Reign: A Royal Military Romance

by Roxie Noir

  Emma sighed, then looked doubtfully at Delilah.

  Finally, she left the room, and Delilah exhaled into her mask, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. Then she started taping up William to transport him to the hospital.

  It seemed to take Emma a very, very long time, and Delilah was finished taping up William’s back. He was covered in white gauze, a little bit of blood still seeping through.

  I should tell Emma to disinfect this kitchen after we leave, Delilah thought. God knows they won’t do it without prompting.

  The kitchen door swung open again and Delilah looked up.

  It was Emma, followed immediately by Roy. Emma wouldn’t even look at Delilah.

  “Emma says you’re finished,” Roy said, his deep, low voice thundering through the kitchen.

  “We need to take him to the hospital,” Delilah said again.

  She looked again at Emma, but Emma was just looking at William, asleep or passed out on the table.

  “Looks fine to me,” said Roy.

  “He’s not. He needs surgery, he needs something to drain the pus once the infection sets in. I don’t have the equipment for that here, and I can’t do it in a lodge kitchen,” she said.

  Roy just looked at William, breathing evenly, obviously skeptical of her.

  Delilah could tell it was a losing battle, though. She took her rubber gloves and mask off and tossed them into the kitchen trash, taking a sidelong look at William.

  She had to get home and then leave. When she was in Anchorage, maybe further, she’d call the state police and tell them what was happening here. It wasn’t illegal to refuse medical treatment, sure, but it was illegal to refuse it to someone else.

  “Bandaged nicely,” said Roy, then he turned and addressed himself to someone else.

  “Brock,” he said. “Show Miss Silver to her room?”

  “I’m all right to drive,” Delilah said, going through the things on the counter.

  “We need you here while he recovers,” said Roy in the tone of a man clearly used to giving orders.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow,” Delilah said. The skin on her back began to crawl, and she looked up Roy again, meeting his steely gray eyes.

  “Brock, please show her to her room and make sure she stays quite comfortable there,” he said.

  Over his shoulder, she could see Brock over his shoulder. They weren’t related, but they had the same serious stare, the same look of total devotion to the cause. Brock was younger and skinnier, maybe in his early twenties, and had the look of a bear who hadn’t filled out quite yet.

  There was still no way Delilah could fight him, though, let alone the two of them.

  “Are you holding me hostage?” she said, quietly.

  “We would just prefer you not leave,” Roy said. “We’re making sure of that. You’ve got a history of it, you know.”

  Pure rage flooded through Delilah. She clenched her fists and felt the angry tears spring into her eyes, but what could she do? Even if Miles had been there, she knew it would be the two of them against the entire pack, and they didn’t stand a chance.

  She turned to Emma, blatantly ignoring Roy.

  “Do you know how to start an antibiotic drip?” she asked. One of the things she’d had them take from the clinic was an IV bag, antibiotic solution, and a hanger. It was possibly the only one that the clinic had, and though Delilah felt bad about that, she was certain that William needed it.

  Emma nodded.

  Delilah turned back to Roy and stepped right up to him. Her eyes were at his collarbones and she had to look up, but she wasn’t afraid of him.

  “If he dies, this is on you,” she said. “You could have taken him to a hospital and you didn’t. You could have let me do it, and you didn’t.”

  Her gaze flicked to Emma.

  “You disgust me,” she said, and then followed Brock out of the kitchen, through the main room, and down a hall to a large bedroom.

  She stepped in and Brock closed the door behind her, leaving her totally alone. Delilah looked down at herself: she had blood on her clothes, blood up her arms, on her jeans. She wanted to sit down and cry, but instead she dragged herself into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower.

  12

  Miles

  Miles’s own snoring woke him up, and he sat up with a start. His head had flopped over the back of the uncomfortable chair and his neck had a crick in it. He turned his head from side to side, and then realized: the whole lodge was dead quiet. No movement, no one talking. Totally silent.

  He stood, his whole body stiff and strange-feeling from falling asleep on the sofa, and crept to the kitchen. Since it was so quiet, he felt like he should follow suit, and tried not to make any noise.

  Inside, William was, somehow, still sleeping on the table, face-down, blood beginning to seep through the bandages. Jack, one of Roy’s top men and Emma’s mate, was leaning against the counter, watching him, arms crossed over his chest.

  “She patched him up?” Miles asked. William looked okay, actually. Sleeping, all in one piece again.

  Jack shrugged. He was tall and powerful, with a long beard that wiggled when he talked.

  “That girl thinks he’s still gonna die,” he said. “But he’s taped back together, got antibiotics on the IV. She’s got no faith in us. He’ll be fine.”

  Miles regarded the scene quietly. He knew it had nothing to do with Delilah’s faith in the pack, and everything to do with the nature of human biology, but he didn’t argue with Jack.

  He heard a snort from the doorway and turned. It was Brock, in bear form, big and honey-colored. Miles raised his eyebrows and looked at Jack.

  “Patrolling,” Jack said. “We got a couple around. She tried to sneak him out, but Emma knew better.”

  Shit, Miles thought. If Delilah was trying to get past Roy — trying hard enough that Roy had put guard bears on William — then it must be really bad. Of course Emma had betrayed her. She couldn’t think for herself if she got a million dollars for it.

  “Delilah go home?” he asked.

  “She’s down the hall,” said Michael, gesturing at an exit.

  She was probably tired and wanted to keep an eye on William, Miles thought.

  As he walked down the hall, Brock followed him. There was another bear, this one darker brown, lying right outside the door, his head on his paws.

  That was odd. It was almost like he was guarding that room.

  “She awake?” Miles asked, quietly.

  The bear seemed to shrug.

  Miles put an ear to the door. He could distinctly hear her walking around inside, so he knocked, softly.

  “Fuck off!” Delilah shouted.

  Miles frowned and looked at bear-Brock. He was starting to get suspicious.

  “It’s me,” he said.

  “I don’t care if you’re the goddamn Sultan of goddamn Persia!” Delilah shouted. “Fuck off!”

  Miles opened the door and peeked in. More than anything, he was bewildered — she was mad at him? What for?

  She was standing in the middle of a large bedroom, wrapped cloak-like in a comforter, staring at him coldly.

  “Did I wake you up?” Miles asked. She sure looked awake, and he’d heard her walking around, but why didn’t she have clothes?

  “How the fuck am I supposed to sleep?” she hissed. “I’ve been kidnapped by a — by a goddamn cult.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  Delilah froze for a moment and looked at Miles. “They’re not letting me leave,” she said, slowly.

  Miles swiveled his head and looked at the shut door.

  Suddenly, it clicked together, why there were bears patrolling everywhere.

  Delilah was their prisoner.

  He didn’t even think, he just let his bear out, shifting as he tore the door back open, slamming it against the wall with the force.

  The bear who’d been resting outside lumbered up and ducked, just as Miles’s paw raked across hi
s shoulder, his thick fur and skin deflecting Miles’s claws.

  Then, he saw Brock charging him from down the hall and he turned, baring his teeth and growling. Brock was no problem, he thought.

  He could take Brock, but as Brock neared, the bear Miles had just swiped barreled into him as well, from the side, and then both bears were on top of him, rolling him over and biting his neck, clawing at him, but Miles was better.

  With one gigantic shove, he threw them both off and stood on all fours, roaring, daring anyone else to come for him.

  Michael, in bear form, came out of the kitchen, and two others came into the hallway, one on either side, all snarling and baring their teeth.

  It was five to one. As much as he wanted to run into the middle of them and rip out as many throats as he could, Miles forced himself to calm down. Getting himself shredded to pieces wasn’t going to help Delilah.

  He shifted back, slowly, still staring the other men down.

  “Close the door,” Delilah commanded. His heart was pounding and sweat poured off of him. He still felt jittery from the fight, but he obeyed, stepping inside and shutting it after him.

  “There’s too many of them,” he said, pacing back and forth.

  “There wouldn’t be any of them if you hadn’t called me here,” she said. She pulled the comforter even tighter around herself, a tall, curvy column of blanket and anger.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, helplessly. “It was the only thing I could think of to do.”

  Delilah’s jaw flexed beneath her skin, and she didn’t say anything. Miles was still breathing hard, useless fury pumping through his veins. He knew that he wasn’t good at scenarios like this: his first reaction was always shift and tear someone apart, but he’d already tried that and it hadn’t gone well.

  “I didn’t think they were going to kidnap you,” he said, desperately trying to tamp down his rage.

  “Sure, you just thought, ‘Let’s put Delilah back into the middle of this crazy pack that hates her,’” she said, her tone biting and sarcastic. “No possible problems there.”

  “He was going to die!”

  “He’s still going to die.”

  Miles stopped pacing and turned to look at Delilah. “Are you sure?”

  She shrugged and wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he could still see tears forming. “Maybe there’ll be a miracle, but it’s bad, Miles. It’s bad.”

  Miles growled, his bear right beneath the surface again, his skin prickling from below, raw rage and anger simmering inside. He’d gotten Delilah into bad trouble for William’s sake, but William was still fucked. All this was for nothing. He started pacing again.

  “Goddammit!” he shouted, and punched the wall.

  Delilah jumped in surprise.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his hand.

  “That’ll help,” she said sarcastically.

  “I can’t do anything!” he shouted. He’d never felt so helpless, so totally worthless: the woman he’d loved, the woman he’d loved for years, was trapped by the people he considered his brothers. Kidnapped.

  “Just don’t punch the wall,” she said, her tone softening.

  He flexed his hand, frowning, feeling the tendons move over the joints and bone. It had hurt.

  “You checked the windows, I guess,” he said.

  “Bears everywhere.”

  “How many?”

  “Three I could see. Probably more around.” She paused. “They really want me to stay here,” she said.

  He shook his head, clenching his jaw. It was barbaric, he thought, fucking barbaric.

  “Miles,” she said. She walked up to him and laid a hand on his arm, then pulled it away. For a moment he saw a flash of her pale skin through the opening in the comforter, and Delilah looked away, pulling the blanket tight around her again.

  “Listen, I can’t do anything in this blanket. Will you go get me some clothes? These are covered in blood.”

  Miles looked at the pile of clothes on the floor, big brown splotches on them. “Sure,” he said, body still rigid with anger.

  She looked at the door, as if trying to set it on fire with her mind. “They’re not going to hurt me, I think. They need me to keep William alive, at least for now. We have time to figure this out.”

  Miles cracked the knuckles on his left hand, an old habit, and then winced, shaking out his right hand, the one he’d used to punch the wall.

  Delilah sighed, then moved the blanket slightly again. There was another flash of skin, and then her small, warm hand was on Miles, holding his big hand in hers, gently turning it over, touching him where he’d punched the wall. His knuckles were already red, two already turning to a violent purple.

  “You really fucked up that wall,” she said, half-amused, half sympathetic.

  She squeezed his hand gently, and Miles flinched, just a little.

  “It was asking for it,” he said.

  She was close, not even a foot away, and her touch on him felt electric. He barely noticed the pain now: the only thing was her, standing so close, holding her hand in his.

  “It’s not broken,” she said, finally. She didn’t let his hand go, but kept holding it, looking up at him. “It’ll be sore, but you’ll be fine.”

  Even though he’d been furious a few moments before, Miles’s face broke into a grin as he looked down at Delilah, his hand in hers.

  “You could kiss it and make it better,” he said.

  She wouldn’t look him in the eyes, but he was almost sure that she smiled. He could see it in the way that her lips twitched, the way her cheeks moved even though he couldn’t see her well.

  “Just get me some clothes,” she said, looking back up at him, beautiful despite her wet hair and blanket. “We’ll figure something out when you get back.”

  13

  Delilah

  Two hours later, Miles came back with Delilah’s suitcase. She was glad it was still filled with most of what she’d brought up from California: shirts, pants, underwear all neatly accounted for. Even if Miles was far and away the person she trusted the most right now — even though he’d gotten her into this situation by failing to really think it through — she had never met a man who had a good grasp on what constituted “wardrobe essentials” for a woman.

  He didn’t say much when he brought it, probably because she kicked him out again right away. The thought did go through her head that he’d already seen her naked, plenty of times, so what did this matter?

  Why would you consider it if it didn’t matter, she thought quickly, and then had him leave again.

  Delilah was afraid of what she might do. That moment, earlier that night, when she’d held his hand and told him he was fine, she’d felt almost magnetized. It had taken every ounce of her will not to throw herself into Miles’s arms, throw the blanket off, and let him kiss her as she swooned, like she was in an old movie or something.

  Even now, dressing, it was all she could think about: it would have been so sweet, the perfect moment. She’d never loved anyone like she loved him, and for years, she’d thought it was because she’d been seventeen at the time. People grew out of those feelings, didn’t they?

  But then she came back, only to find out that she hadn’t outgrown them at all, that it was even worse now, because her options were to force herself to abstain or to break Miles’s heart again.

  Abstaining was hard, sure, but she was certain that breaking Miles’s heart again would destroy her completely. It had taken her years to get over the first time, years to stop waking up in the middle of the night wondering if she should just drive back, right now, forget college and medical school and all her lifelong dreams.

  And finally, she was better, she thought. She’d gotten over her first love enough to function well in life, she was totally certain that getting away from the Fjords pack had been the correct decision.

  After all, she’d been back for just a couple of days and they were already holding her prisoner. What other evidence did she
need?

  They were Miles’s family, though. He considered them brothers and sisters, thought that their bond was stronger than blood, even. She would get both or neither, and Delilah knew that she could only handle making it neither.

  Finally, she caught a few hours of sleep, comfy in her own pajamas, alone in the room. She knew that there were grizzlies constantly patrolling outside, but she also knew they weren’t going to hurt her — not yet, at least, and probably not ever.

  Roy wasn’t a complete idiot, after all, and Delilah was both a doctor and shifter. She could be incredibly valuable to the pack, though they seemed to think the best way to handle her was via kidnapping. But given the level of violence she’d already seen in her few short days back in Fjords, they could really use a doctor who knew how to treat shifters properly.

  Delilah was dead asleep when there was a knock at the door, and she swam up from a deep, deep sleep, feeling like she was fighting through layers of water and cotton. The knock sounded again, and as she opened her eyes, for just a moment she wasn’t sure where she was.

  Then she remembered and threw the blanket off, wide awake now, and stomped to the door, pulling it open just as the huge shifter on the other side raised his fist yet again. She only vaguely recognized him from the night before as one of the men hanging around, making sure that Roy’s orders were carried out.

  “Emma’s asking for you,” he said. “William woke up and he’s trying to move around.”

  “Jesus Christ,” muttered Delilah. Then she stepped forward, wagering that this guy wasn’t going to hit her, not right then and there.

  “He needs a hospital,” she said again, the words starting to echo a little, even to her.

  “No hospitals,” he said, shrugging.

  Delilah slammed the door in his face and hurriedly pulled off her pajamas, fishing jeans and a shitty t-shirt out of the suitcase Miles had brought her. She pulled her hair into a high, messy bun, put shoes on, and then jerked the door open again.