Warrior Untamed

by Shannon Curtis

  “No, he isn’t, and he won’t, not if I’ve got anything to do with it.” She took the basket from Lexi and opened it up. Inside were her essentials—her emergency magic kit. This wasn’t the first time an injured person was brought to her. “Round up as many candles as you can and bring them here. You’ll find them everywhere throughout the apartment.”

  Elements helped her focus her magic, and as she wasn’t near a watercourse or a garden, and she didn’t want to subject Lance to a gale, not in his state, then fire was her go-to element.

  She worked quietly, cutting Lance’s bloodstained clothing away from his body, and Lexi helped her clean him up. She frowned. His cuts weren’t healing. As a dhampir, Lance had the ability to heal fast—which wasn’t happening.

  “Help me place the candles around him,” she told Lexi. Using the furniture setup of the room, she and Lexi placed the candles on the surfaces so that they formed a rough circle around the bed. With a flick of her fingers, all the wicks of the candles lit up, and Lexi turned off the overhead light so that candlelight was the only illumination within the room.

  “Sit over there,” Melissa instructed, pointing to the chair in the corner, and Lexi hurried over, her face pale and anxious as she watched her brother on the bed. Melissa climbed up near the head of the bed, gently lifting Lance’s limp head and resting it on her knees. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, calming her heart, evening out her breathing and summoning her powers. Placing her fingers at Lance’s temples, she let her magic flow over him.

  She frowned. She could sense something inside him, something small, but sharp, with a shadow that was slowly spreading. Whatever it was, it wasn’t letting him heal. She tried to battle it, tried to conquer it, then tried to confine it, but she could sense it diffusing through his system.

  She didn’t know how long they remained like that—Lexi sitting quietly on her chair in the corner, Lance breathing harshly into the silence and Melissa holding on to her friend, trying desperately to pull him back from the brink of death. She poured her own strength, her essence, into helping him. It slowed down the creeping shadow, but it didn’t stop it. This was some sort of natural poison that she couldn’t halt. She focused on that small, sharp object, the source of the toxin. It was so close to his heart. She tried to draw it out of him, using her magic like a magnet, but Lance moaned softly with pain. Melissa felt the raw edge of agony stiffen his muscles. She was only hurting him further.

  She sagged back against the head of the bed and opened her eyes. The room was almost dark. She’d burned through many of the candles, and only a couple still flickered with light. Her legs felt numb. She must have been sitting there for hours. Lexi was staring at her, her expression of anxiety and hope like a suffocating weight on Melissa’s chest.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered brokenly, shame and desolation washing over her as she stared at her friend’s sister. “It’s not—it’s not responding to my magic.” Admitting that she couldn’t help her friend felt like a betrayal, an abandonment. “He needs medical help.”

  Lexi stared down at her brother in confusion. “What?”

  “He’s a dhampir, Lexi. In some ways, he’s the strongest being I know. In this, though, he is as weak and vulnerable as the rest of us humans. He’s got a bullet fragment inside him, and I can’t get it out.”

  “No.” Lexi shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she rose from her chair. “There has to be something you can do, Mel. Please. Whatever it is—I’ll pay.”

  Briefly, anger flared within her at the suggestion she would receive payment for helping a friend, but she quashed that anger. Lexi loved her brother and was desperate. She’d do anything to save him, and Melissa could relate to that—she’d do anything to save her own brother as well as her close friend. No, it was better to save her anger for those responsible for this—whoever shot Lance. But they weren’t going to be able to wreak any vengeance if they didn’t know who pulled the trigger, and in order for that to happen, Lance must survive. Only, she couldn’t help him.

  Her gaze drifted down to the man lying on the bed, his features so still. She knew someone who could, though, and the very thought of asking him for help burned like acid in her stomach. The thought, though, that Lance would die was even worse.

  Melissa dredged up her remaining stores of magic. The work she’d already done on Lance had been draining. She pressed gently against his temple and whispered a dormancy spell. It wasn’t quite as effective as a suspension spell, but putting the half-human Lance into a suspended state would halt his heartbeat, and a continuance spell may not work without that vital pulse. A dormancy spell allowed his body and mind to go into a state of hibernation, still sustaining life, but limiting the spread of that toxin, whatever it was.

  “I, uh, I need to step out,” she said, her voice husky with strain. She blinked. Her vision was blurry and gray. Dormancy spells weren’t easy, and they took a toll. “Stay with him. Talk to him, Lexi. I’ve put him in a coma, to stop...it.” Death. She’d put him in a coma to stop death. Her mother would freak if she found her playing with the natural order of things. Magic could be used, but once you used it against nature’s course there were consequences. Melissa mentally defended herself against the imaginary conversation with her Coven Elder. She’d delayed death, not contravened it.

  She knew one person, though, who could prevent it—and he was currently shivering in a cell in her basement.

  With each step she took down to his prison, she argued with herself. Was there another option? Could anyone else help? What about Dave? No. He’d encounter the same issue she did. Lance needed medical help, not magical. How long could she keep Lance dormant? Perhaps she could wait just a little longer, until someone more suitable could be reached? The stairs leading from her store down to her apothecary spun for a moment, and she clutched the wall for support until her vision settled and she could enter her secret store.

  A dormancy spell worked differently to most. For it to continue its effect, it had to siphon energy from her own reserves, and she’d drained most in her efforts to heal Lance and to halt the toxin. It was almost too much effort to despell the wards on the mural door. She reached for the torch and carefully made her way down the steep stairs, clinging to the railing as she went.

  She halted before the dark door and took a deep breath, composing her features. She hated this. Hated it. She swung open the door and the torch cut a swathe of light through the darkness.

  Her prisoner sat on the floor, his back to the wall, and he lifted his head. His lips curled in a wicked smile.

  “Hello, Red. Come to make a deal with the devil?”

  Chapter 6

  Hunter eyed the witch, his eyebrows dipping slightly. She looked like hell. He saw the blood on her shirt, saw her sway, and he rose to his feet. He had one only cuff that was anchored, but if she collapsed, he wouldn’t be able to reach her. “Are you okay?” He gestured to her shirt. He didn’t know who was more surprised by his concern, the witch or him.

  The witch looked down at herself. “Uh, yeah, I’m—I’m—it’s not mine.” Her voice was huskier than usual, a slight rasp that was like velvet against skin.

  She stepped inside the room and rubbed absently at her forehead. He masked his concern with expectation. He’d seen her angry, mildly curious, angry, exasperated, angry, wary, more angry...he’d never seen her so...flustered. Yeah, flustered.

  She put her hands on her hips and looked down at her boots—those same killer heels—then looked up at him. “I need your help.”

  His eyebrows rose. Okay. That was unexpected. She looked so damn uncomfortable, he almost laughed, yet her obvious exhaustion, the blood...she wasn’t here to ask him to stop dreamwalking, as he’d thought, as he’d hoped. His intention had been to wear her out so that she would be begging him to leave. “What kind of help?” he inquired smoothly.


  She moved her arms, halted, then folded them against her body, as though unsure what to do with her limbs. “I, uh, I need a doctor.”

  His heart thudded in his chest, and he stepped closer. “Why? What’s wrong with you?” He looked her up and down. She was a mess. Her hair was tangled, and dark shadows rested beneath her eyes. Her lips were tightly pursed, and her shirt...all that blood. He wanted to check her, make sure she really was all right. The instinct surprised him. He told himself it was his medical training taking over...although he wasn’t really the nurturing type.

  “Uh, not for me. For a friend. I need your help for a friend.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You have a friend?” Melissa Carter, bitchy witch, had a friend. He’d have to see it to believe it. “You?”

  She frowned. “Yes, me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have a friend, and he needs help.”

  He. Her male friend needed help. His concern shrank, swallowed by a darker emotion. He shrugged. “Then take him to a hospital.”

  “There’s no time, and the transfer could kill him,” she said quietly, at last meeting his gaze directly.

  His eyes narrowed. “So...you need me.” He leaned back against the wall. Hmm. She was in a position of demand, and he was in a position of supply. He liked where this conversation was going. “What exactly do you need from me?”

  “You have a reputation for being good at what you do,” she said brusquely, although her tone suggested she found it hard to believe. “I want you to fix him. Heal my friend.”

  “And what do I get in return?” he asked her, a smile teasing at his lips. She was direct. He’d give her that.

  “What do you want?” she asked, shrugging.

  He blinked. She was asking him to name his price? He tilted his head. “This friend must mean a lot to you.” She struck him as being so prickly, so quick-tempered, it was fascinating to see this side of her, this loyal, protective side.

  She tilted her head back, and he watched her red hair slide over her shoulder. “I’m too tired for games, Hunter. What do you want in return for healing my friend?”

  Hunter. Not pyro jerk or any of the other monikers she’d given him. It was the first time she’d used his name. Things were serious. He rubbed his chin, the remaining chain clinking with his movements. “I want you to release me,” he said simply.

  Those green eyes flared with anger, and he met her gaze intently. Did she care more for this friend, or for her own revenge? Her lips tightened, then she dipped her head. Once.

  “Fine. You heal my friend, and you can walk away.”

  “And then you and I are done, right? No more snakes or snow or spiders?”

  She nodded. “No more snakes or snow or spiders.”

  His eyes narrowed. Yeah, she wasn’t the first witch he’d ever dealt with. “Or any other form of revenge or retribution from you for what I did. It was wrong, I’m sorry, we’re moving on.”

  Her pouty lips tightened even further, and he saw the anger, the reluctance to let go of her punishment. She nodded. “You do this, and we’re done. Moving on.”

  It was so obvious she hated this whole discussion. His curiosity deepened. Who was this friend, and why was he so damn important to this witch? Not that he cared, it would just be nice to know what reasoning had bought his freedom. He held up the chained cuff.

  “Release me,” he said softly.

  She stepped closer, and her eyes narrowed. “The deal is you heal him. If he dies, or if you kill him—”

  “I’m not in the habit of killing folks,” he interrupted in exasperation.

  “You tried to kill me,” she pointed out, and he grimaced.

  “Okay, so just that one time...”

  “You’ve attacked me five times.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “You don’t get to leave until my friend is well,” she snapped. “If he dies, you die.”

  He stared at her for a moment, reading in her eyes the worry she tried to hide. He tried to think of someone who would do this for him, sacrifice their own vengeance for his well-being. Sadly, no name came to mind. “If he has a pulse, he’ll live.” His reputation was understated. He wasn’t just good, he was the best.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You sound cocky.”

  “Oh, you have no idea. Now, if you want me to save your friend, I suggest we stop flirting and you release me,” he said, taking extra care to pronounce his last two words clearly as he jangled the chain.

  She raised a finger, then paused. “If you try to attack me, or harm me or my friends, whatever you try to do will be visited a hundredfold back on you.”

  “You have my word as a gentleman,” he promised, bowing. He kept the triumph out of his voice, his expression. He was getting the hell out of here.

  “You’re not a gentleman.”

  He raised his hand, parting his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “That’s not a scout’s—”

  “I promise,” he growled, then sighed. He dipped his head to meet her gaze directly. “I promise to heal your friend,” he told her, all attempts at levity gone. “You’ll have to trust me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I am a doctor, after all.”

  Her gaze flickered away, and it was so clear she didn’t trust him. He straightened. He guessed he deserved that. “What else can you do for your friend?” He knew already she couldn’t do anything else, because sure as hell, he would have been her last resort.

  She blinked and looked away. Were those—were those tears? She really was worried about this guy. This time it was Hunter who looked away, unprepared for the spark of envy for a dying man.

  “Do we have a deal?” he asked roughly. “I don’t hurt you, you don’t hurt me, your friend lives and we go our separate ways?”

  She nodded. “We have a deal.”

  “For this to work, you’ll need to do as I say. You’ll need to be my—nurse.” He smiled. “See, we get to play doctors and nurses.”

  The witch didn’t crack a smile. At all. He needed her promise, though. He got the impression that promises were important to her. “Your word—I don’t want to argue over treatment, I just need you to do as I say.”

  Her lips tightened. “Fine. With regard to Lance, I’ll do as you say.”

  He didn’t miss the qualification but didn’t comment. He jangled the cuff, eyeing her suggestively. She waved her hand casually and the cuffs around his wrists snapped open and fell to the floor. She turned and led the way to the door.

  He nodded as he rubbed his wrists. “Neat trick.”

  She didn’t look over her shoulder. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  * * *

  Melissa walked into her apartment, conscious of the man who followed behind her. Her shoulders were tense and she occasionally glanced over her shoulder warily. This man had tried to kill her, and now she was letting him into her home, her haven.

  God, what the hell was she thinking? But what choice did she have? She’d understated Hunter Armstrong’s reputation. No, wait, he was Hunter Galen now. She’d been hiding in the next room when he’d renounced his father’s name. Hunter wasn’t renowned simply for being adequate, or even good at his job. He was widely reputed to be the best at his job. Surgeon. General practitioner. Specialist. If anyone was to work on Lance, she’d want him to be the best.

  She’d also want him not to have homicidal tendencies.

  She led him into the spare bedroom, and Lexi looked up from the bed. She rose to her feet, frowning. “Who’s this?”

  “A friend.”

  “A doctor.” Melissa eyed him. They’d responded simultaneously, and he’d called himself a friend. Friend? Good grief. If he thought this was friendship, she’d hate to see the man’s enemies.

  No, wait,
they were probably all ashes, somewhere.

  “This is Hunter Galen. Hunter, this is Lexi, and that’s her brother, Lance,” she said, indicating the bed.

  Lance’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and sweat gave a sheen to his body in the muted candlelight. Gauze and bandages covered his chest, and although she’d seen Lance’s injuries, and had treated his wounds as best she could, the sight of his damaged body was still a shock. She glanced away. Only three candles remained burning, the rest had long since blown out or burned out.

  Hunter stepped closer, his bulk casting a shadow over Lance’s body. Hunter touched his patient’s forehead, then raised the man’s eyelids. He placed his fingers at the side of Lance’s neck, as though taking a pulse, and a faint frown marred his brow.

  “What is it?” Melissa whispered.

  “Talk to me. Tell me what happened,” he commanded.

  Melissa drew in a breath. “I don’t know.” She glanced over to Lexi, who shrugged, her eyes wide. “This is how he was found. I asked him what had happened, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Oh, so you two are close, huh?” Hunter commented dryly.

  “He doesn’t want me to go after who did this,” Melissa whispered, ensuring Lexi didn’t hear her. Hunter’s gaze met hers briefly, then flicked over to Lexi and then back to his patient.

  “He’s been cut. Doesn’t look like claws, though. And he’s been shot.”

  Hunter peeled the gauze off Lance’s chest and grimaced. “Yikes. That’s nasty.”

  “There’s—there’s something near his heart,” Melissa told him, pointing to the bullet wound high on Lance’s chest. “A fragment, maybe.”

  Hunter leaned down to peer closely, not at all bothered by the blood. “Uh-huh.”

  “But you can heal him, right?” Melissa stepped up to stand beside him. She’d meant it to sound like an order, not a plea. It was such a contrast, her friend, pale and sickly on the bed, and the light warrior, so damn vital and strong, next to her. Hunter flicked a quick glance toward her, and his eyes darkened as he noted the short distance between them. He finally nodded.