Determined to put this strange behavior behind her, Nadia pushed the chair from the table and stood. Tugging her ponytail free and donning her shoes, she trudged out of the small break room and made her way down the long corridor. White linoleum seemed to go on forever. The walls were bland and a cream-colored plastic rail ran the full length. It was like her life: boring and tedious, a vacuum.
She reached the stairwell and trudged up one flight of stairs. Pushing the heavy steel door open, she entered the busier reception area. After traversing another lengthy corridor, she made her way into the female staff’s lounge. In a daze, she opened her locker and stripped off her scrubs and shoved them into the laundry bag hanging from the locker door. A few moments later, she tugged on a simple pink T-shirt and jeans. Opened-toed sandals felt light compared to her heavy nursing clogs. Sliding her purse strap over her shoulder, she shut the locker and got ready to leave.
Several moments passed and somehow Nadia found herself standing outside Gunnar’s room. She placed her palm on the shiny wood, leaned close to the door and listened. Silence emanated from the room. Good, the aristocratic posse had left him alone. He needed his rest. Dominic had been in earlier. Before he left, he’d updated her on Gunnar’s status and reassured he’d been given medication to keep him comfortable, for a while.
She took a step backward; he should be left to his respite. At her side, the vibration of her cellphone tickled her hip. Crap. Not now. Fishing through her purse, she grabbed her phone and answered curtly. The grizzly, accented voice on the other end of the line made her cringe. Figures her dad would call. She rarely came home late and now she’d messed up his very firm, very concrete schedule.
“Nadia, it’s past your arrival time. Must you be so tardy? Nan is incensed.”
Please don’t put mom on the phone, Nadia prayed inwardly. Dad was difficult enough but her mother could do melodrama better than a silver screen actress.
Nadia clenched her teeth. Most American women were married at her age and a lot even had kids. They ran their own homes or had careers. Independence was theirs to take. They had a life of their own. Nadia was conscripted to tradition and an archaic way of life.
“It’s almost sun-up. You know I don’t like you out this late.” Her father’s peeved tone grew tense.
“I know.” Nadia licked her lips and took in a deep breath. Only one thing would appease him and she quickly stammered, “I was with a patient and Komutani arrived. I couldn’t leave; it would’ve been impolite.”
Nadia heard her mother’s voice echoing through the phone as she muttered “Komutani” in a surprised utterance.
Great, Dad put her on speaker phone.
“And, Kartal.” Nadia added for more emphasis.
A scratching static came through the line and a whispered exchange between her parents occurred. Dad probably had his hand over the receiver, trying to mute their excitement—ugh. Finally, her mother said, “Dear, tell me you fixed your hair and makeup beforehand. You know it’s nearly your time to be selected for a Goblet Ceremony.”
Nadia’s stomach twisted and nausea roiled. She did not want to be mated like some chattel. Figures her mother would latch onto something so inane and unimportant to Nadia.
“You were proper, Nadia. Right?”
No, I was tongue-tied and awkward. “Yes,” she lied.
Her mother made a bemused sound in the back of her throat. “Perhaps, Kartal will find you selections of high standing.” Nadia could hear the unrestrained joy her mother did nothing to hide. All her parents wanted for her was a mate who had money and status. Like that was going to happen—not. Ivan had looked at her like some annoying gnat he wanted to swat away. Nadia highly doubted she’d made any impression beyond inept but her mother didn’t need to know that.
“He came to speak with Gunnar Nakani. Not matchmake, Nan.” Nadia made the last word a plea. Using their formal native tongue for mother often sounded more respectful and sometimes diverted things away from their present course.
“Traian’s subordinate?” Her mother’s voice raised an octave with building hope.
Here we go, Nadia rolled her eyes and squeezed the phone tighter. “Yes.”
“Did you get to see him or his human consort?” The “him” being Traian Komar and his new mate, Bethany, the female half-breed.
Nadia backed up and leaned against the wall, right where Mikhail had lounged earlier. She tipped her head upon the rough plaster and stared at the ceiling. “No. He hasn’t showed up, that I’m aware.”
“You should stay then. We can manage without you.”
Right, anything for gossip. Nadia bit into her cheek to keep the sarcastic retort from escaping.
A muted tone interrupted the uncomfortable silence stretching between her and the call. It was deep, masculine. At first, Nadia thought her father protested the slight freedom her mother had granted her, but the sound repeated, and this time lasted longer. She straightened and glanced at the door on the other side of the hallway. Angling her head forward, she held the phone away from her ear. A low moan echoed through the walls. It sounded pained and guttural. She crossed the space in a rush. Gunnar was hurting. He needed her.
Bringing the phone back to her ear, she exhaled roughly. “I have to go now. Something came up.”
She wasted no time listening to her mother’s platitudes and hit the End button. Shoving the phone in her purse, she opened the door and stepped into the room. She glanced at the bed where Gunnar twisted in pain, the sheets a jumbled heap across his torso. He no longer wore the hospital gown. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face and throat. He tensed and moaned once again. The sound pierced straight through her heart. Chills rushed along her arms. She swallowed hard. Dumping her bag on the metal chair pushed into the corner, she rushed to the side of his bed. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and dragged it to her chest, holding it tight. “Shh, it’s all right. I’m here. Easy, Gunnar. Breathe.”
His eyelids lifted. Tortured eyes focused on her. The tip of his tongue slid out and moistened dry chapped lips. A shudder wracked through his body from head to feet. The overhead lights seemed to brighten and dim in time with his labored breaths. He squeezed her hand hard but she ignored the pressure throbbing across her knuckles knowing it brought him comfort.
“Nadia. You came to me.”
Oh, God! The tortured inflection of his tone curled around her, inexplicably tugging at her heart. The pain in his eyes captivated her. Something inside her snapped, it bloomed and turned her inside out. “Yes, Gunnar, I came. I’m your nurse and that means I’ll always be here for you.”
The muscles in his chest twitched and flexed as he pulled his hand from hers. He pressed his fingers to her collarbone and even though they trembled, he skated them along the column of her throat to her chin. Warmth assailed her as his calloused fingertips alighted on her bottom lip and ran back and forth. Her eyelids drooped; air became impossible to take in. “Gunnar?”
“Come here,” he demanded as his hand slid down and cupped her waist, tugging gently.
A sane part of her yelled that complying meant she’d be crossing into unprofessional behavior but she quickly shut that voice up and gave in to the direction of his strong hand—she’d do anything to ease his suffering. Depressing the button on the side rail, it clanked as it released, no longer impeding her from Gunnar’s embrace. She leaned close, pressed her cheek to the feverish skin of his forehead.
“Please.” His hand lashed around her wrist and tugged.
Why was she fighting? He needed her. Holding Gunnar would bring him solace and comfort. If it’d help him get through the worst of his healing, she had little cause not to. The reasons against doing anything so crazy shrank by the second.
He sucked air in over his teeth and strained against the pillow. The muscles in his chest quivered and the veins at his temple swelled taut. All the electrical equipment did that flickering thing again as if a power outage hovered moments away. With a guttural moan, he bent h
is knee, pushing one foot into the mattress. He cursed in Turkish and swallowed rigidly.
Don’t you dare crawl into bed with him like some mated female! Snuggling with Gunnar goes against every hospital regulation, not to mention the tenets of your people.
“Nadia.” Just her name but it was a distinct plea.
After shackling her conscience and muzzling its ethical diatribe, she hitched one leg on the bed. Sliding onto the small mattress, she settled on top of the blankets and propped on her side to give him as much room as possible.
“Let me hold you.” His pitch was low, gravelly. “Help me heal.”
Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs that literally hurt. If anyone walked in, she’d end up so fired. Luckily for them, right now the hospital had a skeleton staff for the daylight “graveyard” shift. Bending her arm, she rested her head in her hand and braced on her elbow. She stared at his chest, avoiding his face and that deep penetrating gaze. “Easy,” she consoled him and her traitorous free hand soothed along his upper arm to his shoulder, right across his tattoo.
When he flinched and shuddered, she recognized another bout of the terrible pain rocketed through him. Rapid healing was often painful and traumatic for the males. Other than giving him more pain medicine to take the edge off, he’d have no choice but to endure this for the next few hours. She traced the swirls of his tattoo as he braced through the worst of it. “What can I do?” Tears pricked her eyes. She hated that he hurt, hated not being able to take this agony from him.
He pressed his shoulders into the mattress and moved his legs over. Scooting sideways, he crowded against the rail on the opposite side of the bed. The metal of his fixator clanked loudly against the railing as he lifted his arm and set it on his side. “Lie down.”
She was already so screwed for crawling into bed with him, reason had fled and now, she simply flipped onto her back and dropped her head on the thin pillow. Next stop, la-la land.
He shimmied near, erasing the small space between them and she watched him closely, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into. When he settled his cheek upon her breast and his hot breath fanned out along her throat, she didn’t care anymore what anyone thought, or if someone might walk in and see. All her focus became Gunnar.
Sliding her fingers into his damp hair, she massaged the base of his skull. “Sleep now.” She watched his eyes shut and the tension in his face dissipated.
“Don’t leave,” he said in a firm demand.
“I won’t.” Until he woke up and realized she broke every single rule of their culture and not to mention her job. Then, he’d most likely chase her out of the room and file a complaint. There went her chances at a good match, as the Komars would probably make her into a pariah. Wouldn’t her mother be disappointed?
“Sleep, Nadia; you’re tired.” He rubbed his chin up and back, oh so close to the sensitive peak of her breast. God, there was something so intimate about holding him like this. It felt wonderful, perfect, like something she could do every day and never get bored of.
Right, that thinking would only get her a broken heart, pronto.
He took her free hand in his and entwined his fingers with hers. Tucking their conjoined hands against his chest, he slid into a restless slumber.
She watched him sleep and kept soothing him with her gentle strokes. His large torso expanded with deep breaths and his shoulders bunched on each inhale. With his lips parted and thick eyelashes framing his pale face, he looked every bit the Viking of his ancestral roots. He was so strong and full of vitality. Even injured, he could easily break her, but he wouldn’t hurt her. She could trust the safety of his embrace enough to let her guard slip a little bit just to relax. Her eyelids became heavy and she tried to blink away the sting to no avail. She stifled a yawn. And another.
She jerked as she began to nod off.
“Sleep, Nadia,” his faint whisper bordered on a command.
No way, no how. Staying awake was imperative. Right now, she’d continue to be his support during the great turmoil of rapid healing. Her experience warned her that the worst had yet to come. As a nurse, she’d seen her fair share of injured males. Through the years, she’d tended those with broken bones, battered bodies from tragic accidents, and an amalgam of wounds inherent to a society valuing the aggressive male. In nursing school, she’d watched humans fade away before her eyes, dying from ravaging illnesses. In those long hours, she came to respect the gift of her forefathers. A Kan Asma rarely got sick. Unmated, they lived far longer than their human kin. Once bound to a blood-mate, aging all but came to a standstill. Many of the Elders who ran the ruling Council had lived for hundreds of years. Without the threat of war, Gunnar had an excellent chance of growing very, very old. Especially once he became blood-mated.
Imagining a stunning beauty hanging all over Gunnar and offering her perfect throat and blue-blood to him in order to slake his hunger soured Nadia’s stomach. And she’d thought seeing him with Erica had royally sucked. Even considering Gunnar drinking from a female of their people felt like an open wound in Nadia’s soul. Sobered to the situation, she pushed her thoughts into the back of her mind. Needing distraction, she slowly reached for the control panel on the bed rail and fingered the display, locating the television power button. After clicking it on, she flipped through the channels until Good Morning America flashed onto the screen. Yeah, the chirpy morning news anchors had enough pep to power a small town. It would keep her engaged and awake while Gunnar slept.
Absently, she sifted her fingers through his hair and reveled in his even breaths. “I promise to be here for you, as long as you need me.” He couldn’t hear her passionate whisper, which somehow made things easier. In his vulnerability, he’d managed to capture a piece of her heart. And, that part of her she’d never get back.
Chapter Five
Gunnar had died and gone to heaven. All around him was warmth and peace. Sweet tendrils of musk and honey teased his nose and made his fangs twitch. He opened his mouth to give the lengthening canines more room. His chin brushed along an expanse of silky skin. Oh Lord, Heaven offered him a much needed treat. Yes, please and thank you! Dying was wonderful— he should do it more often. He pressed the tip of one sharp fang against the line of a throbbing vein and was rewarded with a tremor that rushed down the body lying beside him and echoed in his own.
Just a little sip, he thought. A taste. Then, he’d figure out the details of this celestial gift. Pushing in further, he nipped at the flesh there and suckled hard.
A sudden motion made the mattress dip and he rolled even closer. An incoherent muttering followed by his name stunned him. The voice of an angel, perhaps?
He wasn’t messing around with this treat that God had left for him as a prize or gift or final cosmic IOU compensation. No doubt he had stored up reward over his long life. No way he’d squander this opportunity. Out of all the seven deadly sins, he strove to avoid being a glutton. After the last twenty-four hours of his life, he deserved to indulge a little excess. Parting his lips, he flicked his tongue along warm skin and groaned at the teasing hint of volatile life-blood flowing right under the surface.
Not daring to open his eyes, in case this was some trick of his fucked up imagination, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to the spot. Hunger clenched his belly tight, rippling outward in arcs of pain. He nipped at the barrier eager to indulge. Flavor lit off his taste buds with a heady combination of sweet and tart. A groan rumbled in his chest. Sheer delight slithered down his throat and warmed him from the inside out. He sucked at the little wound, prodding it with his tongue seeking more of the fluid. It didn’t come fast enough and it drove him crazy. He wanted a free-flowing draught flooding his mouth, his senses, his very elemental core, until the blood mixed with his own, rejuvenating and powerful. Opening his mouth wider, he angled his chin near her collarbone and scraped his fangs across the column of her throat. The throbbing vein kicked up its pace, hard and fast. It lured him, inviting him to indu
lge where he’d never been before. He latched on, ready to bite down and take his fill.
“Oh, no you don’t, dumbass!”
What the…Tray’s in Heaven, too?
Ignoring the strange notion of his boss joining him in the heavenly abode, Gunnar turned back to the succulent bounty waiting for him to feast.
“Not so fast, Roadrunner.”
Pain shot straight up his spine and bull’s eyed at the base of his skull. Tingling swirled through his brain and his sense of awareness deadened. He could feel nothing. Not his fingers, not his legs, damn it, not even his lips.
He squeezed his eyelids and blinked forcing them to open. At least those worked.
His vision took a second to clear and when it did, he reeled. Wide brown eyes stared back at him. They narrowed and one dark brow arched, teasing and questioning at the same time. If he could curse, he would. Instead, he swore in his thoughts and lobbed the furious tirade at his boss.
“Fucking bad timing, Komar.”
“Nah, I saved your ass from shaming a female with your lapse of sanity.”
“Stuff your híbe where the sun don’t shine.” Gunnar tried to make his body move but nothing worked. It didn’t take a genius to know the cause of his paralyzed state. Tray had used his unique power to shut off the nerves in Gunnar’s spine. Helpless as a newborn, he watched as his saving grace scooted away inch by inch until she sat and pushed herself from the bed. Something in his soul tore into pieces, when he glanced across the empty space beside him. The scent of her clung to the pillow and he inhaled trying in desperation to keep some of her with him. “Nadia.” Her name came out garbled and inarticulate.
She stayed beside his bed and turned to look at Tray. Her profile shadowed the features of her face but gave him a glimpse of the feminine curves he hadn’t noticed earlier while shrouded in boxy scrubs. Loose jeans hid the line of her legs and flair of her hips. A shell-pink shirt highlighted the natural tan of her skin but didn’t cling. His Y chromosomes directed his eyes to survey the swell at her chest, making out the curve of her breasts and the elegant sweep of her shoulders. She wore simple casual clothes that seemed more for comfort than allure.
Mated in Treason Page 5