Chapter 9
1076 Words
He was probably right about that.
But he couldn't have been this badly injured during the day and still come to work.
She blamed this shock for forcing the stupid questions out of her mouth.
He was obviously attacked.
But when, how? And by who!
Was the attacker still in the premises?
And how didn't anyone know about this?
The floor beneath him was slick, and dark from what he'd lost for only God knows how long, He'd likely lost a good deal. Nearly every patch of his exposed skin bore multiple lacerations--his chest, neck, torso, everywhere Amelia looked, she saw bleeding cuts and contusions. His cheeks and mouth were pale white, ghostly.
The more the venom attacked and spread through his body, the more it lead his wounds to stop healing.
"No, What you is need an ambulance," she told him, not wanting to upset him, but, damn, he was in bad shape. "Just relax now. Who attacked you?" she managed to ask "Don't worry about that, I'm going to go call 911 for you."
"No!" He lurched from his slump on the floor, thrusting his hand out to her in alarm. "No hospitals! Can't... can't go there... They won't... can't help me."
Despite his protest, Amelia started to run for the phone in his office.
"Please," Damien gasped. "No doctors."
Amelia paused, regarding him in silence. He needed help in a big way, and he needed it now. She was scared and worried out of her mind and unfortunately, she looked like his best chance at the moment.
She wasn't sure what she could do for him here, but maybe she could patch him up temporarily, get him on his feet, and get him the hell out of there.
"Okay," she said. "No ambulances for now. Listen, I'm, uh--I'm actually really good with first aid. Well, more or less. Would it be all right if I come a little closer and have a look at you?"
She took the quirk of his mouth and ragged exhaled sigh as a yes.
Amelia inched down beside him on the floor. He had seemed big from across the room, but crouched next to him, she realized that he was immense.
Easily six and a half feet and two hundred fifty-plus pounds of heavy bone and solid muscle. Was he some kind of bodybuilder? One of those macho meatheads who spent his life in the gym?
He was her boss!
And something about him didn't quite fit that mold. With the grim expression on his face, he looked like the kind of guy who could tear a gym rat to pieces with his teeth.
She moved her hands lightly over his face, feeling for trauma. His skull was intact, but her touch told her that he'd suffered a mild concussion in some fashion.
But when did this happen!
No one could have attacked him in his office and someone would have definitely seen a bloody him dragging himself into his office if he had ran in for safety.
He was probably still in a state of shock. "I'm just going to check your eyes," she informed him gently, then lifted one of his lids.
Holy s**t.
The slitted pupil cutting through the center of a large, bright amber iris took her aback. She recoiled, freaked out by the unexpected presentation.
"What the--"
Then the explanation hit her, and she instantly felt like an i***t for losing her cool.
Contacts.
Chill out, she told herself. She was getting jumpy for no good reason.
But why did he have them?
The main question was how was he attacked?
"Can you move your arms or legs?" she asked him, moving on to inspect his limbs. "Do you think you have any broken bones?"
She skimmed her hands over his thick arms, feeling no obvious fractures. His legs were solid too, no real damage beyond the seemingly bullet wound with no bullet in his left calf. From the look of it, the round appeared to have passed clean through. Same with the one that hit him in the torso.
Luckily for him.
"I'd like to move you to your office. Do you think you can walk if I help hold you up?"
"Blood," he gasped, his voice thready. "Need it... now."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't help you there. You'll need a hospital for that. Right now, we have to get you off this floor and out of those ruined clothes."
She put her hands under his armpits and started to lift, encouraging him to stand. He growled, something deep and animalistic. As the sound left his mouth, Amelia caught a glimpse of his teeth behind his curled upper lip
Whoa. That's weird.
Were those monstrous canines actually... fangs?
His eyes came open as if he had sensed her awareness. Her unease.
Amelia was instantly blasted by piercing bright amber light, the glowing irises sending a bolt of panic straight into her chest.
Those sure as hell weren't contacts.
Good Lord.
Something wasn't right with him at all.
He grabbed her upper arms suddenly.
Amelia cried out in alarm. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he was too strong.
Hands as unyielding as iron bands clamped tighter around her and brought her closer. Amelia shrieked, wide-eyed, frozen in fear as he drew her right up against him.
"Oh, God. No!"
He turned his sweaty, battered face toward her throat. Sucked in a sharp breath as he neared her, his lips brushing her skin.
He remembered his rule of not feeding of his employees for a brief moment and pulled away, he brought his face to hers and sighed "Amelia" he wheezed and suddenly captured her lips in a strange but hot kiss, sending Amelia reeling.
What the hell.
She pulled away from him and cuts her lower lip on his fang.
Damien tasted her blood, it spread throughout his senses, it tasted like blood but tainted... With honey.
He lost it.
Damn his rules.
He held her even more firmly and once again brought his face to her throat.
"No! Mr. Monroe! What are you doing!"
"Shhh." Warm air skated across her neck as he spoke in a low, pained rasp. "I won't... not going to... hurt you. I promise... "
Amelia heard the words.
She almost believed them.
Until that split second of terror, when he parted his lips and sank his teeth deep into her flesh.
- Writer
