by I. T. Lucas
Brundar falling asleep after taking a hefty dose of the little white pills was the reason she’d stayed. Fearing that he’d overdosed on those pills, Callie wouldn’t leave his side. Reading to keep herself awake, she’d checked every few minutes that he was still breathing.
“Yeah, yeah. As if you’d have left me alone at home if the roles were reversed.”
“You got me there.”
As she opened the passenger door for him, Brundar handed her one of the crutches and got inside, then gave her the other one.
“Thank you,” he said when she dropped them in the back seat.
His face appeared as expressionless as always, but by the slight tightening of his jaw muscles, she could tell that he was either irritated or in pain or both. Probably both. Depending on others for his basic needs must’ve been difficult for a man like Brundar.
Easing out into the traffic, Callie cast him a sidelong glance. “Everyone will have a ton of questions for us. What do we tell them?”
“A mugger wouldn’t have dragged you with him. We will have to go with a would-be rapist.”
“And what happened to him after he shot you?”
“He heard a police siren and ran away.”
She shook her head. “They didn’t report the incident because they thought we did. The weakest link in this story is why we didn’t. Your injuries needed hospitalization, and no one will believe the emergency room personnel didn’t call the cops.”
“Right. I can claim a criminal record. They would believe it about me.”
That was too extreme. Callie was wracking her brain for a better story when an idea struck her.
“Did you talk to Franco or anyone else from the club after the incident?”
“No. You called Franco. Remember?”
“Yes, but I wanted to make sure that you didn’t talk with anyone.”
“Why?”
She smirked. “Because I only told Franco that you were injured while rescuing me from the lowlife. I said nothing about you getting shot. We can say that you broke your knees while chasing the assailant. He jumped over a wall, and you followed, but your shirt got caught on something, and you fell badly, breaking both knees.”
Brundar smiled. “That might work. No one will check what’s going on under my knee braces.”
“Exactly. In fact, I don’t think anyone would’ve believed that you were shot in both knees and could walk already. I witnessed everything with my own two eyes, and I still find it hard to believe. Your healing is nothing short of miraculous.”
Brundar turned to look out the window. “I’m lucky to know Bridget. Without her revolutionary procedure, it wouldn’t have been possible.”
Callie still had her doubts, but she couldn’t argue with the evidence. Brundar was walking less than a week after getting both of his knees shot to pieces. Bridget was a miracle worker.
How the heck had a woman so young achieved so much? She must have been some kind of a prodigy. One of those kids who graduated high school at twelve and got a master’s degree at sixteen. She’d seemed pretty normal, though.
“Is Bridget a genius? Did she finish medical school at eighteen or something? How does someone so young become an expert in her field? And not only an expert but an innovator?”
“She is very smart. But I don’t think she invented that new procedure.”
“I see.” That made more sense. Tomorrow, Callie would search the Internet for a new and revolutionary knee reconstruction surgical procedure. Something like that was big news. Someone must’ve written an article about it in one of the scientific journals.
What was she hoping to find out, though?
That a procedure like that existed?
What if it did not?
Things didn’t add up.
Heck, they hadn’t been adding up since the beginning. For some reason, Donnie’s remark about Brundar’s long teeth came to the forefront of her mind. She could’ve sworn Brundar had bitten her yesterday when they had both climaxed. She had a vague memory of a sharp pain, and what was more, it hadn’t been the first time that she’d looked for teeth marks the next day.
But she’d never found any.
It was possible to discount them as phantom bites, created by her imagination except, aside from the imagined bites, there were other things. Like Brundar’s superhuman hearing, and now his miraculous healing.
He turned to look at her. “So that’s the story we are sticking with. I was chasing the would-be rapist and took a bad fall. There was nothing to report because other than hitting you in the face he didn’t manage to do anything, and neither of us saw his face. He was wearing a ski mask.”
“Sounds good to me.”
At the club’s parking lot, Callie helped Brundar out of the car, holding the crutches for him, and again he looked irritated by his dependence on her.
Well, tough. That was his reality for the near future, and he’d better get used to it.
“Callie!” Donnie rushed up to them as soon as they rounded the corner, his arms open and ready to envelop her.
“Careful, big guy. I’m bruised everywhere,” she forestalled him, holding her palm out.
Donnie slowed down and hugged her with utmost care. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You are okay, right?” His eyes roamed her body.
“I am. Thanks to Bru… Brad.”
Crap, she’d almost forgotten he went under a different name in the club. Just one more oddity to add to the long list.
Up until now, Donnie hadn’t even noticed Brundar standing a few paces behind her. Eyeing the crutches and the braces on Brundar’s knees, the bouncer shook his head. “You should have let me come with you, man. What happened to you?”
“A bad fall.”
Donnie tilted his head as if trying to figure out what kind of a fall could cause injuries like that. “How far down did you fall?”
“About thirty feet.”
Donnie whistled. “You should count yourself lucky for not breaking your back.”
“He saved me.” Callie diverted Donnie’s attention to her. “He chased the scumbag away. I don’t want to think what would’ve happened to me if Brad hadn’t shown up on time.”
Inside the club, Callie had to repeat the story once to Franco and then again to Miri who wanted more details. At some point, Brundar ducked into the hallway leading down to the basement, leaving her alone to deal with the curious staff.
She was relieved to put on her little apron and get back to work. Lots of makeup combined with the nightclub’s dim lighting hid her bruises from the customers, and for the first time in a week, she felt as if things were getting back to normal.
Or as normal as they could get with Brundar in her life.
Chapter 30: Brundar
Calypso was quiet on their way home, either introspective or perhaps tired. Brundar certainly was.
As someone who was used to relying on his body to always function at peak performance, it was difficult for him to accept his new reality. Thank the Fates it was temporary. The crutches were a nuisance, clumsy and chafing at his armpits, but that hadn’t been the only problem. His body’s rapid healing required him to rest and let it divert energy to where it was needed most. Instead, he’d shuffled through the basement trying to prove, mainly to himself, that his injuries weren’t a hindrance to his performance.
No one else expected him to do much. Franco had tried to stick him in the office to go over the books, probably to get him off his feet. Naturally, Brundar had refused, which had been stupid. No one needed a cripple to act as a monitor, but Franco sure as hell needed someone with a head for numbers.
Hell, he could’ve done it at home.
Yeah, as if he could ever do that. His pride aside, Brundar couldn’t stand being apart from Calypso. During the evening, he’d climbed up the stairs twice, a taxing maneuver for someone relying on crutches, just so he could watch her work for a few minutes. It was like taking a deep breath before diving underwater again. It could sustain
him only for so long before he needed to surface and take another breath.
“I’ll get your crutches,” Calypso said as she cut the engine.
He opened the passenger door and swung his legs out. She pulled the crutches from the back seat and handed them to him one at the time.
He hefted himself up, his knees protesting any further pressure. Gritting his teeth, he followed Calypso to the elevator. “You can take the stairs if you want.” He knew how much she hated being stuck in the small lift.
“No. I go where you go, big guy. You’re not getting rid of me.”
He leaned and kissed the top of her head, relieved by her teasing. Her silence in the car had worried him. It wasn’t like Calypso to stay so quiet, especially after her first day back at work and most likely plenty of new gossip to share.
“I’m going to grab a snack,” she said as he plopped tiredly on the couch. “Do you want something?” she asked a few moments later, whispering for some reason.
Naturally, he’d heard her perfectly well.
“A cup of water, please.” He was contemplating taking a couple of pills to numb the throbbing pain so he could sleep.
“Here is your water.” She handed him a tall glass.
Her tone was different than usual, and he wondered what this was about. Did she resent waiting on him? Maybe she’d whispered before because her throat hurt. Was she coming down with a cold or flu?
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I’m great. It was good to be working again.”
Now she sounded like her old self. He must’ve imagined things before, projecting his less than optimal condition on her. “Could I bother you again? I need the pills. I overdid it tonight.”
“Of course.” Calypso’s eyes immediately softened, and she rushed to bring him the container from her purse. “How many do you need?”
“Three.”
She shook them out on her palm and handed them to him.
“Thank you.” He popped the pills into his mouth and followed with a long swig of water.
Calypso remained standing, casting him a suspicious look. “How did you hear me from the kitchen? I whispered so low I barely heard myself.”
Damnation. This was unexpected and worrisome. She was starting to get suspicious and was testing him.
He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “I have very good hearing.”
She shook her head. “This is not good hearing. This is extraordinary hearing.”
“If you say so.” He winced, exaggerating the expression to distract her from her line of inquiry.
“I’m sorry. You’re in pain, and I’m bothering you with nonsense. You need to shower and get into bed.”
He sighed. “Sounds like a plan to me. I’m exhausted.”
“Let me help you take off the bandages.”
He couldn’t wait. Up until tonight, he showered with waterproof covers over his bandages, but Bridget had called earlier today telling him it was okay to take them off and replace them with the compression knee sleeves she’d left for him. In fact, it had been okay since Tuesday, but she’d forgotten to tell him. He had been supposed to come in for a checkup but had skipped it.
Brundar lifted his butt and pulled down his pants. “I’m all yours.”
“I’ll get a wet washcloth.”
Calypso came back a moment later with a plastic bowl filled with water and a couple of washcloths. “Just in case the bandages are sticking to your skin.”
They weren’t, but he would let her discover it on her own.
With gentle fingers, Calypso carefully unwrapped the first bandage. Her eyes widened as she bared his knee. “I can’t believe it. Look at this. There is barely any sign of the injury. How is it possible?”
Damnation. He hadn’t expected it to look so good so fast. “The skin is healed. But the tendons and bones are not. That will take much longer.”
“Even so. I was expecting to see scars and stitches, but all that remains are thin white lines.” She touched a finger to one of them. “How?”
Brundar let his head drop back on the couch. He was so tired of lying. Maybe he should just thrall Calypso and get it over with. But he’d already thralled her yesterday after biting her, and he was loath to do so again so soon.
“I’m not a doctor. I don’t know what kind of magic Bridget performed. You should address all these questions to her. I’m tired. I want to shower and get into bed.”
Brundar didn’t want to imagine how Bridget was going to retaliate for the hot potato he was dropping at her feet. But he could deal with that tomorrow when he had more energy.
“Do you need my help in the shower?” Calypso looked remorseful.
Brundar had detected notes of both hope and apology in her request, but he needed a few minutes to himself. “I’m fine. Finish your snack. I’ll be quick about it. I know you want to shower too.”
“Let me finish your other knee first.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Please?” Her sad eyes pleaded with him from where she was kneeling on the floor.
He couldn’t deny her when she looked at him like that. “Fine.”
When she was done, Calypso gathered the used bandages and took them to the trash, while he shuffled with the help of his crutches to the bathroom.
Sitting on the bench, Brundar closed his eyes and let the hot water soothe his strained muscles. The nightclub’s smells lingered on clothes and skin but mostly the hair, necessitating a shower even if they’d done so before during the day.
He heard her open the bathroom door and a few moments later she entered the shower.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Her eyes looked haunted.
“Come here.” He patted the spot next to him on the bench.
She snuggled up to him. “I don’t like it when we fight.”
He wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “We didn’t fight. I’m just tired and in pain, and it makes me cranky.”
“Would it help if I massaged your scalp?”
No one had ever done that for him. It sounded pleasurable.
“It might.”
“I’ve wanted to wash your hair for so long. It’s so beautiful.”
Chapter 31: Callie
Brundar closed his eyes and surrendered to Callie’s massaging fingers.
“Can I use shampoo? It would make the massage feel even better.”
“By all means.”
He was really enjoying this, which made her feel so much better.
So what if he was a bit strange. Maybe fast healing was a genetic trait his family was keeping a secret. No one wanted to be poked and probed, perhaps even imprisoned and experimented on. It was a far-fetched scenario, but it was better than believing Brundar was an alien pretending to be human.
Or a vampire.
Provided creatures like that really existed, which was an absurd notion, Brundar with his long canines could have been one. But even if they did exist, he had no problem with sunlight, so that was out. On the other hand, Callie was almost sure he’d bitten her and then made her forget it.
Shawn had accused Brundar of toying with his mind, but then Shawn had been insane.
Callie shook her head. She needed to stay with what made sense and away from crazy ideas. A hereditary genetic trait was a scientific possibility, while the other ones were pure fiction. Perhaps there were other intelligent species in the vast universe and aliens existed somewhere, but they didn’t come to visit Earth, and vampires were a myth.
A dollop of shampoo in her palm, she started massaging Brundar’s scalp.
“Your hair is so thick and glossy. Women spend a fortune on hair products, professionally done highlights, and Brazilian blowouts to get that look and fail.”
Brundar’s jaw muscles tightened, and he didn’t respond to her compliments. Maybe he didn’t like comments about his hair. Which didn’t make sense. By growing it out so long, he was practically inviting them.
He was
so touchy about so many things that she wasn’t sure which topics of conversation were safe anymore. And to think people accused her generation—the millennials—of being too sensitive.
She stopped her massaging. “What’s the matter? You don’t like me talking about your hair?”
“It’s not that. Please continue.”
Resuming her kneading, she asked, “Then what? You can’t shut me out whenever I ask you a personal question.”
He sighed. “As a kid, I was bullied because of my hair. The boys called me a girl.”
Kids could sometimes be so cruel. No wonder all her talk about women wanting hair like his reminded him of the taunting. “Was that why you became a fighter? So you could beat up the bullies?”
When he didn’t respond, Callie assumed he didn’t want to talk about it, but a few moments later he said, “No, only after I was attacked. I vowed to never be weak again. I refused to be a victim.”
“Good for you.” She kept massaging. “Was your hair as long then as it is now?” It was wrong to put the blame on the victim, but if he had been bullied and taunted for it, he should’ve cut it short. It would have saved him so much misery.
“Back then it was only chin length. It was a popular style. It was no different than that of most boys.”
Callie frowned. When Brundar was a child, long hair hadn’t been in style for boys. But maybe things had been different in the small Scottish village he’d grown up in.
After another moment he continued. “I let it grow out when I was older. It was both a reminder to never let my guard down and a reverse taunt. If I’d been targeted because of supposedly looking feminine, I made myself a more obvious target. But if anyone thought to bully me again, I would teach them a quick and painful lesson. But no one dared.”
She rolled her eyes. “Duh, you look lethal. No wonder no one dared to bully you when you were older. But isn’t long hair a hindrance to a fighter? Someone can grab you by the hair and drag you. I know how painful it is.” The memory of Shawn pulling her by her ponytail and dragging her on the pavement was still fresh in her mind,