Darkness Becomes Her (9 page)

“God, Lachlan, those things really got you. Your arm, your ankle. You’re bleeding all over, and your jeans are cut to shreds.”

“I’m alright. Stop looking at me like you’re going to faint. Or like I’m going to faint. But we need to get out of here.” He grabbed the coat he’d discarded and pulled it on, closing it so it covered most of the tears and blood.

“You were right, I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. This is my fault—”

He put two fingers over her mouth. “Stop.” He pinned her with his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“This place is a mess,” she said on a whisper. She started cleaning up, wiping away the blood on the wall and leather couch. He threw the sandwiches back into the fridge.

She ran her fingers through her hair to smooth it while he arranged the sword and dirk on his hips again. She reached up and finger-combed his hair, too. He stopped, completely stopped, as her fingers touched his temples.

She let her hand drop. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out to find several people standing nearby. Hayley came over from a nearby booth, a questioning look in her eyes. “Wow, you guys are wild. The whole trailer was rocking, and then this weird smoke came out.” She sniffed the air. “You didn’t set anything on fire, did you?”

Jessie started to cover her face in shame but halted and met Hayley’s eyes. “I’m a person of bad judgment, poor timing, and questionable character. I’m sorry you had to see that side of me, but it’s there, has been my whole life. I’m not someone you should be around.” She squeezed the girl’s arm and let go. “Tell Bob I’ll make things right if anything’s broken in the trailer.” Jessie looked like a robot, stiff and expressionless as she stalked away, doing a good job of not meeting anyone else’s eyes. Judgmental eyes, as far as he could see.

He couldn’t keep from watching her, though, having tossed away her reputation to keep Hayley at a distance.

The girl’s open mouth clamped shut as she gestured to his cheek, where he must be bleeding again. She stepped closer and whispered, “None of that was true, was it? What happened in there—”

He would not undermine the sacrifice Jessie had made, so he shook his head and caught up to Jessie before she got too far away. She was shaking, her arms wrapped around herself as she walked.

He pulled out her car keys. “I’ll drive.”

“No.” She snatched them from his hand. “You’re the injured one. And you’re injured because of me.”

“I’m injured because of Russell. Keep that straight.”

“Semantics,” she said, throwing his word back at him. “If you’d let me go, you’d be safe and cozy in your sanctuary.”

“Aye, and that was working well for me.”

She let out an exasperated sound as they reached the vehicle. “Well, at least you wouldn’t be bleeding all over yourself. Should I take you to the hospital? We can say it was a dog attack. That’s the truth.”

“No, just get me back to the house. We’ve got medical supplies.” He searched the vehicle before pulling himself onto the seat. Once inside, he inspected his ankle, the part of him that hurt most. Blood still oozed out and washed down his foot.

She opened the back and got in a few seconds later, a shirt in her hand. “Lift your ankle. We need to stop the bleeding.”

“That looks like a nice shirt.” She didn’t have the money to buy a lot of clothing. “The blood will ruin it.”

“Forget the shirt.” She’d gone into some other mode, probably still fired up with adrenaline. She would not be argued with, he could see that.

She wrapped the shirt around his ankle, and he did his best not to hiss in pain. Fierce streaks of heat radiated up his leg. As though she’d read his mind, she opened the glove box and dug through several bottles. Her medicine chest. Poor girl lived out of her car for the most part. She opened a bottle of aspirin with trembling fingers, took out two, and handed them to him. Then she dug behind the seat and produced a bottle of water.

He dutifully took the two pills, then two more. Having her take care of him tightened and twisted in him. She pulled out of the lot, her mouth tightened into a thin line. Tremors rolled in waves over her.

He said, “I can drive—”

“You’re staying right there and resting.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

He watched her for several minutes, but she kept her gaze straight ahead. He kept an eye on her, surreptitiously, though she maintained a grip on the emotions that had her squeezing the wheel.

He was so busy watching her, he didn’t focus on his pain as much, nor did he notice that they’d driven the whole way until she turned down the gravel road that led to Sanctuary.

He said, “I’ll open one of the bays for you. I want the car locked up.” He got out and tried not to limp. The pain wasn’t as bad, thanks to the aspirin, but the cuts burned. The door opened, and he waved for her to pull in.

“Let’s get your things,” he said as soon as she got out.

“No, we’re cleaning your wounds first.”

She hadn’t lost any of that bossiness or the tension in her body during the drive. They walked down the pathway to the front gate and he unlocked it. He surveyed the area, though Cheveyo had put a shield over it. After all, even he had no idea how long it would hold against this new entity.

Lachlan led her into the house, dropping his ruined coat by the door. “Hold on, I’ll get the medical kit.” He returned a minute later with what was basically a tackle box.

She pointed to the sitting area. “Sit.” She rooted through the contents and pulled out several things, including gauze. Then she went into the nearby kitchen, turned on the water, and grabbed the roll of paper towels from the silver holder. “Where do you keep big bowls?”

“Upper right cabinet.”

A minute later she brought back a bowl and the roll of towels and sat down again. “Give me your foot.”

He propped his foot up on the chair between them. She pushed back the frayed edges of the bottom of his pant leg. “You’ll have to take them off.”

“Forward lassie, aren’t you?”

She didn’t crack even a hint of a smile, nor did she meet his eyes. “Lachlan, this isn’t funny.” Her voice stretched tight over her words.

“I was only trying to lighten the mood.”

“Just . . . don’t.”

He shucked off his jeans, kicking them away with his good foot. Her gaze slid up the length of his legs. She gasped. Good God, did he have a stiffy again?

“You’re bleeding from somewhere up here.” She leaned over and lifted his shirt.

Yep, he had several deep scratches where one of the beasts had caught his side and thrown him against the wall. They had bled right down to soak the waistband of his skivvies.

She unbuttoned his shirt from the bottom up, so intent on her task she seemed surprised when, after reaching the top button, she was nearly face-to-face with him. Her breath hitched, and she blinked and shook her head before peeling off his shirt.

“Not too bad,” he said, looking down at himself.

“They got you on the arm, too. And your hand.” She shuddered. “They were awful. He sent them all after you.”

“Has he made the beasties before?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.” She looked at him. “You slayed them with the arcs of energy you used against Russell the first time.”

“Aye.”

She was waiting for more of an explanation. Finally, she asked, “What is it?”

“Hell if I know.”

“That wasn’t something you could do before?”

He shook his head, his chest tightening. First the spontaneous astral projection, and into the future, yet. Then the wild energy. He didn’t like either, but he needed them.

She took him in, and he felt her gaze sear across his skin. “Sit down, let me clean the wounds.”

He sat facing her. She was trying hard to keep her focus, but he could see huge guilt when she unwrapped her quickie wrap job on his ankle. She tore off a wad of paper towels, dipped them into the water and swabbed the cuts. She hissed for him, even as he banked his own expression of pain. That would make her feel even worse.

She chewed her bottom lip as she tended to him, rubbing salve in a thick layer. She opened the box and unwound the gauze, cutting it and winding it around his ankle.

He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, wanted to touch her. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there for the carnival’s opening.”

She sputtered what he thought was a laugh, though there was no humor on her face. “You’re sorry . . . you’re sorry. I almost got you killed. I should have listened to you in the first place.”

She put the metal clip on the end of the gauze to keep it in place. “Give me your arm.”

His hand was lacerated, but only superficially. She cleaned those scratches and put salve on them, then worked on his arm.

He wasn’t feeling pain anymore. He felt her hands on his arm, fingers tight against his skin.

She scooted closer, her face only an inch in front of his as she brushed his hair away from his face. “I’ve never known a guy with hair as long as yours.”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Haven’t had the gumption to get it cut.”

“I’d love to have hair this shiny and thick.”

He could feel her rolling a lock of hair between her fingers. She stopped, tore a fresh paper towel from the roll, and washed the cut on his cheek. Her eyes met his, for just a second, and she quickly looked down.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to close the gap and plaster his mouth against hers.

Hold yourself back. Do not go there.

“You have lovely hair,” he said instead.

“Not really.” She met his gaze, then dipped down again. “Too fine.”

Before he could think better of it, he’d reached out and touched the strands that flipped up above her shoulder. She stopped cold, as though he’d touched her neck or maybe her ear. He let go.

“Seems perfectly nice to me,” he said, training his voice to be neutral.

She smelled good, the clean scent of her sweat and the sweetness of shampoo. She hadn’t almost gotten him killed, but she was killing him now. He kept the agony from his expression.

Her breath fanned his cheek in rapid puffs. He wanted to taste her so badly, his mouth watered.

Her hand was resting on his shoulder as she leaned over. She treated the slashes on his thigh, then his side, and then her hand slid down over his chest. He closed his eyes at the sweetness of that touch, and oh, aye, torture. He’d get attacked by supernatural beasties anytime to feel her hands on him.

Ah, so you
are
mad
.

She braced her hand on his side while the other hand cleaned those slashes. “When I touched you before, you said it hurt. But I wasn’t touching the bruised part of you.”

It bothered her, and puzzled her. He could see it in her eyes.

She finished with the bandage and placed her hand on his chest. “Does this hurt?”

He closed his eyes for a second. “Aye.”

She looked again at the place where she touched, seeing nothing that should cause pain.

“But—”

He took her hand in his, squeezing it a bit too hard before releasing it, and got to his feet. “Thank you for nursing me.”

She blinked, her body stiffening. “It was the least I could do.”

He felt his own body straining toward her and pulled back. “You said you didn’t take a distinct form like Russell does, but could you if you tried? Could you create minions?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know.” She turned and walked toward the door, grabbing up the coat she’d discarded when she’d come in.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

His eyebrows raised. “Doing what, exactly?” His mind supplied flashes of what they’d just done, with all the excruciating feel effects.

“Putting you in danger. Involving you in this. I have to go.”

He stepped up beside her. Her quick glance down his body reminded him he was nearly naked.
Don’t make me touch you, lass.
“I made a promise to Magnus that I’d keep you safe. Doesn’t matter whether he was awake to hear it or not. I won’t let you go out that door to fight this alone.” He knew where to dig, the tender parts of her soul. “You’ve been alone for a long time, Jess. Long enough. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

Jackpot. Her eyes glittered with tears, though none fell.

Yeah, nice guy, making her cry.

“I do have to do it alone. You heard him. He wants to kill you.”

“And you would have gone with him to save me and everyone else there.”

“Of course I would.” She pointed to herself. “One life for many; that’s no real choice. Russell wants me. Supposedly to talk to me, though I doubt it’s only that. Bastard, bringing my mother into this, trying to use her to trick me. Why should you die because of me?” She gestured to his body. “Why should you suffer?”

“Like you said, there’s no real choice.”

“You would risk your life to save me.” It wasn’t a question, but she added, “For Magnus?”

“Yes. For you as well.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, regarding him. “Would that make you feel better? Would losing your life trying to protect me make up for your mistake?”

“Yes.” Now she was digging into his tender spots, too.

She let out a groan of frustration and pushed at his chest. He didn’t budge. “I’m not Magnus’s girl. You’re putting a lot of weight into that idea. We flirted, had lunch once. That’s it.”

“He likes you. He thought you were special.”

“Yeah, I’m special all right. He’ll drop down to his knee and propose when he finds out what I’ve put in him. And he’ll love me to pieces if I get his brother killed.”

“Let him decide that. You saved his life, at whatever price. You have a bond because of that and the Darkness. Let him work it out.”

“We never kissed.”

“You must have.” He’d tortured himself with the image, all the while reminding himself that she was not his to want.

“Sorry to disappoint you. If it makes you feel better, we almost kissed, but I turned so that he kissed my cheek. I daydreamed about him. He’s got a nice mouth, full, lush, with an intriguing cupid’s bow.” She flicked a glance at his mouth. “Runs in the family, I see.”

Did he imagine a spark in her eyes? “You wanted to kiss him.”