Enthrall Me (Underbelly Chronicles Book 4)

by Tamara Hogan

  Everything in his body clenched up tight—jaw, diaphragm, fists—but he shoved back the rage, swallowed the helplessness down. Pulled chilly professionalism around him like a protective cape.

  “I’ll get your bag from upstairs.” Rafe was already half out the door.

  There wasn’t much in the bag that wasn’t available here in the treatment room, but having it here wouldn’t hurt. As soon as he was certain Tia was stable, they were high-tailing it to Memorial. Thankfully, the door alarm went silent.

  “Need me here?” Chico asked, hovering outside the treatment room door. “I can process the scene, pull the security tapes from the parking lot.”

  Jack gave a curt nod. “Go ahead.”

  Wyland stared at the smear of red blood on Jack’s white dress shirt. “Do you have a phone to assist with evidence collection?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” Jack pulled it from his pants pocket.

  Wyland fumbled with his own phone, flipped on the voice recorder, and set it on the counter. His physical exam would be taken into evidence, as well. He went to the sink and washed his hands. “Speaking of security cameras…how could someone lying unconscious in the parking lot in broad daylight possibly escape someone’s notice?”

  Jack looked grim. “We’ll find out.”

  “Damn right you will.” He turned toward his patient, toward all the blood. The lilac perfume she’d applied last night was barely noticeable anymore, but the scent of VampScreen lingered, thank the universe. Pulling the telescoping examination lamp closer, he turned it on, gloved up, and did a thorough exam, narrating for the record. No apparent spinal injury. Hematoma on the back of her skull, probably from hitting the pavement. The nasal fracture was a simple break, with no significant deformity, but the swelling and bruising would get worse before it got better. A dozen or so stitches should be sufficient to close the gash on her temple. Jack had accurately pegged the burns—mainly first degree, with some blistering along her left ear, neck, and collarbone. They’d be painful, but they’d heal. Reaching for a small penlight, he carefully lifted her swollen eyelid, shining the light at her pupil before flicking it away. “Normal contraction,” he noted.

  As he checked the other eye, she tensed, then jerked her head away. “Stop that.”

  Relief coursed through him. She was conscious again—and if she could move her neck like that, it probably didn’t hurt very much. “Can you hear me?”

  “Of course I can hear you. You’re standing right next to me.” She pushed his arm away. “Get that light out of my eyes, damn it.”

  “Let me finish examining you.”

  “My head hurts.” Wincing, she reached for her nose. “Where are we? What happened?”

  “We’re in the treatment room at Sebastiani Security,” Jack said. “What do you remember?”

  She shoved up onto her elbows. “That little prick! Did he get my camera?”

  “What little prick?” Jack asked.

  His blood pressure started to climb, like the rollercoaster he’d seen at the fair.

  “I went out to my car to get my camera. When I got there, I found this…this…masked dude lying across my front seat. He’d broken my passenger side window, and was taking my camera. We…scuffled.”

  “You risked your safety for a bloody camera?” he snapped.

  “It’s a very nice camera. And I wanted the pictures I had on the disk.” She looked at Jack. “Did he get it?”

  “No,” Jack said. “I found it on the pavement. I put it in the back seat.”

  “I hope it didn’t break,” she fretted.

  “We’ll check.”

  The rollercoaster crested. Started barreling down. “Fuck the bloody camera! Tia, you could have burned to death!”

  She recoiled.

  “Wyland.” Bailey jerked him away from the exam table and into the farthest corner. “You need to calm down and let Jack do his job,”

  He hissed at her—a full-on vampire hiss, with fangs flashing. “When is he going to start doing it?”

  “She’s hurt, she’s scared. She’s the victim, and right now, he’s talking about what she wants to talk about.” She took both gloved hands and squeezed them. “Give him time. Now, settle down. Breathe with me.”

  He obeyed, filling his lungs with air. In and out. One more time. And another. When his fangs retracted, Bailey released her death grip on his hands. Jack was doing his job, comforting an assault victim and obtaining important information at the same time.

  Now he had to do his.

  Over on the table, Tia was describing what happened. “We fought for the camera, pulling the strap back and forth between us. The bandanna covering his face started to slip. When I made a grab for it, he threw up his arm and hit my nose with his elbow.”

  Of course she’d grabbed for the bandanna.

  “It hurt like hell. I remember falling back, but—” she shrugged “—nothing after that.”

  “There’s a smear of blood along the top edge of your driver’s door,” Jack told her. “I think you hit your temple coming down.”

  “I don’t remember anything after that.” She shot him a sullen glance. “Nothing until Wyland’s damn flashlight.”

  As Jack took pictures of Tia’s injuries, Wyland gathered the equipment he’d need to clean and stitch her wound. Though the pre-assembled suture packs contained the basics, he set out extra sterile water, gauze pads, a small-gauge syringe and some Lidocaine. No matter how careful he was, the sutures would probably leave a scar.

  “Are you okay staying here?” Jack asked Bailey. “I’d like to check in with Chico.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Bailey chatted with Tia, keeping her occupied while he stripped off his soiled gloves, washed and dried his hands, then gloved up again. As he approached the examining table, Tia stared at the tray he carried. “Bailey just told me there’s no blood here in the building.”

  “No.”

  “How about painkillers?” she asked hopefully.

  He gestured to the Lidocaine. “You won’t feel a thing.” When he unwrapped the syringe, she went pale. Shit. “Tia, are you afraid of needles?”

  “I wouldn’t say afraid. Exactly.” Squaring her shoulders, she gave him a wobbly, determined smile. “I’ve been hurt worse than this playing hockey.”

  Where? If she had a single suture mark on her body, he hadn’t found it yet. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, patting him on the arm. “You’re the most experienced doctor on the planet.”

  Who was she trying to reassure, him or herself? Bloody hell. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

  “Okay,” she squeaked through chattering teeth.

  He gently wiped the blood from her face, but her breathing changed as he approached the wound. Too fast, too shallow. She was dangerously pale, and using energy she couldn’t spare to block her thoughts. “We’re going to Memorial.” If he could get some blood into her first, she’d feel less anxious, and start healing more quickly. She didn’t have any symptoms of a brain bleed, but it wouldn’t hurt to get a head CT just to make sure. He removed his gloves and grabbed his phone. If he called ahead, a machine would be available as soon as they arrived.

  Less than two minutes later, he grimly hung up. The ER was treating four patients right now, two of them vampires in critical condition. “I’ll have to treat you here,” he said.

  “It’s okay, Wyland.”

  The trust in her eyes just gutted him, slicing him open and spilling his entrails onto the ground. He was already dreading causing her a moment’s more pain, but it couldn’t be helped—

  Yes, it could.

  He had everything he needed, right here.

  Time slowed as he removed his watch. He cradled her cheek with his right hand, and lifted his bare left wrist to her mouth.

  She jerked her head back. “No.”

  “Drink.”

  “No. You don’t want this.” She looked at Bailey, still standing next t
o the wall. “You’ve got some drugs here, right? Some Valium or Xanax?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  Damn it, he should have known she’d refuse. She’d noticed his reluctance to share his blood when they’d slept together. She’d agreed with his reasons.

  But she’d heal more quickly if she drank his blood. And…everything had changed. “Tia. Tia, look at me.”

  The trust in her eyes…

  He shoved the guilt aside, and gave her a mental push. Drink. Drink from me.

  Her brow wrinkled. There was a pause, as if she was wondering whether to obey the voice slithering into her head. “Ow,” she said.

  “You have a concussion.” He gave her a harder push: Damn it, drink.

  She obeyed, plunging her tiny, sharp fangs into his wrist. Fleeting pain lanced through him, quickly becoming pleasure as she suckled his lifeblood with strong, rhythmic draws. He drowned in sensation as she drank, each swallow pulling them closer, until… There. There it was, that delicate, mental tendril.

  So…close…

  He reached for it. Made the connection. Felt the indescribable mental click as their neural pathways joined.

  Wyland, damn you…

  Sleep.

  She fought him, but her eyes finally closed. Damn it…

  He waited several seconds, then lifted her eyelid to make sure she was out.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” Bailey warned.

  “I know.” No doubt they’d have words when Tia woke up. No doubt he’d have second, third, and fourth thoughts about what he’d just done, and why. Pulling the lamp closer, he stroked her hair out of the way, thoroughly irrigated the wound, and reached for the syringe.

  But right now, he had work to do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Voices, nearby.

  Tia tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn’t obey. Were they sealed with Super Glue?

  “Wyland, let her sleep. Go to work.” Thane sounded exasperated. “You’ve examined her over and over again, all through the day. She has a mild concussion. No facial fractures other than the nose. Her stitches are fine. It’s okay to go to work.”

  “That bump on the head worries me,” Wyland said. “I’d like to get a head CT, to rule out—”

  “Wyland, you’re the most experienced doctor on the planet. You’ve examined her with eyes and hands. If you saw someone with Tia’s injuries on the battlefield, you’d patch them up and send them back to the front line.”

  Seriously? Right now, she doubted whether she could stand upright without help.

  “Drink some blood and go to work,” Thane urged. “Or better yet, forget about work and get some sleep yourself.”

  How long had she been asleep, anyway? She had a vague recollection of pain, of fitful sleep, of Wyland’s long, lean body spooning hers, warm and reassuring. Of his wrist, pressed against her lips. Of him murmuring, “Drink from me…” and the pain floating away.

  She could feel his powerful blood surging inside, helping her heal. Worry, exasperation, guilt, exhaustion…his thoughts were loud enough to raise the dead. If he had any reservations about allowing her to drink from him, she couldn’t tell. But why had he done it?

  “Wyland, if she needs more blood, I can feed—”

  “No.”

  Wyland’s response was polite enough, but his inner possessive snarl sent a shiver through her.

  “What I meant to say,” Thane said carefully, “is that there’s plenty of blood in the refrigerator. But I don’t think she needs any right now.”

  True. Right now, she felt like Violet Beauregarde, the girl who’d turned into a blueberry in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. One more sip of blood and she’d burst.

  Lifting a hand to her temple, she felt the gauze, the surgical tape, the slight soreness of the stitches underneath…stitches that she didn’t remember receiving, thank the sweet baby Cthulhu. But she remembered scuffling with the guy who’d tried to steal her camera. Remembered the bright spear of pain as his elbow hit her nose.

  I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds in the cage with Lukas.

  She tried to open her eyes again—tried and failed. Panic lashed like a whip. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  Wyland grabbed her hand. “They’re fine. They’re just a little swollen, and there’s some dried fluid… Thane, could you get a warm, damp cloth?”

  She heard water run from the left side of the room instead of the right. Why was she in the guest room instead of Wyland’s room?

  She tried to sit up, but the pain stabbing in her temple convinced her lying down was fine for the moment.

  “You took quite a knock, but you’re recovering well.” The mattress dipped as Wyland sat on the side of the bed. “Let me wipe your eyes.”

  The soft touch of the warm, damp cloth felt heavenly, but his voice was so remote. She tried to get a sense of his feelings, but he’d battened down the hatches.

  “You should be able to open them now.”

  She could, and she was definitely in the guest room. Thane took the washcloth and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her and Wyland alone. “Thanks,” she croaked. Her vocal cords felt rusty. “How long have I been sleeping?” The window shutters were closed; she couldn’t tell whether it was day or night.

  “You’ve been asleep for sixteen hours. It’s just after nine p.m.” He reached over to the bedside table and held a glass of water to her lips.

  Though she was perfectly capable of holding the glass herself, she allowed him to help. “Thank you.”

  “Any blurriness in your vision?”

  “No.”

  “I’d like to check your eyes.” Wyland was dressed for work, wearing one of his dark business suits, a white dress shirt, and a tie that swirled with all the colors of the ocean. His hair was lashed back. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes were distant, professional.

  Yes, the ice was back.

  Even after sharing his blood with her, after lying with her for hours, skin to skin, he was going to freeze her out? Two could play that game. Pushing past the headache, she lifted her mental shields. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

  “Yes.”

  Over by the bathroom, Thane shook his head.

  She pushed herself upright, sitting silently and stoically as Wyland did a quick exam, taking her pulse, gently checking her nose and the bump on the back of her head, and peeling the gauze pad off her temple to check her stitches. And then he pulled out that damned flashlight. He was quick about it, lifting her swollen eyelids just enough to flick the light into her eyes, then quickly away. “Your pupils are reacting normally,” he said. “Are you sure there’s no blurriness?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “What’s your deal?”

  “My deal?”

  Could his tone be any more condescending? “I get it—your drawbridge is up, none shall trespass. But you thralled me, dude. You thralled me into drinking from you, so don’t you dare treat me like I crept into your head like some thief in the night.”

  Wyland just looked at her, his expression stony.

  “Would you, for once, just speak your mind? I’d rather see you flip your shit than freeze me out.”

  His eyes sparked with…something. “You want me to yell at you?”

  “Yes! If you want to! Express some anger, some genuine emotion! Out here in the world, instead of hiding in your head.”

  His face remained placid, but his fangs shoved down. The ruthless display of self-control stroked something deep inside. “You want to know how I feel?” he whispered.

  His eyes…burned. The air felt unstable. The ground beneath their feet was about to crack.

  She held her breath…

  …but then the tension receded, as quickly as it had formed. The fire in his gaze? Doused. And she just didn’t have the strength to deal with him anymore. “You know what? Go. Just go to work.”

  “Tia—”

  “I want to take a bath.”

  “I’ll help you.�
�

  “No, you have things to do. Thane, can you help me?” Pushing the blankets aside, she swung her legs to the side of the bed and rose to her feet.

  She was naked.

  Wyland scrambled to cover her with the comforter, but she shoved him aside. “Like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

  “Well, Thane hasn’t.”

  “As if he cares.” If she didn’t get to the bathroom soon, she’d crumple to the floor. “Go, Wyland. Just…go.”

  Thane was suddenly there, wrapping her in the comforter. She sensed a heated debate taking place between the two men—a debate that, given Wyland’s annoyed sigh, Thane apparently won. “I’ve got her, Wyland,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

  Wyland reached for her, but the death glare she shot him stopped his hand dead. “We’ll speak later, Tia.” With an abrupt turn, he left.

  She sagged against Thane. “Why does he have to be such an epic butthole?”

  “Because he’s a man, and you scared him shitless.” Thane’s arm steadied her as they slowly walked to the bathroom. “Would you like to take a bath or a shower?”

  Finally, a man who asked her opinion. “I think a shower would be pushing it,” she admitted. “A bath sounds—whoa.” She caught a glimpse of herself in the medicine cabinet mirror. No wonder she hadn’t been able to open her eyes. If this was minor swelling, what did Wyland consider major? She gaped at the constellation of bruises smudging her face, at the black half-moons underneath each eye, and the blood obscuring the white of her left eye. “Holy hell.”

  “You’ll heal,” Thane said briskly, turning her away from the mirror. “Now, let’s run that bath.”

  Wrapped in the comforter, she sat on the closed toilet seat, watching Thane putter as water slowly filled the claw-footed soaking tub. Once it was full, he reached for her arm. “Ready?” He guided her to the tub, supporting her weight when it became clear her knees weren’t quite up to the job. She dropped the comforter and stepped in. Once she was seated, he left the bathroom.