ChapterSix
1244 Words
She tried to sit up but a shooting pain sliced through her back. Crying out, she sagged against the hard ground and closed her eyes.
“Don’t try to move.” His voice came from the darkness and when she opened her eyes he was right there with her, stretched out along side of her, sharing his warmth. She concentrated on breathing in and out, ignoring the pain.
It helped to stare at his lips. They gave her something to focus on. And for one blissful minute, the world fell away.
His head dipped toward hers and she closed her eyes again, silently willing him to kiss her, to take the pain away. To wash away the fear and replace it with happiness and hope. Somehow she knew that this man…he was not like the others. He wasn’t like her father. He wasn’t like the man she was supposed to be mated to. He was different. Powerful. Cunning. Caring.
Spencer returned to her side a minute later with a collection of candles. He checked his cell phone signal again before turning it off to conserve the battery.
Hopefully tomorrow he could get word back to his brother that he’d arrived safely. No doubt with the various threats the Moore men had received in the past they’d be worried about Spencer’s silence.
Spencer raked a hand down his face. He wasn’t a healer like Andrew, but he knew the chances were good she was going to get an infection. As an immortal, he didn’t know a damn thing about them. Aiming the tweezers at the jagged tear in her flesh he held his breath and sent up a silent prayer to whoever was listening. Nita came awake instantly, her body tightening like a plank of wood. Her cry echoed through the cabin, the raw sounds of agony thundering in his ears.
Spencer put his hand in the middle of her blood covered back and pressed down gently.
“You’re okay, chéri.”
She bucked against him, gargled sounds pouring from her lips. She was stronger than she looked. “Shh…” he soothed. This was not how he’d planned to use his bed on vacation.
“We gotta get this cleaned up.”
Though she fell silent, her body shook. One deep breath after another expanded her ribcage beneath his palm. The way her muscles trembled he could tell she was fighting the pain as much as she was fighting him.
“Who are you?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Name’s Spencer Moore.” He used his free hand to dab up a small stream of blood with a square of white cotton. “You got a bullet in yer shoulder, know that?” She huffed a sigh into the pillow, her words muffled. “I’m aware of it, yes. What are you going to do?”
She turned her head so that she was looking in his direction.
“I’m gonna get it out.” If possible. Her body tensed. “You need to relax. It’ll hurt less.” Or so he was told.
“Are you a—ouch! Are you a doctor? Do you know what you’re doing?” She sounded close to tears. Or worse, hysterics. Spencer wasn’t big on either.
“Just hold still.”
“Wait!”
Spencer bit back an impatient sigh. “What?”
“Shouldn’t I…you know, bite down on something? Drink a shot of vodka first?”
“I ain’t got no vodka. Bite the pillow.” Then he aimed the tips of the tweezers at the hunk of metal lodged beneath her skin.
Her body shook with sobs as he inserted the tweezers.
“Shh. Relax, petit.” She did neither.
A few moments later her voice echoed off the polished wooden walls again. “Just…let me…die.”
He blew out a sigh. The pain must be excruciating for her to wish for death. But she wasn’t like him. She, with her cute nose and delicate features, wasn’t immortal. She wasn’t immune to disease…and gunshots. Or infection. He angled the tweezers deeper and felt the clank of metal against metal.
“Stop crying, Nita. Makes my job a lot harder.” She put on a brave front.
Almost... He gritted his teeth, hating that he was causing her so much distress and yet at the same time, knowing it needed doing.
“Just…leave…it!” Her voice was low, breathy.
He twisted the tweezers.
“Who shot you anyway?” Her body went lax beneath his palm.
She didn’t answer. He leaned down to look her in the eye but she’d passed out. Quickly he checked the pulse at her neck and found the same steady rhythm. Touching her, feeling the healthy thump-thump-thump against his skin did crazy things to his mind and body. Things that he wouldn’t…couldn’t examine now.
He gave the tweezers a tug and a hunk of metal emerged from her shoulder, b****y and disfigured. The bullet looked like it’d hit several things before landing in her shoulder. A lucky shot? She was lucky it hadn’t been a few inches higher. Why had she been speeding up a mountain rather than toward a hospital?
He set the tweezers and bullet aside and set about cleaning and bandaging her wound.
He should probably stitch up the gash but he didn’t have the supplies for that. Hopefully she’d be all right until he could get her to a doctor. It was gonna leave one hell of a scar though.
He pushed away his curiosity about her as he applied the last strip of tape to the bright white gauze. There was nothing more that he could do for her now. He’d wake her in a few hours and offer her pain killer.
As he washed his hands he tried to ignore the smell of blood. It had been a long time since he’d been on a hunt. Since he’d chased a creature down.
His more civilized side had honed over the years, taking him further and further from his native instincts. The need to charge, race across the land and attack. To sink his teeth into a warm body and go for the kill. It was much easier to stop by a butcher for a big, meaty steak.
Much tastier too.
But that luxury didn’t change who and what he was. He stared out the bathroom window at the frozen world beyond. In the distance he could just make out the line of Fur trees shivering in the wind. His cabin was surrounded by two hundred acres of forest. Here it was safe to run and romp as long as his paws would carry him.
Getting away from the city, away from work was a treat these days. On the other hand, his years of dedication brought many extravagances, like electricity during one of the worst blizzards in a century, not to mention the best coffee money could buy.
After checking on the woman in his bed he headed for the shed outside. That generator purchase would come in handy, at least until the gasoline ran out. But at four hours a day, he figured he could run the refrigerator and coffee maker for a few weeks if he needed to.
Once he’d programmed the generator to turn on at breakfast, lunch, dinner and just before bed, he headed inside. A steaming mug of El Injerto sounded damn good right about now.
- Writer
