by Layla Nash
Was I okay. My mouth opened, I wanted to answer him, but nothing came out. Nothing worked. I inhaled, gulped air, couldn't stop gulping until I choked. Hyperventilated. Stared at him, at Joey, at Edgar, wearing a long dark overcoat and talking into his phone as he approached me.
His voice was calm, soothing as if he spoke to a wild animal. "You're okay, Natalia. We're here. We've got him. Just slow down a little. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Breathe with me, okay? Just like me. In. And out."
He took exaggerated breaths, taking another step closer, and I flinched. Edgar stopped, retreated. Sat on his heels, making himself smaller, less threatening. Tears burned my eyes and I looked away. Great. Just fucking wonderful. Nothing even happened and I was ready to break. I was stronger this time. I wasn't a kid. Joey couldn't hurt me. I stood on my own.
And still I couldn't breathe, couldn't calm anything down as my heart raced and sweat broke out all over me and my stomach heaved at the smell of myself. I stank like bad fish and week-old garbage and old blood, and almost every part of me was sticky. The tears started to fall and I cursed more, turning away to hide my face and the rest of me. God damn it.
Six
Logan felt her scream even when he was still half a mile away. He abandoned the car and ran on foot, cutting through side streets until he burst into the alley behind the restaurant. His heart stopped.
Atticus had a man pinned against the brick wall of the alley, the human's face purple, but his attention was deeper in the alley, near the loading dock. Where Natalia cowered, on her feet but just barely, covered in mud and — blood. Blood.
His vision went red, and a roar tore from his throat in sheer rage. Atticus flinched, started, "Don't scare her —" but Logan couldn't hear.
Edgar lurched to his feet and blocked Logan from immediately grabbing the girl. His security chief walked him back a few steps, though Edgar's shoulders strained with the effort of controlling Logan with the lion in charge. Edgar talked fast and low, trying to get his attention. "She's terrified. Stop making so much fucking noise. We got here in time. He roughed her up a little but nothing — more. Atticus and I will take care of him as soon as we figure out whose money this is. You need to stop being the scary thing and start being the kind thing, do you hear me?"
Logan couldn't look away from her. Natalia trembled, her face bloodless under the smears of dirt. Her clothes were ruined, her phone in pieces, and she stared at him with the kind of vacant fear that nearly unmoored his heart. He'd heard the bastard confront her before her phone cut out, knew he hurt her, and Logan couldn't get there to save her. Couldn't help her when she needed him most.
Edgar smacked his cheek. "Are you listening to me?"
Logan blinked, looked at his brother, but couldn't keep the growl out of his voice. "Did you just hit me?"
"Listen to me." Edgar, expression all hard angles and fury, shook Logan enough to get his attention. "She was just assaulted. How you act now will remain between you for the rest of your lives, do you understand me? Be kind. Be quiet. Listen. No sudden moves, no loud noises, no grabbing. Ask permission, you shithead. You follow her goddamn lead, got it?"
Some of the blind rage faded, replaced with pain and anger. The cold kind of anger that meant if the man survived Atticus, he had an eternity of misery at Logan's hands to look forward to. But Logan took a deep breath. Natalia was more important. Far more important. She looked utterly miserable, still crying as she watched him and Edgar. Logan swallowed his fury and promised the lion they would get to check her over, make sure she was unharmed, but only if they could get close enough without scaring her. He managed to nod to Edgar. "I got it. Go help Atticus. Figure out who left the money and set up a meeting. Then deal with that manager. Do we have clean clothes in your car?"
"We have a go bag but the closest shower is your office." Edgar eased his grip on Logan's shoulders, gave him one more warning look before striding to help their younger brother.
Logan concentrated on being calm and still through every part of his mind and body as he approached Natalia. She still hyperventilated, on the verge of passing out, and Logan leaned inside the loading dock to bring out a stool. He got just close enough to slide it next to her, kept his voice quiet, gentle. "Sit down, baby."
She blinked, looking at the stool. Then at him. Then at the stool. She sat, though it was more like her legs simply gave way. Bloody tears rent the knees of her jeans, so maybe they had. Logan controlled the rage that threatened to spill over once more, and instead eased to sit on his heels. Kept his hands loose and ready, afraid fists would alarm her.
"Are you okay?"
Natalia blinked, blue eyes wide and locked on his face like a lifeline. She shook her head 'no.'
His lion paced, wanted to leap at her and cover her with his scent, mark her so no male would ever be stupid enough to touch her or threaten her or even look at her. He couldn't protect her if she didn't live in his house, if she wasn't with him or people he trusted. Logan struggled for control as his nails grew darker and longer, forcing back the shift. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head again and searched his face for something. He wondered if his features had begun to change, if his nose remained the correct shape and his eyes stayed brown instead of gold. He cleared his throat. "There are clean clothes and a shower at my office. It isn't far from here. You can get cleaned up, and we can talk about our plan. For the restaurant."
And that time he felt a little silly for adding the qualifier, remembering the way her voice tripped when she'd added the same thing only the night before. Logan took a deep breath, held his hand out a little when he was certain everything remained human. "Does that work? I'll bribe you with coffee."
She shivered, hands still shaking as she fumbled with her coat. "I have to make up the menus. They go to the p-printer at two, and —"
"It's okay," he said. Logan tried to smile instead of snarl, keeping his teeth covered just in case. "It's more than okay. Carter will call the printer and explain we had trouble with a delivery."
A weak laugh, but it was watery and streaked with tears. She started to stand and winced, the breath hissing in her teeth. Logan didn't dare move yet, kept his voice low. "Do you need help?"
"My knees," she said, a curse gritted between her teeth. Her eyes closed and her shoulders slumped.
"Let me help you," he murmured. He waited until she nodded to straighten, moving one deliberate step at a time until he stood next to her. And again his lion almost raged free. She smelled like fear and pain and another man, another man's blood and violence. Logan nearly chewed a hole in the inside of his cheek before he managed to say, "I'll carry you to the car, okay?"
He waited for her trembling nod before putting his arm around her shoulders, carefully lifting under her damaged knees to cradle her against his chest. She shivered and shook, and felt as delicate as a bird captured in his hands. He sighed. "I'm so sorry, Natalia. I should have gotten here faster."
She went rigid, and Logan cursed himself. No feeling sorry for himself, not when she was still a mess. He carried her to where Edgar's car idled on the street, doors still open from where his brothers rushed to her aid. He wanted to kiss her, to nuzzle in her hair until she carried his scent, but instead he said, "Front seat or back seat?"
"I want to go home," she whispered, arms tight around his neck. "Please."
"Of course, baby." He couldn't help it, pressed his lips to her temple, and ducked to slide her carefully into the backseat. She curled up immediately on her side, struggling to breathe, and he touched her ankle before closing the door. He closed the other doors and left the car running though he cranked up the heat. "I'll be right back."
She didn't move or speak, though the hitch in her breathing betrayed she cried. He gritted his teeth against the keening cry that wanted to tell the world his mate suffered, and faced Edgar. "I'm taking her to her apartment. I'll stay until she feels better."
"We'll deal with this." Edgar canted his head a
t the unconscious manager at Atticus's feet. "Call if you need me to send the doc over to her place. There are some painkillers in the go bag, but they're probably way too strong. Might need x-rays or an ultrasound or something."
"Have the doc on standby. I'll call this afternoon." He strode back to the car and got in, listening closely for Natalia's breathing. Less panicked, but still uneven and labored. Logan said quietly, "We'll be home soon, I promise."
It took forever to get to her place, though in reality it was only fifteen or twenty minutes. She lived in one of the up-and-coming neighborhoods, in an apartment building in the shittier side of up-and-coming. It worked in his favor, though, because no one looked their way or asked any questions as he carried Natalia and the enormous duffel bag of supplies up the stairs to her third-floor studio. He stood her up and she leaned into him as he unlocked the door, then helped her limp inside. She headed straight for the bathroom without a word, and Logan locked the door behind him as he studied the apartment. The first thing he would do would be get better locks, deadbolts, and chains on the door. Well, the first and only thing he wanted was Natalia living in his house, where he knew she would be safe. If that didn't happen immediately, a solid door and strong locks — preferably in a new building with a concierge, security guard, and private garage — were a place to start.
No real decoration or personality marked the apartment as Natalia's, despite her scent lingering in every room. The furniture was battered but comfortable and clean, the television small and dusty. Every kitchen gadget imaginable cluttered the counters around the stove. Logan glanced into her fridge, then filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove. Before he could turn on the burner, though, a thump from the bathroom distracted him. He went immediately to the door, hands braced on the frame as he leaned his forehead against the smooth wood. "Natalia? Are you okay?"
Only running water from the shower answered him.
Logan cleared his throat, shifting his feet and fighting the urge to break down the door. "Baby, are you okay? Do you need something?"
When her uneven breathing reached him through the sound of the water, he tried the doorknob. It opened, the door swinging in. She stood in the shower, fully clothed and shivering, and looked at him. Logan moved slowly to fuss with the water. "That water's freezing, Natalia."
It warmed against his arm as he steadied her, the chef still wobbly on her bruised legs. He didn't want to strip her down, but the sight of the ruined and bloody clothes made his lion roar and stalk. Logan took a deep breath and attempted a smile for her. "I'll get you some pajamas, okay? Take those dirty clothes off and I'll throw them out, and then you can finish washing your hair. Do you want some tea?"
She just looked at him, unblinking. Logan swallowed his impatience, his need to fix her right away, and concentrated on Edgar's words: what happened between them now would stay between them for the rest of their lives. He had to be careful. He had to be gentle. Those were not easy things for a lion.
Seven
My knees screamed as I ran to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just before I threw up coffee and scrambled eggs. I managed to brush my teeth, not looking in the mirror, and turned on the shower. My brain and body worked at odds — my thoughts slow and sluggish but every movement of my limbs too quick, too jerky. Uneven.
Everything felt wrong. I stepped into the shower and stood under the water, biting back a cry as the freezing stream hit the back of my head. I had to get the feel of him off me. Had to scrub away his fingerprints. I bumped the precariously-balanced shampoo bottle on the shelf, and it bounced off my foot and the tub. I put my hands over my face, and froze as a voice, warm and smooth as honey, cut through the door and the running water.
"Natalia? Are you okay?"
My heart jumped to my throat. Logan. I'd almost forgotten he was there. In my apartment. My crappy, messy apartment. My toes curled in the freezing water and I couldn't answer, teeth chattering together as I stared at the door.
He'd seen me terrified and incoherent in the alley, after Joey — I pushed away the thought and swallowed the panic. I was fine. He didn't hurt me. Logan drove me home, and I was safe. Safe.
The door creaked open and Logan looked for me, forehead creased. He stopped short when he saw me standing in the shower, then he reached for the knobs. "That water's freezing, Natalia."
Every part of me shook, from adrenaline or the cold water didn't really matter. But he was there, he was real. Solid and warm and careful, so damn careful — moving slow, staying quiet. The breath hitched in my throat. Logan frowned as he looked at me, said something about pajamas and tea. I didn't need pajamas and tea. I needed to be clean. I needed to know that men existed in the world who weren't like Joey.
He turned to go and I said, "Wait."
Relief etched across his face as he looked at me. And waited for me to speak more.
The bathroom filled with steam as the water warmed, and I closed my eyes so I couldn't see him as I said, "Can you — will you help me?"
"Of course, baby," he breathed, shut the door behind him. Got closer. "Just tell me how."
Baby. It warmed me from the inside as the water thawed my skin. I felt him get closer but didn't open my eyes. I pulled at my coat, the shirt underneath. "I can't get these off."
A long pause, then he took a deep breath. "You want me to help take your clothes off."
"You don't have to," I said. I struggled with the sodden coat, the weight pulling at my sore shoulder.
"Wait, wait." A rustle and soft thud had me open my eyes — he shed his coat and sweater and shoes but kept on the jeans and t-shirt underneath. Then he leaned into the spray of the shower and eased the coat off, tossing it to the floor in a soaking heap. He worked slowly, carefully, and narrated everything he intended before he touched me.
The warmth of the shower and the soothing quality of his voice lulled and relaxed me, and I wobbled. Reached out to catch myself on the tile and nearly pitched to my face. Logan made a noise and suddenly he was in the shower with me, clothes and all, and held me upright. I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
He smiled, leaning me against his chest and pretending he couldn't see every square inch of me. "What else can I help you with?"
I couldn't help it. I smiled back. I rested my cheek against the flat plane of his chest, the warm wet cotton of his t-shirt so soft against my skin I closed my eyes and rubbed against him. Almost drunk on him and the security of being in his arms. God help me. "I have to wash my hair. Get the b-blood out."
The thought of what stank up my hair brought the entire experience back, and I shuddered.
Logan rubbed my back and murmured, "I got you, don't even worry about it. Put your arms around me."
As if I needed an invitation, when I still nuzzled against his chest. My arms looped around his waist. I held my wrist and concentrated only on breathing along with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, and it rattled through me and chased away whatever badness remained from the morning.
He redirected the showerhead and rubbed my hair until it was soaking wet and probably snarled in a rat's nest. I just knew I'd spend the next week trying to comb it out again. But it didn't matter, not when he poured way too much shampoo on my head and the scent of coconut covered us both. His heart thumped a steady rhythm against my ear.
It was only the gentleness in him that let me speak. "You said you were sorry that you didn't get there sooner."
His hands paused, then returned to lathering my hair, massaging deep into my scalp and down my neck. His voice rumbled deep in his chest, not interrupting that purr for even a heartbeat. "I am sorry."
I tightened my death grip around his middle and sighed, moving my feet to a more comfortable stance. "I'm just grateful you came at all."
"I will always come when you call me," he said, fingers working my shoulders and down my spine until I felt boneless. "Natalia, if you need me, I will be there to protect you."
"Okay." I turned my head so I could press the other cheek against him.
"Okay," he repeated, then rinsed my hair. He didn't speak again until the water started to cool and no trace of soap remained, though Logan continued to massage the knots in my shoulders and back. "Can you sit by yourself for a second?"
I nodded, even though I wasn't entirely certain I could. The water stopped, the shower curtain moved, and then he wrapped me up in the enormous bath sheet that had been an indulgence from my first big paycheck. Logan gave wrapping up my wet hair a good try with a smaller towel, and finally settled for just covering it. He helped me step out of the tub and sit on the edge, rubbing my arms from shoulders to elbows. "I'll be right back."
He moved so damn quickly and silently for such a big guy. It seemed like I blinked and he was dripping wet in front of me, then another blink and he was gone, then another and he stood in front of me in dry clothes. Dry clothes? I looked up at him, confused, and he smiled with half his mouth. "Edgar is very well-prepared for every contingency."
Edgar. I nodded, about to speak, but he leaned down and picked me up, held me against his chest and the warm, clean-smelling white t-shirt. He carried me through the living area to my bed, still rumpled and unmade from this morning, and sat me upright on the end of it.
"Will you thank Edgar for me? And Atticus?" I cleared my throat to clear a sudden lump. "For helping when —"
"Of course," he said, palm warm and comforting against my arm. "Of course I will."
He propped all of my pillows up around me, frowning in concentration as he created a nest with the comforter and an extra blanket from the couch. I watched his face in fascination. Something about his features seemed different — his cheekbones more pronounced, maybe, or his mouth a little wider. His hair looked longer, more golden.