by Riley Storm
Both his arms were mangled, but his legs were working fine. Lucien’s knee lunged up, connecting solidly with a very fragile piece of equipment on his opponent. The shifter’s eyes rolled up into his head and his face went white as he tilted over and fell to the ground.
Wasting no time, Lucien glanced at the door to the warehouse. Nobody else had come through it yet. They must have thought these two enough to capture him. Now was his opportunity.
Turning, he stumbled off into the darkness, losing blood rapidly, knife still embedded in his shoulder. He needed help. Badly.
There was only one place he could think of to go. Somewhere that nobody would ever think to find him.
Hopefully, she’ll open the door for me.
2
“It’s a bad one out tonight, isn’t it boy?”
On the other couch, Bergey, her boxer pup, lifted his head at the sound of her voice. Alison smiled at him and patted the empty seat next to her on her couch. “Come here Berg,” she called lovingly.
The seventy-pound dog—not a puppy in the true sense of the word anymore—happily hopped off his perch and came to curl up next to her, rolling slightly to expose his belly as she rubbed his side.
“Oh, you want some belly rubs? Is that what you want?” she asked in her dog-voice. “Well only good boys get belly rubs. Are you a good boy?”
Bergey snorted and rolled even more onto his back in answer.
“Well I see. I guess that solves—eep—that!” she said, interrupted by another crack of thunder.
Bergey didn’t flinch. The only movement he made was a slight twitch of his back leg as she found the good spot on his stomach.
For whatever reason, thunderstorms didn’t bother her dog. Neither, for that matter, did the rain. Alison didn’t understand it, but he provided a good companion for her on nights like tonight, when she jumped at every sound other than the rain pelting her two-story century home.
Most of the time, thunderstorms didn’t bother her, and she could sit back and listen to the noise all night. The howl of the wind and the nearness of the storm’s epicenter marked this one as abnormal, however, and she was glad for the comfort of her pup.
Another monstrous boom startled her, and Bergey. The big dog cocked his head sideways at her, got up and then promptly deposited himself on her lap, the extreme version of a weighted calming blanket.
“Okay, okay, I’ll calm down,” she laughed, stroking his back while Bergey closed his eyes.
They sat like that for an unknown length of time. She was still petting him, which was why Alison felt his hackles rise at the same time he turned his head sharply toward the front door.
“What is it?” Alison followed his gaze, holding back a flinch as thunder boomed overhead again.
Except this time, she thought she heard something else. Bergey got up from her lap and put himself between her and the door, tensing up on all fours. Alison looked around, wondering if she would have time to make it to the kitchen for a knife if she needed it. Was someone trying to break into her house?
Bergey’s growl filled the room as he took a slow stalking step toward the front door. Focused now, Alison thought she heard a sound from outside. A person’s voice, maybe? Perhaps a wild animal had been spooked from its home by the storm and was prowling her property, looking for a place to bed down until the rain abated?
She watched her dog as he moved closer to the door, head forward and outstretched, legs slightly bent. He was detecting a threat. Her breath caught in her throat. She wished her cell phone wasn’t charging in the other room, but she’d run it dry when the tv signal had cut out for the final time.
“What is it Berg?” she asked nervously.
All at once, her dog’s demeanor changed. He relaxed up out of his crouch and trotted over to the door before sitting next to it and looking back at her expectantly.
“You want to go out in that?” she asked incredulously. “You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of doggy joke? Or is it a ploy to get me to bribe you with treats instead? That’s it, isn’t it?”
Bergey just sat there, mouth hanging open, staring at her. What had happened to his aggressive behavior? Then to her surprise, he mewled at her and pawed at the door. That was very unlike him. If Bergey ever needed to go out, he went to the back door. One thing Alison had was plenty of spare time, and she’d used it to train him well. So why was he suddenly so insistent on using the front door?
There was a noise from outside the door, and Bergey’s insistence at it grew stronger. All of which served to make Alison more nervous. Yet her dog didn’t appear worried at all.
“Okay, fine, I’ll see what’s at the door,” she said. But instead of walking toward it, she turned, went into the kitchen and got the longest, sharpest knife she could find.
She moved to the front door, peering through the peephole, but between the darkness of the night and the rain, she couldn’t see anything. Closing her eyes for a moment to summon courage, Alison put herself between the dog and the door, and slowly undid the latch, and then the deadbolt. Finally, she opened the door.
Bergey yelped and pushed between her, but stopped just short of going outside, and this time he barked. But Alison didn’t need that to see what he was going on about.
There was a body face down on the path between the street and her house. And it was covered in cuts and blood.
She screamed.
The body moved.
Bergey barked.
Thunder rumbled and then lightning struck, illuminating the face.
“Lucien?” she shouted over the noise, horrified by what had been done to him. Rushing out the door, she fell to her knees at his side. “Lucien, can you hear me?”
The noise she heard wasn’t any sort of word, but it confirmed to her that he was still alive, and that was something. Bergey appeared off to the side, placing himself protectively between the fallen Lucien and the street.
“I need to call you an ambulance,” she said. “And get you inside.”
The phone was inside. She couldn’t leave him. “Come on, can you get up? We need to get you out of the rain.”
She couldn’t believe he was here. But there was no confusing that jawline, or the solitary pale blue eye she could see reflected in the light streaming out from her house. It really was him.
Questions hammered at her, but Alison kept her lips clenched. Now was not the time to scream at him. He was hurt, and badly, and she needed to get him help.
A knife clattered from his hand as he tried to get up, and she took his right arm under her shoulder. The rain was rapidly soaking her clothing, matting it down to her body and dropping her temperature. Both of them needed to get inside, and quickly. It might be April now, but it was still cold out, and in his weakened condition, Lucien wouldn’t be able to fight off a fly, much less pneumonia.
They struggled to get him to his feet. Only with the assistance of Bergey, who somehow seemed to know what was going on, did they get Lucien moving. Her big dog came and inserted himself on Lucien’s other side, splitting the weight with her as Lucien’s arms draped over both of them. The three of them got Lucien inside where he promptly collapsed on her carpet and started bleeding into it.
“Just stay awake, Lucien,” she urged, her anger at his leaving forgotten in the emergency. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”
She started to get up, but a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard with a strength she hadn’t realized he had left in him.
“Ow!” she yelped. “Stop it.”
“No hospitals,” Lucien whispered. “No cops. Close the door. Lock it.”
Completely at a loss for what to do, Alison followed his instructions. It was madness, sheer madness. He was mostly unconscious, leaking blood from dozens of places, and yet she was listening to him for some reason. Why?
“What happened to you?” she asked, dropping to her knees at his side. “No, stay down.”
Lucien was struggling to get up. “Have to go
,” he said in a very unfocused voice. “Need to rescue…”
She pushed him back down. That was how weak he was. Her hands pressed into his chest and one thick arm and easily guided him back onto the floor. The sheer lack of resistance from someone with arms as thick as his told Alison all she needed to know. Lucien should be in a hospital.
“I need to call you an ambulance, Lucien. You’ll die otherwise.”
“Need rest,” he said feebly, his head moving fractionally from side to side. “No cops.”
“What did you do?” Alison needed to know.
“Nothing,” he half-wheezed. “Someone did it to me. Obviously.” A weak attempt at a smile.
“Not funny,” she said crossly, folding her arms under her chest.
“So I shouldn’t tell you that you should see the other guy?”
“No.” Alison glared at him as sternly as she could manage, which wasn’t easy given the conflicting emotions.
“Just trust me till morning. Let me sleep. Maybe make me some food when I wake up. Please. That’s all I ask.”
“All you ask?” she snapped, fury breaking through her concern as she realized maybe he would make it. “You disappear for six months, without any communication, and you think you can just show up at my door half-dead, covered in blood and ask me for that? What the hell are you involved in, Lucien?”
But he was already gone. She watched in horror until his chest slowly rose and fell.
“Oh, thank God,” she gasped, glad for the sign that he was alive.
Her eyes darted to the kitchen. Lucien was asleep. She could call the police now, and he would be none the wiser.
Yet even as she thought of it, something stayed her.
What is this misplaced sense of loyalty to a man who left me for six months? Why am I considering doing as he’s asked?
Bergey came over to her and thudded his flank into her. She reached up to pet him, then realized she was still soaking wet, as was her dog. Scrambling for the familiar, she got up and robotically dried off her dog, talking to him while she did, asking if she could call the cops like a normal person?
Once Bergey was dry, Alison went upstairs and changed into sweats, feeling comfortable in the dryness and warmth. Coming back downstairs, she curled up on the couch and watched Lucien’s chest rise and fall. He seemed to be breathing easier, or was that just her imagination?
Morning. He could stay till morning, but then it was either the hospital, or he was gone. She’d done her part, but she owed him nothing more. After six months, Alison had moved on from him. She’d left him in her past, and that was where he was going to stay.
She grabbed a pillow and held it to her chest, fingers digging deep as she fought back her anger at the figure passed out on her living room floor.
Of course, the asshole would come back to me!
Alison wanted to sleep, but her anger at Lucien’s abrupt re-entry into her life made it near impossible. Instead she stayed up, angrily figuring out just what she was going to say when he woke up in the morning.
She wasn’t about to let him waltz back in her door without an earful.
3
Consciousness returned slowly, and painfully. Stifling a groan, he opened his eyes.
Only one responded, and it was barely more than a slit. The other felt like it was glued shut, but the searing brightness of sunlight stabbing him directly in the working eye was enough to make him thankful for that.
Gingerly, he tried to sit up, but agony exploded from every corner of his body to assault his brain. Okay, we’ll try that in a bit. Settling back onto the floor, Lucien frowned. Even that hurt. Relaxing all his muscles, he used the one that hurt the least: his brain.
Why am I still in so much pain? How am I not healed yet?
His system should have taken care of the worst of the hurt, sealed up the cuts and healed broken bones. That was how it worked. His shifter DNA was literally coded with the ability to do that. So why was he still in such agony? The sun was out, which meant it was morning at least, and the thunderstorm was gone. Time enough had passed.
That was the first of his worries. Second was his location. Not lying on the floor, that was inconsequential. It was who the floor belonged to that was sending him into a panic. Why had he thought that going to see Alison would be a good idea? What part of him had possessed such a thought?
It was just a bad move in many, many respects.
Something stirred nearby. Alison? The sound of four limbs on the floor corrected his guess. Her dog, Bergey. The canine came over to his side and lay down, whining softly.
“Hey boy,” Lucien whispered, wishing his left arm wasn’t mangled so that he could pet the beautiful creature. The two of them had formed a fast bond when they’d first met, despite Lucien’s heritage, which usually end with most shifters feeling uncomfortable around pets. Not Lucien. He loved dogs, and Bergey was one of a kind.
The boxer whined louder, and above the noise, Lucien heard someone else stirring nearby. He frowned at that. Was Alison here?
“Alison?” he croaked, his throat parched.
“You’re awake.” There was no compassion in her voice.
Not that he deserved it. After the stunt he’d pulled, Lucien had expected to wake up at a hospital. Alison would have been well within her rights to make that call of course, but Lucien had held out hope she might respect his wish not to go. Humans wouldn’t know how to react to his DNA, or the unbelievably fast healing he possessed.
Normally possessed, he reminded himself, the pain in his body a reminder that he’d been so badly injured that even his own system was overwhelmed and unable to cope. Just how close to death had he been?
A shiver ran down his spine, summoning up more pain from several sources as it puckered his skin, pulling it tight.
“Food?” he asked.
There was the sound of someone shifting on what he figured was a couch, and then Alison was at his side, kneeling down, her smooth-skinned face doing its best to hide any concern beneath a layer of steel disdain. It was that effort to remain passive that had her normally full mouth pressed into a tight line and pulled her light eyebrows down closer to her eyes.
“You’re asking for something more?” she asked, looking him over with a delicateness absent from her voice.
That’s fair. She hates me, but she’s too good of a person to not care about my well-being.
Lucien knew he didn’t deserve someone like her, and it pained him to realize how far he’d dragged her into things now—even if he did enjoy being able to see that beautiful oval face, cheekbones so faint as to be undetectable. The hardened amber core of her brown eyes was something he could have done without, especially knowing he was the one that caused it.
“Need protein,” he whispered, hating the weakness in his voice. He wasn’t used to this. Lucien was strong, a prototypical member of House Canis. Six-foot-four, two-hundred-thirty pounds of pure muscle thanks to genetics and a frenzied passion for working out, he was nobody’s idea of a weakling.
Yet here he was begging for food, unable to get up off his back because his system was so run down. Was this how normal humans felt when they got hurt? It was unbelievable! How did they manage to recover from any sort of injury?
A newfound appreciation for his unchanged cousins filled him. If this was how they always were after getting injured, and for so very long, they were a whole lot tougher than he’d given them credit for.
“Stay down,” Alison said as he tried to struggle up into a sitting position. Her dainty little hand pressed into his chest and pushed him back to the ground with calm ease. “You’re badly hurt, and for some ridiculous reason I still can’t fathom, you aren’t at the hospital.” She waited until he was back flat on the floor before getting up and heading into the nearby kitchen.
The open floorplan meant he could still listen to her while she worked. Or be berated by her, given the circumstances.
“How did you convince me not to call you an ambulance las
t night?” she muttered, something clanking on the stove in the background.
“Charm and wit?” he tried.
“Not funny. You bled all over my carpet last night, and you’re still barely able to move this morning, though you do seem to have stopped bleeding at least. Lucien, you should be in Emergency, not on my floor. Just because I work at a hospital doesn’t mean I’m a nurse or a doctor.”
“I know,” he groaned. “I didn’t come here for medical aid.”
“Why did you come here?”
He could hear the burning curiosity in her soft alto, a curiosity that must have been eating at her all night.
“Safety,” he said heavily. “I knew I could trust you.”
Something was cooking on the stove, he could hear it start to sizzle. His stomach rumbled, and Lucien realized it had probably been close to twenty-four hours since he’d last eaten. That, combined with the flight from Moonshadow Manor, the fight at the warehouse and his injuries might explain his weakness.
“I should have just called the cops,” Alison countered. “I still should. They would take you away.”
“I’m not a criminal,” he growled, sitting up slightly to direct the words at her with what little strength he had left.
“Still an asshole,” she muttered under her breath.
Lucien lay back onto the floor, taking in deep breaths. There was no strength left in him to argue with her, even if Alison had been wrong. His mind was too busy elsewhere, dealing with his shattered world, missing friends, and others who had taken opposite sides from him. If his body hurt, his heart was in blinding agony.
“Okay, this will have to do,” she muttered, finishing her prep in the kitchen and bringing a plate over, placing it on the nearby coffee table. “Some eggs, toast, uh, bottled protein shake, and some yogurt.”
“Amazing.” Lucien, with Alison’s help, got into a seated position next to the table. He snagged a piece of toast, noting that she’d cut it diagonally, the way he liked, and started chewing on it. “Thank you,” he mumbled between mouthfuls.
“My carpet,” Alison moaned from her perch on the edge of the couch.