could see a bed through a half-open door. Natalie put down the suitcase and pastries, and steered him to the bedroom. It was as impersonal as the living room: a dresser, a bed, a table with a reading lamp, and nothing else.
The bed was as small as the one in her motel room. She pulled back the covers and helped him lie down. She was annoyed to see that it was too short for him, forcing him to pull up his legs so his feet wouldn’t dangle over the edge. It must be horrible for him to be in so much pain and unable to even stretch out properly.
“Why’s your bed so small?”
“It’s a sublet.” He was still shivering, though the room was warm.
“Do you have a doctor?” she asked, but was unsurprised when he said no. Shifters would only go to a shifter doctor for fear of discovery, and not all cities had one. “Can I call someone else for you?”
“No. I’m used to this.”
“Hell of a thing to be used to,” Natalie said before she could stop herself.
Ransom gave her a startled glance, as if no one had ever put it that way before. “It’s not dangerous. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Heidi appeared on the bed beside him, curling into the space between his shoulder and neck. Natalie saw him relax a little as she began to lick his face.
She bent to take off his shoes, but he reached out a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“What, you think it’s beneath my dignity? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No,” he said uncertainly, having obviously thought exactly that.
She took off his shoes and socks, then belatedly added, “Unless you wanted them on? I could put them back on…? Just the socks…?”
Despite his obvious pain, his lips moved into that almost-a-smile. “No. Thanks.”
His bare feet made her aware of how uncomfortable he had to be in the rest of his clothes: his belt buckle, his cold wet shirt.
“I’m going to take off your shirt, okay?” she asked. “It’s freezing cold. You could get pneumonia.”
“I can do it.” Ransom fumbled with the tiny buttons, his hands shaky and uncoordinated, until she laid her hand over his.
“Let me. You brought me pastries, I can take off your shirt.” She realized what that sounded like as soon as she said it, and felt her face grow warm. “I mean…”
The almost-a-smile returned. “Thanks.”
She undid the buttons and draped the shirt over the back of the chair, wondering how he normally managed. Did he have a significant other? A roommate who’d recently moved out? Or could he usually fend for himself, and this migraine was much worse than usual?
Everything she’d observed pointed to none of those possibilities being true. He hadn’t responded to the chemistry between them like he was already in a relationship, and he seemed the type who’d rather live in the smallest, crummiest apartment alone than deal with roommate issues in a better one. And he wasn’t acting like he’d never been this sick before, either.
“Who usually helps you do this?” she asked.
“No one.” After a moment, he added, “I just sleep in what I’m wearing.”
Natalie was appalled by that idea, then reminded herself that he was a shifter. They were much tougher than humans. He wouldn’t actually get pneumonia if he slept in a cold wet shirt. On second thought, it was still appalling. He might not be harmed by it, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be miserable.
“I’ll take off your belt,” she said brusquely, wishing she hadn’t said that thing about the pastries. Awkward!
“Thank you,” he said simply, and the awkwardness vanished.
Natalie pulled the covers up over him. Wally jumped up on the bed and curled up at his feet.
“Have you already taken your meds?” she asked. “Or can I get them for you?”
“It’s not a normal migraine. Meds don’t help.” The strain on him was audible in his voice, and the deep lines carved into his face. She’d thought she’d hurt him when she’d kicked him in the shins and stomped on his foot, but now she realized that his pain tolerance was much too high for those blows to have done more than simply register: this was what pain looked like on him.
“I could get a cold cloth for your forehead,” she offered. “Or actual coffee, if you have a coffee maker. Or more instant crystals. Or I could shut up, turn off the li
ghts, and go away. Seriously, if that’s what you need, tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Don’t go.” Ransom lifted his hand, reaching out to her as if he thought she was about to bolt for the door.
On impulse, she caught his hand and held it. “I won’t.”
His fingers curled around hers, gripping as tightly as if he’d caught her in midair as he hung from a trapeze. She thought of him suffering alone with no one to help him or even stay with him, and she wasn’t surprised that now, with his defenses torn down by pain, he was hanging on to her like he thought she’d change her mind and leave him if he let go.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She sat down on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and pulled up her feet, still holding his hand. Maybe that convinced him, because he relaxed and closed his eyes.
The room was quiet, with a mid-afternoon stillness that made her think of long summer days. Motes of dust flowed in the air, visible in the shafts of sunlight. Ransom’s hand slowly warmed in hers. She laid the back of her hand on his forehead, and found that the chill had left his skin.
Natalie leaned back against the headboard and cupped his hand in both of hers. He didn’t stir. His breathing had evened out, and he seemed deeply asleep. He had big hands, especially compared to hers, with long fingers. His nails were clipped short, and he had patches of thickened skin on his palms in the same places that she did. She’d gotten hers from holding the bar of the trapeze. Maybe he’d gotten his from lifting weights.
The lines had faded from his face as he slept, making her realize that he was younger than she’d thought. She’d guessed he was ten or fifteen years older than her, but she now revised that about five. Had being a Marine aged him that much? It hadn’t done that to Merlin.
The more she saw of Ransom, the more mysterious he seemed. Why was he so determined to save her life? Why was he dealing with everything alone when he was friends with Merlin, who had the biggest heart in the world and would happily help him out? What exactly was a hellhound?
But in another sense, she already knew a lot about him. She knew he was willing to risk his life for her, because she’d seen him do it. Twice. She knew he was the sort of man who’d rescue a puppy, and the sort of man that puppies loved. She knew he’d pay for a bunch of pastries that weren’t his responsibility, just so a café wouldn’t lose money.
And though she didn’t know that the books in the living room were his, she bet they were. Whoever he was subletting from seemed to have taken their personal possessions with them, and the bookcase was folding, easily portable, and didn’t match the rest of the furniture. If Natalie hadn’t still been holding his hand, she’d have been tempted to sneak into the living room and take a look at them, to see if they offered any clues.
Ransom’s hands clenched, the one at his side tightening into a fist. His eyes didn’t open, but he mumbled something she couldn’t catch. He sounded agitated, and his eyelashes fluttered. In the bar of sunlight that shone across his face, they looked like tiny curved flames.
“It’s okay,” Natalie said softly. She stroked his sweat-stiffened hair, then rubbed his shoulders. She felt the release of tension there first, as the rock-hard muscles softened and gave under her hands, then saw it when his clenched fist opened. But his other hand still held tight to hers.
It was strange to be so close to him—to feel so close to him—while knowing so little about his history. He’d said he’d been kidnapped and experimented on, made into a shifter and given psychic powers. Was that why using his power hurt him?
Natalie suddenly remembered her teasing suggestion to use his power to figure out her phone number, and her entire body burned with shame. But though she’d joked about that, not knowing what it cost him, he had used his power for her. He’d paid a terrible price to learn that she was in danger, and endured so much to rescue her. And he’d asked for nothing in return—he didn’t even seem to expect thanks.
Ransom inhaled sharply, his muscles tensing, and mumbled, “No… Don’t go there…”
She rubbed his back, whispering, “It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”
He sat bolt upright, his eyes flying open. But he looked past her—through her—yelling, “No! Look out!”
And he pitched forward into her arms.
Chapter 8
Ransom awoke sitting up, his heart pounding and his face buried in someone’s shoulder. Natalie was holding him. He knew it before he opened his eyes, even before he remembered where he was and how he’d gotten there. They’d clung together once before, in mid-air, and he’d never forget the shape of her body as long as he lived, nor the bright sharp scent of her.
Her soft hair tickled his cheek, and her warm arms were around him. It had been so long since anyone had touched him for more than a second or two, and most of that had been professional or impersonal or violent—a medic taking his pulse, a clerk passing him change, an enemy snatching for his gun. Only his teammates had touched him with kindness, and he hadn’t been able to bear it for more than a moment before he’d pulled away. He’d been too afraid of what they might learn about him, or too guilty over what they didn’t know.
But Natalie held him tight, and he had no desire to push her away. Her small strong hands rubbed his back, kneading at the painful knots in his muscles, and he could feel her warm breath on his face as she murmured, “It’s all right, it’s all right. You were having a nightmare…”
At that word, he remembered that he’d had a vision. That was what had woken him up. He jerked upright, pulling away from her without meaning to, mentally snatching at the memory even as it faded away. “Wait! I saw… I know…”
And it was gone. There was nothing left but the knowledge that something had existed once, like the hollow in a forest floor where a tree had once stood. “I lost it.”
“Lost what?”
Pain pulsed behind his eyes, making it hurt to even try to focus. “I saw something…” But now that he was awake, he was less certain of that. “Maybe. I can’t remember now.”
“I think you were dreaming,” she said gently.
“No. I can tell the difference.” He slumped back, leaning against the headboard. She was sitting beside him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, but she didn’t try to hold him again. Of course not. She’d only been trying to rouse him from what she believed was a nightmare. And now that they were no longer touching, he longed for her with a hunger as sharp as pain.
If she didn’t move away, now, he might not be able to resist reaching out to her. And she’d already told him she didn’t want that. She’d specifically said she wanted separate rooms, and here he was, literally in bed with her.
A groan escaped his lips.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked. “Coffee?”
He hated to make her fetch and carry for him, but he had to get her off the bed. And once he got some more caffeine into him, he could pull himself together—at least enough to get out of bed himself. “Yes, please. There’s a coffee maker in the kitchen.”
“Sure.” She moved across the hardwood floors as gracefully as a snow leopard padding over ice. Her bare feet were small, high-arched, and looked very pale against the dark wood. The apartment was so small that he could see her out the bedroom door, through the living room, and in the open kitchen as she ran water into his coffee maker.
Heidi cuddled up and nuzzled him, giving an uncertain whine. He stroked her ears. “I’m all right. Don’t worry.”
The weight across his feet shifted, and he saw for the first time that Wally was curled up on them. The puppy blinked his blue eyes, then went back to sleep.
“They love you,” Natalie remarked over her shoulder. “I think they know you’re sick.”
He glanced at Heidi, and saw her gazing at him with a pure and unmistakable adoration that he’d done nothing to earn. Ransom petted her, and she shoved her head into his hand, demanding that he keep going.
His hand moving automatically over her soft
fur, he said, “Once I have some more coffee, I’ll get out of bed. Make it up with clean sheets for you. I’ll take the floor.”
Natalie turned, coffee pot in hand. The late afternoon sunlight came in through the window and made all the warm colors in her hair glow like a sunset. “What? No, you won’t!”
“There’s only one bed. I can’t keep it.”
“Of course you can.” She dumped coffee into the filter, straight from the can. “How’s that?”
“Fine,” Ransom said, then realized that was ambiguous. “I mean, fine, that’s plenty, and no, I can’t keep the bed. There’s no sofa—there’s nowhere else for you to sleep.”
Shooting him a horrified look, she said, “All the more reason for you to keep the bed. I’m only sorry it’s so short. You must be subletting from someone my size.”
“I guess so.” He never kept his sublets for more than a month or two anyway, so he didn’t fuss about the furniture. “She’s a dancer, I think.”
“That explains the living room. It’s her practice space. Anyway, it’s fine. I’m small. There’s room.” Her eyes—gold-touched blue in the sunlight—gazed into his, then she laughed. “Don’t look like that. We don’t need to share. If anyone sleeps on the floor, it can be me.”
Ransom hadn’t been alarmed at the idea of sharing a bed with Natalie. He’d wanted it. He’d wanted it way, way too much. And that was what had alarmed him. Even if nothing actually happened—and nothing would, he felt too ill and he’d never do anything she didn’t want—it wouldn’t really be nothing. It would be touch and intimacy and closeness, which he didn’t deserve and couldn’t have, least of all from her. Getting a taste of them would only make it hurt more when he lost them forever the next morning.
“Cream and sugar?” Natalie asked.
“If there is any. I might be out.”