by Mary Abshire
She fell feet first and hit the ground. The jolt of the impact made her knees buckle. With an oomph, she rolled on the wet grass. She stopped on her back and instinctively started crawling backwards. Amazingly, she hadn’t broken any bones.
Rain showered her as a dark object hovered above. It had large wings and a long neck. The creature let out another shriek. Scared out of her wits, she flinched and stopped moving.
It backed away before landing on four legs. She’d never seen any creature so big. It looked several stories tall and far larger than any bear, bull, or moose. Realizing the giant size, she started to shiver. The beast would eat her. It would catch her in seconds if she tried to run. She was doomed.
The creature swung its head in each direction. She couldn’t make out the features well enough to see what it was. With its neck turned, the beast stopped. She lay still, but shaking violently. Watching and waiting, she heard a strange hissing type of sound. Then suddenly, large flames burst through the air and lit up the night.
For the first time she could see clearly. Flames shot from the creature’s mouth. The creature had large eyes and nostrils. Scales covered the head, long neck, and most of the body. The creature sprayed the flames from one side to the other, high above. The fire warmed her briefly. Although the creature looked evil and frightening, she also found it incredible. Was she truly looking at a dragon? They didn’t exist.
When the fire show ended, the creature swung its head toward her. It stepped closer. Once again, panic took hold and she shivered more. As the creature drew nearer, she crossed her arms in front of her face. She didn’t want to see if it was going to eat her.
Wake up! It’s a dream. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
The rain didn’t let up one bit. With her clothes soaking wet, her goose flesh multiplied. She waited, trembling, with her arms crossed over her eyes. Everything seemed quiet and still. Maybe the creature was studying her. She didn’t want to find out. She hoped it would go away. She hoped she’d open her eyes and be in her car.
Squishing sounds from the ground grew louder. “Are you alright?”
The unknown male voice prompted her to peer between her forearms.
A naked man came to stand beside her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Shaking, she slowly lowered her arms and stared at the naked man. She couldn’t make out his features well in the darkness, but could see he was tall with short hair and very muscular arms and legs.
He extended his hand to her. “I want to help you. Come with me and I can take care of your wound.” He stepped closer.
First, a large frightening creature. Now, a naked man. Impossible.
Thoughts swirling, her vision started to blur. Dream or no dream, she couldn’t process what had happened. Her mind and body felt heavy, as if something were pulling her deeper and deeper. She closed her eyes and drifted into darkness.
Chapter Two
Careful not to disturb the unconscious woman in his arms, Marcel leaned gently against the door while he hurried to turn the knob. Hearing the click, he pushed the door wide open. His feet smacked the hardwood flooring as he rushed inside his house, down the hall, and then turned left, passing under the open archway. From the dining room, he strode into the kitchen. Since he’d recently cleared off the island near the center, it would make the perfect place to inspect her wounds closely.
With tender care, he lowered the woman onto the long countertop. Her heartbeat sounded strong and she didn’t appear too pallid. Yet, with each breath, he could smell the coppery scent of her blood. He couldn’t be certain if she’d passed out from her injury or from seeing him in his true form. Either way, he needed to take care of her.
He slid his arms out from underneath her, and then touched her forehead. Her wet skin felt lukewarm. Her long brown hair clung to her beautiful face. He gently picked the strands away. She had cute round eyes with thick lashes and evenly shaped brows that matched the color of her hair. Her pink lips looked soft and kissable. Judging by her youthful look, he guessed she was in her early twenties. She didn’t wear any earrings or a necklace. Her soaked clothes were ripped in several places, mostly her pink shirt, which was stained with blood. She had an attractive figure, with squeezable breasts and curvy hips. Her chest rose as she inhaled. Her beauty captivated him, but his concern for her wellbeing took priority.
Before lifting her shirt to inspect her wounds, he noticed a scratch on her arm. The gash didn’t go deep, but it was red and had bled recently. He gently moved her arm aside from her body to check her other injuries.
Trying not to disturb her, he raised her soiled shirt close to her breasts. He avoided staring at her red bra and focused on the blood trickling from a small puncture near her side. It didn’t look big, but it would need stitches to close the hole. He needed to inspect it better by removing her jeans.
Her pants had a slash below the waistline. His claws had torn through her clothes. He hoped he hadn’t dug his claws too deep into her. Careful not to wake her, he gently unfastened the button and then slid the zipper down. When he had her pants loosened, he tried to pry them down. They didn’t want to move, either because they were soaking wet or glued to her.
The woman let out a soft moan as he carefully tugged her pants lower. Seeing her red underwear, he stopped and swallowed hard. As much as he wanted to look, he knew it wasn’t right. He focused on the dark red claw marks running across her stomach. Both were underneath the oozing hole. Neither of the scrapes needed stitches, but the nearly one inch gash on her side would require a several.
He placed his hand on her side, near the round wound. Red fluid spilled over his thumb. Based on the small size, he doubted the hole went deep. Blood streamed from it, but not a heavy amount. She couldn’t bleed out, but the flow needed to stop before she became week from blood loss or got an infection. Given the location of the injury, he didn’t believe any internal organs had been harmed.
Straightening, he stared at his bloody finger. The rich scent filled his nose. Like the werewolves, he loved to hunt wild game in the forest when he was in his true form. He savored the fresh meat and blood. Even in his human he form enjoyed hunting animals, but he could only eat the meat after he cooked it. In all of his one hundred and sixty years, he’d never harmed a human except in fights. But like other supernatural creatures, it didn’t matter what shape he took. The coppery aroma always reminded him of what he craved.
Curious, he lifted his soiled thumb and licked it. The bitter taste made his tongue tingle. After he swallowed, a warming sensation spread through him. In a matter of seconds, heat within him began to rise as if he were a fireplace starting to blaze. His temperature rose while the dragon within him awakened. Instead of craving more blood, a deep yearning inside him grew. As if his dragon had been summoned by her, he longed to be with her, to have her. What on earth was wrong with him?
The woman groaned a little louder. He swallowed down the growing desire and heat so he could focus on her. She didn’t move, but he sensed she might be starting to wake. Perhaps she was in pain. Humans were such a weak species compared to dragons, shifters, and vampires. Even witches and warlocks survived longer than humans, though not by much. Humans had to be the most fragile.
Guilt began to weigh on his conscience and he cursed to himself. He was responsible for her injury, not the werewolves. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d been afraid he’d squeezed too hard after picking her up. As it had turned out, his hold hadn’t been strong enough and she had slipped. He’d tried to keep her in his grasp, away from the wolves, but in doing so, he’d accidently dug his claws into her. Although her wounds were small and not life threatening, he still felt bad. He hoped she would forgive him. On the bright side, he’d saved her from being mauled to death by the wolves. Maybe that important point would allow her to see he was a good man, not one to fear.
Lips pressed together, he shook his head. Who was he kidding? She was human. She’d seen a dragon, and then a naked man. What
modern human woman would see him as a good man?
Regardless, he had to help her. He’d deal with her questions and mental trauma later. His vampire friend, Demetri, could always wipe her memories if Marcel asked him.
When she let out another sound and lifted her arms, Marcel returned to the here and now. He captured her forearm closest to him and then laid it back down. “You’ve been injured. Don’t move.”
“Wha…” she whispered.
He dashed to the nearby sink, opened one of the drawers along the side, and then yanked out several hand towels. They’d suffice until he could get the medical kit.
“Wha…” she said softly. Her eyes opened as she rubbed her other hand on her face. “Where am I?”
Marcel placed a towel beside her and one on her chest, near her neck. “I’m going to lift your head gently.” As quick as he could, he used one hand to lift her head just enough to slide a folded hand towel underneath, then he set her head down.
“Where am I?” She blinked repeatedly as she reached for the towel on her chest.
“My house. My kitchen to be exact.” With the last towel in hand, he pressed it over the injury on her side.
She cringed. “Ow, ow.” She let go of the cloth in her hand and reached for the one he held against her.
“Can you hold this?” He took her hand and positioned it so she would keep the towel pressed over the wound.
“Is it bad?”
“No, but you need a few stitches. I need to get my medical kit.” He stepped back.
“Stitches? Are you a doctor?”
He avoided answering, knowing the answer would frighten her more. He needed to keep her as calm as possible until he could get the situation under control.
“Don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said while he backed away.
He hurried out the other exit from the kitchen. His wet feet slid slightly, so he slowed to avoid falling. Once he reached the hardwood floor, he gained better traction and picked up his pace. Passing the hall, he headed for the stairs. His five-bedroom, two-story home with a finished basement hadn’t seemed so large before. Now, it seemed as if everything were far away.
He dashed up the steps and then turned the corner. Feet padding on the hard floor, he rushed into the bathroom separating two rooms. He quickly snatched the medical kit from under the sink. He’d used a few supplies in the past for minor injuries. Since he lived alone, he always believed in keeping a medical kit for emergencies. Gripping the handle of the case, he hurried out of the room.
Pausing at the top of the staircase, he wiped his wet face. As he glanced down, he noticed his naked body. He didn’t have time to dress, but the least he could do was cover his cock.
Without delay, he dashed down the other hall to his bedroom. He stopped at the dresser along the wall, yanked open a drawer, and then collected a pair of boxer shorts. While he left the kit in the drawer, he quickly slid the shorts up his legs. Once the shorts covered his manhood, he grabbed the kit and headed out of the room.
He returned to the kitchen to find the injured woman hadn’t moved. With her head tilted back, she watched him as he hurried around the island.
“I think I need a doctor,” she said.
He stopped beside her and set the kit on the countertop. “Your injury isn’t that bad, but we need to seal it to prevent infection and stop the bleeding.” He flipped the clasp on the kit, then opened the lid.
“How do you know it’s not bad? What if I have internal bleeding or an organ has been punctured?”
“It doesn’t look like you’ve lost that much blood, and the hole isn’t that big. Three, maybe four stitches should be enough to seal it.” He removed a package containing sterile wipes.
“How do you know I haven’t lost much blood?”
He met her gaze. “Because not much is coming out. The wound would need to be larger and deeper to allow for more blood.”
“But bullet holes aren’t big and people die from them.”
She had a point he couldn’t argue against, but bullets were completely different from claws. He quickly thought of a rational response.
“Bullets contain gun powder inside them. When it gets released into the blood supply, it poisons the body.” He tore open the package of sterile wipes in his hand. “If a bullet passes through without hitting any organs or bones, it’s considered a flesh wound and the doctors don’t do anything but add stitches. Think of your injury like that, a flesh wound.”
“Are you sure?”
Her concern seemed logical. She’d been through a lot in the last hour. Asking questions seemed normal. He was glad to see she was doing so in a calm manner.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said with a nod. “You can let go of the towel now.”
She moved her hand to her abdomen where her other hand rested.
Marcel scooted the soiled cloth aside. The flow of blood had nearly stopped. He suspected movement might trigger it to bleed again, which was another reason why he needed to stitch the skin and put bandages on her. To properly heal, she probably needed to stay in bed for a few days.
“Is it bleeding still?” Head tilted to the side, her gaze pointed toward her injury.
“Not much.” He stared into her caramel-colored eyes. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
She inhaled deeply and gave a hesitant nod.
Marcel gave her a comforting smile. Her calm composure led him to believe she was a strong-minded woman. She’d been through a lot, having left her car and tried to outrun werewolves. What had she been thinking? And now, she was in a strange house with a stranger. Given her demeanor, she had to be a reasonable woman. If she feared him, she surely would be trying to escape or would’ve grabbed a weapon. She had the perfect opportunity to do both when he’d left for the medical kit. She may not be afraid, but she certainly didn’t trust him, and that was sensible thinking.
“This might hurt a little,” he said before he patted the area with the sterile cloth.
She clenched one of her hands as the pad touched her.
“Sorry,” he said, tenderly wiping the area and her scratches, too.
“How long was I passed out?”
“Not long.” He cleared away as much blood as he could, but a small amount still trickled from the hole. Parts of the scratches produced small beads of blood. He’d have to put bandages over the claw marks, too.
“Who are you? How did I get here?”
“My name is Marcel Bouton. I carried you here.” He set aside the dirty pad, and then opened other packaged supplies to use for stitching her wound.
“Why are you naked, and…” She lifted her head and upper chest. Her shirt rolled down at the same time. “My clothes—“
Seeing more blood ooze from the hole on her side, he pressed his hands to her shoulders and nudged her to lay back. “Please, don’t move. I need to get you stitched up.”
“How did I get here?” She lifted a hand to her forehead. “What happened to me? I’m soaking wet and my clothes are torn.”
“Just stay calm and relax. You’re not in any danger here.”
She laid her arm at her side. “You’re the… You were that…that…”
“Just rest. You’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you. Let me stitch up your wound.”
Her breaths were coming faster. He couldn’t blame her for getting worked up. Taking hold of her nearest hand, he squeezed it gently.
“I know you have a lot of questions, and I promise to answer them,” he said in a calm tone. “But first, I need to take care of your injury. After I’m done, I’ll give you some dry clothes and show you where to clean up. If you’re up to it, then we can talk. Okay?”
Her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes briefly and nodded. Slowly, he let go of her hand.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” She swallowed hard.
“No need to be sorry.” He resumed opening packages from the kit. “You’re in a stranger’s house and you’re hurt
. Anyone in your condition would be upset, including me.”
“But I saw…” She shook her head. “It seems so unreal, like a dream.”
Telling her the truth now seemed like a bad idea no matter how many questions she asked. He’d tell her everything she wanted to know later. First, he needed to get the stitches done. After he finished tearing open all the supplies he needed, he picked up the sutures and nylon thread.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Lynn Winslow.”
“Are you American?”
“Well, I was born here in Canada. My parents moved to Chicago when I was young.”
He dabbed her wound with the sterile cloth again, then met her gaze. “This will hurt. Try not to move.”
“Right.” She took a deep breath and fisted her hand. “Ready”
“Mind if I ask why you were driving through the reserve at this hour?” He carefully threaded the nylon through her skin. Seeing her hand clench tighter, he glanced up at her. “Breathe.” He pulled the nylon through.
She let out a breath. “Uh, I was passing through to meet someone.”
Her story seemed unlikely. In the years he’d lived on the reserve, humans didn’t pass through at night, especially during a storm. In fact, not many residents drove around in the middle of the night.
“Who were you going to meet?” he asked.
“Uh, a friend.”
“A friend living on the reserve?” he prompted.
She hesitated to respond.
He paused and glanced at her. She was watching him closely.
“I just want to help. I know some people who live here,” he said.
“My friend lives outside the reserve. I was passing through to check on a piece of property. My grandparents used to live here. I stayed with them a lot until my parents moved.”
Marcel tenderly worked another stitch through her skin. “So you were returning to the family home? Did you say Winslow?”
“Yeah, and not really. I mean…” She took a shuddering breath.
“Does it hurt much?” He continued working the thread through her flesh.