Aragon stood, seeming stronger than she expected he would be under the circumstances. Now that she had him up, she had to collect her bearings. She’d parked her car west of the Sno-Med Center. They’d exited the building from the east and had cut to the left once under the cover of the bushes. He’d run in a straight line, so she guesstimated that if they were to cut to the left again, they’d go south and arrive at the road where she’d left her car. How far they were from it she didn’t know, but once she got him to the road, then she could go after the car.
“My car should be this way,” she said, turning away from him and moving ahead. She wished the drizzle would stop. Maybe she wouldn’t be so chilled and in turn so hungry for the feel of Aragon’s warmth against her. She reached into her pocket to feel the amulet with her fingertips. She should tell him about the amulet, but if she did and he took it back, would she ever see him again?
Aragon stared at the mortal woman’s back a moment, his head swimming from the inundation of sensations that had been flooding through him. He’d felt such a primal hunger when he was carrying her that he feared if he stopped running, he’d devour her. It was a different kind of hunger than what had driven him in the forest before she pulled him to her, but it still had been so sharp that his wavering control on his were-form had nearly crumbled. The scents of the forest had been overpowered by the smell of gardenias and her blood. He drew a deep breath, smelling more of the gardenia now, but still feeling an almost overwhelming need.
He didn’t know what to do with it either. It was as if he wanted to consume her essence within him, make her a part of him.
Pathos had caused her injury, yet she’d only seen to his hurt. The fact didn’t sit well with him, nor the fact that she had taken on Pathos even though he’d warned her away. She’d barreled ahead without the slightest clue as to what she’d cost him and almost lost herself. His quest had been in his grip, and she’d snatched it away.
But once Pathos had turned on her, Aragon had had no other choice but to abandon his quest and save her.
She was right. They had to leave the area. Had to leave Pathos behind, rather than retrace his steps and finish the one thing that would restore honor for him and for his brethren. For now he had to stay with the mortal woman until he learned how she was able to summon him to her side and why Pathos had been with her. Even then, he might not be able to leave. She’d garnered Pathos’s wrath, and would need a Blood Hunter’s protection.
If he’d had his full strength about him, he’d just pick her up and carry her to wherever he decided, and they would talk until he was content with the answers. As it was, this unaccustomed weakness of his body and the fact that his wounds continued to drain life and energy from him urged him to follow her lead.
That, plus the change she seemed to effect within him. Her nearness diminished the feral state the moon had been pulling from him. And he had no wish to return to that near-mindlessness. He’d been so consumed with the primal lust for blood that he’d forgotten Pathos and tossed away his sword in favor of the hunt. A warrior never left his weapon behind. That he had showed him just how broken a leader he truly was. He’d have to retrieve his sword in the light of the sun. For now he’d stay within the realm of her influence.
She was a puzzle—soft and vulnerable, yet firm in her determination to stand alone amid the pain and trouble he sensed she was in. She’d also been resolute in her desire to minister to him, but this repeated delay to the questions he wanted answered would not work. First she’d put him off until she saw to his injuries. Now she wanted to wait until they were someplace else, and she’d tended his wound, after which point it was supposed to be he who answered questions.
Crossing his arms despite the biting pain in his back, he waited. He could hear the guards approaching. Their muttered curses and heavy breathing let Aragon know they were getting closer. Since Pathos hadn’t overtaken them yet, that meant he wasn’t following now. Years of training under Pathos had taught him that the were-being would wait, giving his prey plenty of time to sweat before death. After about ten steps, she realized he hadn’t moved. She turned, nearly blinding him with the light she carried. “What’s wrong?”
“You.”
“Me? Whatever it is can wait. You’re bleeding. You’ve got a bullet in your shoulder that needs to come out, and you need stitches. If you pass out from blood loss before we get to my car, I’m not going to be able to carry you. I took an oath to save your alpha rear, and it’s going to kill me if something goes wrong.”
He moved toward her. The closer he got, the more he liked being within the radius of her body heat, within the saturating range of her scent. It made him hungrier, but it soothed him in some way, too. Though he hadn’t planned to get so close, he couldn’t seem to stop himself until the warmth and softness of her body brushed his. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted as her breath hissed from her, but she stood her ground. Her dark hair was hidden beneath a cap. Water had spiked her lashes and dripped from the edge of her jaw.
He slid his fingers along her cheek as he had before, wanting to know if the feel of her now was just as potent as it had been before. It wasn’t. It was even stronger. His pulse sped, and the fire inside him grew hotter. By Logos, how did she have such power over him? He wanted to heal her wound as well, and tried to send his energy into her, but either he was too weak at the moment from his own blood loss or her mind was too closed off from him, because he couldn’t get past the stiff barrier she seemed to hold against the world and everyone in it.
He shook his head. They were out of time and needed to move on. For some reason the guards were now running. Maybe they’d seen the glow of her light.
“Turn off your light quickly,” he said.
She did. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“There are two guards after us, and they are approaching from the direction you were going.” He took her hand in his and moved to the left, thinking that she was a lot like him. “You know, if you always charge ahead, then you will often walk alone and into trouble.”
Sam writhed under the memory clawing through his mind. The whip landed, slashing pain down his back, across his chest, and over his thighs. The panic inside him grew with every lash, because he knew what was coming next. He tasted his blood and sweat. He felt the jungle heat and smelled the stench of dirt and death. He heard Vasquez’s amused laughter, and his heart pounded to the bursting point, knowing where the whip would land next. The lash cut into his groin, into his genitals, just enough to make him scream and jerk wildly at the end of the rope. Again and again the agony came—
“Sam! Stop! You canna do this!”
Cold water hit his face, going up his nose and shocking him. He choked and sat up, gasping for air. He was back in the utility closet. The light was now on, and Emerald was standing next to him with a metal bucket in her hand. She looked horrified and in agony, too. At least he hadn’t hurt her in his delirium.
“Sam,” she said, dropping the bucket and falling to her knees beside him. Her voice and eyes were full of pity as she reached for him.
He cringed. Dear God! What had he said? He must have communicated what had happened to him in some way, because she looked as if she knew.
“Get out,” he gasped. He jerked away from her. “Don’t touch me, ever.”
“Sam. You canna push me away. What happened to you—”
“Is my business. Now get the hell away from me.” He rolled to his feet. Every muscle he had ached. Water dripped down his sweat-drenched clothes, and his pulse was still racing out of control. Oh, God. She did know. He couldn’t take her pity.
She stood up. “I canna leave you—”
Her BlackBerry chimed.
“You’re not wanted. Period. Now leave and go answer your damn slave masters.”
“At least they’re smart enough to accept help and aren’t prisoners of their problems,” she said opening the door. “Doona think that this is over, Sam, because it isn’t.” She
slammed the door, and he ran his hands through his hair, pulling so hard on the ends that his scalp hurt.
It was over. And he was damn glad he’d never really started with her.
Coward, his mind shouted.
He couldn’t go back to his desk and sit in the same room as Emerald. He had a change of clothes in the car, and he headed that way. He’d grab a three-minute shower and then figure out what to do. But no amount of bravado or soap and water washed away his cowardice.
Vasquez’s tortures rarely killed a man, just made him want death more than anything else. Sam had prayed for death, especially after the others had died. One by one Vasquez had tortured them beyond their ability to survive. Not that Vasquez had killed them. They’d killed themselves. But Sam hadn’t been able to do it.
The road couldn’t be much farther, Annette thought. As soon as she saw her BMW, she was going to kiss its tailpipe. She was wet, chilled, miserable, and dog tired. The journey through the foggy woods had worn her to a thread. Pathos’s scrape down her back burned, and they’d been walking seemingly forever, twisting in and out through the trees, stepping over downed logs, moving more silently than she thought possible. He’d told her to follow his every step, and she’d done that, all the while keeping close tabs on the flash drive hanging around her neck, worrying about the guards after them, about Aragon’s injuries. She felt as if she would explode at any second.
“We can talk now,” Aragon said. “The guards have headed off in the wrong direction.”
“How do you know that?” she whispered. “And how do you know there are only two of them?”
“I can hear anything that moves or breathes for a good distance. And depending exactly how close they are, I can smell them as well. That helps in discerning who I’m hearing.”
“Oh,” she said, wincing at how inane her response sounded, but her mind was trying to grasp all the implications of what he said. She already knew he could see in the dark.
“What oath and to whom?” he demanded suddenly, as if he too were sitting on the edge of an explosion. “I must know the source of this magic that gives you control of my being.”
“What?” she said, stumbling on one of the roots riddling the forest floor.
He caught her arm and drew her closer to his side as he brought them to a pause. The heated firmness of his grip made her tingle from her toes up, erasing the discomfort of the rain. “You said you’d taken an oath in regard to me. To whom?”
She shook her head, wondering what in the world he could possibly be talking about. “I don’t—”
“To save me,” he clarified.
“You’re talking about the Hippocratic oath.” She smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you. Upon graduating, all doctors take an oath to preserve the sanctity of life, alleviate suffering, and follow a moral and ethical code in the practice of medicine. So it wasn’t an oath I took specific to you, but one that states what I will do to help everyone.”
“Like a warrior,” he said after a long moment. “All warriors take an oath to protect that which they must.”
She bit her lip, deciding to plunge ahead into what she’d heard him say to Pathos. “But that’s not why you are here?”
“No. I’m here for a different reason.”
“To kill Pathos?”
“Yes.” He set his hands on her shoulders, urging her to meet his gaze. “What is he to you? How do you know him? Why were you with him?”
“I told you before, I—”
He suddenly pressed his fingers to her lips and shook his head, telling her to be quiet. Then he turned, thrusting her behind him. Her unbound breasts made contact with heated muscle, instantly flaring her senses into alert. Never in her life had her breasts been so sensitive, so aching for touch. She almost pressed harder against his back rather than pulling back.
Was there someone close by?
After a moment, he turned to her and mimed for her to stay put, then disappeared into the night. She didn’t like it. If anything, he should be waiting while she searched the area. He was the one who’d been shot. He was the one bleeding.
The sound of a painful grunt followed by several thuds were more than she could ignore, and she hurried through the woods at a run. She burst from the cover of the bushes to find herself at the side of the road. Her car sat there in the mists, and she could hear the sound of Sam’s voice. “Nick? Give me a damn answer now, or I’m calling out the troops.”
Heart thudding with dread, Annette ran to where Aragon stood over a body on the ground. It was Nick Sinclair, one of Twilight’s deputies—she considered him the best of the lot. He did double duty for the county by flying the LifeFlight helicopter when needed. He’d saved one of her patients by getting the elderly man to the hospital in time.
“Oh, God! Did you kill him?” She rushed over, picking up the cell phone lying next to Nick on the ground with one hand as she checked Nick’s pulse with the other.
“Sam!” she said into the receiver as the blessed beat of Nick’s heartbeat rushed across her fingertips.
The pregnant pause gave way to a string of blistering curses that ended in, “Put Nick on now, Annette! You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Reckless conduct and endangering others. What in the hell are you doing there?”
“What did you do to him?” she asked Aragon, craning her neck back to see his face, but the deep shadows of the night made it impossible.
“He but sleeps for a time,” Aragon said. “Do you know this man?”
“Yes, he’s one of the good guys. Or at least I think he is.” What was he doing here, near her car at Sno-Med at this time of the night? Surely he wasn’t her Mr. X.
“Where’s Nick, Annette?” the sheriff demanded very loudly.
“He’s busy,” Annette shouted back. This was all she needed now. She had an injured werewolf at her side, not to mention a pissed-off one after her ass, along with his “glowing fiend.” Now she’d added an unconscious deputy and an irate sheriff with his badge in a wad. “Everything is fine. We’ll call you when we get to the clinic,” she told him, and calmly hung up. It started to rain, hard.
The night just could not get any worse. Could it?
Chapter Six
W ORSE CAME IN the form of Deputy Nick Sinclair waking up a few minutes after they’d handcuffed him to the door in the back seat of her car. She’d had no choice but to assure he couldn’t do anything to harm Aragon, and she didn’t have time for any complications Nick might cause. She needed to get to the clinic to tend to Aragon’s bullet wound. His injury wasn’t life-threatening, but any wound that bled so much wasn’t good.
Sam kept calling Nick’s cell phone. It was in the car somewhere—she’d tossed it in before they’d cuffed Nick inside. At least it was set to its lowest ring.
“By Logos! What is that constant noise?” Aragon asked, covering his ears.
Nick gave Aragon his uncensored version of what it was.
“It’s Nick’s cell phone, and it’s probably Sam calling. If you can find it, we can turn it off,” she told Aragon. He must have very sensitive hearing.
“It comes from here.” Aragon reached down between the seats and pulled up the cell. He looked at it as if it were the creature from the Black Lagoon. “What do the lit numbers mean?”
“What are they?” Annette asked. “That’s Sam’s number,” she told Aragon after he read the number off to her. “He is Twilight’s sheriff. Nick’s boss. If you want to talk to him, you call that number, and he will answer.”
“Do all mortals have a number that you can speak to them at?”
“Yes, usually.” She explained to Aragon how the phone worked and how he could turn it off. He listened intently and shut the phone down.
Nick asked very colorfully if Aragon was for real.
The deputy was her biggest problem at the moment. His choice of expletives was fast changing her good-guy opinion of him. Not that she could blame him that much, g
iven that she’d just more or less kidnapped him with the help of a huge, naked stranger. The man probably didn’t believe that they were heading to the clinic and that Sam would meet them there.
“What does that mean?” Aragon finally demanded when Nick said the word several times in succession just to blow off more steam. “It is not a word I remember from my studies of mortal language.”
Nick laughed. “Good try, but I’m not buying your ET crap.”
“ET what?” Aragon asked.
“Crap!” Nick shouted.
“If you don’t shut up, Nick,” Annette said, “I’m going to have him shut you up, and you’ll be out even longer than before.”
Aragon asked what the expletive meant again. Every second of her explanation, Annette kept telling herself that this wasn’t happening. She was not explaining an overused euphemism for sex to a werewolf from another dimension. Surely she’d fallen asleep in the hot bath she’d made for herself hours ago, and this whole thing was a nightmare.
Nick expounded upon her definitions as only a guy could, making it all too real.
“So it’s a word used to describe mortal mating,” Aragon said after a moment. He then gave Nick a puzzled look. “How does a phone or a car or handcuffs mate as mortals do?” Aragon said, listing some of the things Nick had used the euphemism for sex with.
“What loony bin did you dig him out of?” Nick asked, rattling the handcuffs again. “Listen. If this has anything to do with me and your sister, you have to believe me, it was just one date. No big deal.”
Annette slammed on her brakes in the middle of the street, throwing everyone forward. Luckily the rural road running between Twilight and Arcadia was deserted at one in the morning, and nobody plowed into her rear. Nick had been out with her sister?
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