Page 13 of The Healer (The Blood of Legends #2)

Chapter Thirteen

PROOF IN THE CLAWS

A mong the debris of splintered tables and chairs in Tuesdays, Jake sat on top of a man—Edison, Ilona presumed—whose scrambling feet shifted broken glass on the floor. Jake tried to grab the man’s legs but received knee butts in the chest and face for his efforts. The bartender, Aiden, held Edison’s arms, pinning them with his weight.

Dane joined the fray, throwing his body across the legs. Jake flipped over and swung a fist. The sound of it striking Edison’s jaw echoed in the silence.

Drawing in ragged breaths, Jake relaxed, flashing Ilona a pleased smile. “And no, we don’t expect you to handle this.”

Aiden peeled himself off the floor, freeing Edison’s hands. Ilona blinked at a human limb morphed into a cat’s paw. She knelt beside the unconscious man and gathered his hand in hers, marveling at the thick fur and man-sized paw. It twitched as claws extended in slow motion.

“Lona, move.” A roar whipped her head up.

Mr. Naked launched himself at her as claws raked across her shoulder. Fire tore through her, summoning tears, then hundreds of pounds landed on top of her, crushing her to the tiled floor.

Air rushed out of her lungs. She gasped, unable to breathe with a man on her chest. He lifted himself off her. She sucked in beer-stench, delicious-man-scented air, sweeter than the first breath of spring. Her swift enjoyment of her ability to live was overshadowed by the hot liquid on her shoulder, and the agony numbing her left arm.

She snuck a glance at Edison to find him unconscious again with Jake sprawled across him. Shoving Mr. Naked back with her good hand, she got to her feet, fury stiffening her body as her wound burned.

“What the fuck?” She threw her good hand in the air while she paced, uncaring that she had an audience. “I’m the fucking doctor here. Who’s helping me?” She clenched her jaw. “I could kill Gran and Amos. You too.” She pointed at Dane, then Jake, and ignored the sensual blue eyes of the stranger she had no right to ogle. Tightness gripped her chest when her vision spun. She shivered. “I’m not capable of handling this. Not now, maybe not ever. What was Gran thinking?” Tears welled and flowed down her cheeks, but she tossed her head back on a hysterical laugh, sounding like a hyena. “I’m cursed. I’m living evidence magic exists. Cursed, I tell you.”

“Come, Lona, let’s get you to the clinic.” Mr. Naked cupped her cheeks, forcing her to focus on his handsome face, the sharp angle of his jaw, his sensual lips, the softness of his beard.

She giggled. “What, are you going to stitch and bandage me?”

“I can do it.” Aiden raised a hand. “I have a little first aid training.”

Dane nodded. “I’ll drive.”

The warmth of Mr. Naked standing so near to her penetrated her jacket. She sighed, leaning into his confident strength as he escorted her outside. He lifted her into the back of the SUV, spreading her across the seat before joining her. When he tucked her against his warmth, she slumped, fighting the ebb and flow of the pain lashing at her.

Her turn to stare. She tightened her fingers on her thighs against the silly urge to stroke his beard. “And you are?”

He arched a brow.

“Well, I can keep calling you Neanderthal, Mr. Naked, Mr. Balls-to-the-wind, but I have a feeling you might prefer your name.”

His chuckle rumbled from his belly, vibrating along her side. “Rhys.”

“Reece?” She tested his name on her tongue, nodded, and snuggled into him, needing his solid body to prop her up.

Dane pulled off, but the trip was short, not that she tried to look at the wound. There wasn’t enough light anyway. Like she weighed nothing, Rhys lifted her into his arms and marched into a dark, dank building. She clung to him, unused to being carried. Burying her nose into the curve of his neck, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to savor his mesmerizing cologne.

The flickering lights bathed a cozy yet dusty waiting room, a built-for-one reception counter, and wide-swinging doors. Four doors led off the short passage. After navigating through one into a consultation room, he lowered her onto the bed but kept his hand on her back as if she might faint.

Despite shivering at his touch warming her through the thin fabric of her clothes, she snorted. A Strickland was made of sturdy stock. No fainting here despite the spots circling her vision. That was shock.

Aiden rifled through the cupboards and banged the doors. She smiled at him like she was high. Sharp movements exploded a kaleidoscope of colors across her vision, and parts of her face numbed.

“Edison’s fur was mottled, is that normal?” She glanced at Dane, trying to ignore Rhys staring at her. “Mange?” She giggled. “Not that I’m a vet.”

Aiden returned with a pile of medical supplies, dumped it on the bed, and gestured to the Mr. Naked to step back.

“Wait, help me remove the jacket.” She bit the sleeve and tugged, entangling her right arm.

Rhys peeled the jacket off her, using a snail’s caution on her left side. Blood saturated the inner lining and had drenched her shredded white T-shirt.

She grimaced at the thought of raising her arm to peel off the T-shirt. “Cut it off me.”

Aiden hesitated. She cursed while twisting and wiggling until she could slide the shirt over her head, grunting and whimpering when each movement bolted fire down her chest. The T-shirt gathered at her neck. She raised an expectant gaze to Rhys. He clenched his jaw, his focus intense as he peeled it off her, his touch surprisingly gentle for his size.

Her white bra was blood-stained, and the strap hung on by a thread. Two lacerations from her shoulder to below her collarbone pumped blood. “Stop the bleeding first. Rhys, apply direct pressure. Aiden, find an analgesic, lidocaine or morphine will do. I don’t want to feel anything when you start cleaning.”

“Found a vial of morphine.” Aiden waved a bottle with clear liquid in it.

“Give me ten milligrams.” Fifteen was the standard amount, and even though it was tempting to take more, she wanted to remain awake for whatever the hell this was.

Aiden fumbled as he filled the syringe before hesitating again, unsure where to inject her. She held out her palm, her body trembling from the shock, and her mind taking trips to escape the fire consuming the left side of her chest.

Freaking hell, that hurt. She winced as she injected herself around the lacerations. Minutes later, the burn of morphine added to the agony before dousing it. She sighed, offering a timid smile. “You can clean me now.”

“Fuck this shit.” Dane removed a dagger from his boot and sliced his palm.

“What the hell are you doing?” She stared at the pooling blood, unable to grasp his motives. “Do you think I can treat you in my condition?”

He curled his fingers into a fist. “Aiden, hold her still.”

Rhys slid his hand across her back then lunged toward Dane with a deafening roar. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Dane’s blue gaze met Rhys’s, and a silent power struggle played out. “Protect, Rhys, and last time I checked, I’m the alpha here.”

Rhys cursed and ran his hand through his hair. “Ask first…please.” He glanced at her, his brow furrowed. Stepping aside, he mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

He caught her elbow and stroked a path to her wrist, sending a wave of goosebumps along her skin. Lacing his fingers through hers, he squeezed.

“What’s going on?” She sliced glances between them.

But instead of answering her, Dane dribbled his blood into her wounds.

“What the fuck—?” She screamed as shards of electric fire ignored the morphine and tore through her, shuddering and convulsing her body.

As exhaustion drained her petrified muscles, she slumped in Rhys’s arms. He guided her to lie down seconds before her vision darkened. Her ears rung, reverberating their words and merging with her untamed heartbeat.

“I’m going to kill you, Dane.” As threats went and in her croaking voice, he had to be quaking in his boots. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Whether her strength returned or not, she sat up, slapping Aiden’s hands away where he cleaned the wounds.

“Shifter blood heals, Doc.” Dane dried his hands then tossed the paper towels into the trash can. As if he understood what she needed, he showed her his palm.

Gasping, she scooted off the bed to hold his hand still as she ran her thumb across his unmarred palm. She grabbed his other hand in case he deceived her by showing her the wrong palm. “And you knew giving me your blood would heal me?”

At his shrug, she thumped him on the arm, bruising her knuckles then reared back.

Chuckling, he caught her swinging fist. “Get back on the bed, Doc. Let Aiden clean your wounds, and I’ll treat you to a slice of Mo’s apple pie.”

“Apple pie?” Like that could make up for his mistreatment of her, using her as a test subject. Didn’t he know that blood carried diseases? Probably not, the idiot.

Rhys lifted her onto the bed before she could kick Dane. Her leg swung wild.

Dane grinned. “Now, now, Doc. Wounds first, then pie.”

Furious anger pulsed the morphine and Dane’s fucking blood through her. She grumbled under her breath, planning on heading to Cozy Cromwell’s and packing her bags. Jake mentioned a hospital north of Coedwig. She would request a full analysis of her blood.

First, she had to eat pie. There was no way Dane would let her leave with the bloody Lunar Festival coming up. To escape, she would have to sneak out.

She glared at Rhys. He’d apologized, had tried to stop Dumb Dane from doing this. Tears stung her eyes, and she hurried to dip her chin to her chest, the stench of her bloodied wound twitching her nose. She was far beyond her comfort zone. With these three men running roughshod over her, she didn’t stand a chance. Rhys kept a hand on her elbow, its warmth strengthening her. She clasped his other hand, offering him a squeeze in thanks before glaring at Dane again.

“Traitor,” she whispered to Aiden when he leaned closer.

He winced, but his continued silence sliced guilt through her. What was a young male supposed to do against Dane? Alpha? Fuck.

With her drowning in Rhys’s jacket, he bundled her into the SUV, her hand trapped in his. She wasn’t foolish enough to open the door and throw herself from a moving vehicle. Despite her mumbling she could walk, he carried her into the diner and sat her beside him like she was an energetic toddler.

Dane and Aiden slid into the booth and watched her, waiting. She stared at the plate before her. A generous portion of apple pie with a dollop of whipped cream tempted her to dive in. Hunger pangs twisted her insides, and perhaps she was hangry too.

“Don’t you like pie?” Mo served fresh coffee, with Aiden drawing a bubblegum milkshake toward him.

What was he, a four-year-old? The aroma of coffee, bubblegum, and cinnamon gurgled Ilona’s stomach.

“Extra cream, please, Mo.” Ilona forced a smile and gripped the fork with her right hand.

Aiden had bandaged her despite the awkward placement of the wound, showing his first aid experience. She couldn’t be angry with him since he hadn’t lied. The morphine would wear off soon, and she dreaded the waves of crippling agony made worse by the thought of stitches. She’d examine it later to check whether she needed a few.

Edison’s claws had sliced from her deltoid muscle, across the clavicular head to the sternocostal head and missed, by some miracle, her cephalic vein. He hadn’t punctured her lung since her breathing was easy with no bubbling. Nor had he cut through a ligament, evidenced by her ability to use her shoulder and arm. The only pain she had suffered was from the attack and when Dane’s blood had dripped into her wounds.

More whipped cream arrived, and she hurried to eat the pie under Mo’s vigilance. Ilona hummed at the sweet, spicy, cinnamon flavor coating her tongue. Rhys shifted beside her, where he toyed with his untouched coffee. Licking her spoon, she snuck a glance at him and sighed.

Wow. With the diner’s lighting catching the gold streaks in his hair and the deep blue in his eyes swirling with something hot and intense, she was lost, staring at him like a pubescent teen ogling the male models in a men’s sports magazine.

“Good?” Aiden grinned with blue-stained teeth. “Mo’s chicken soup is better.”

“Why would you need chicken soup? Do shifters get colds?” She tried to ignore Rhys’s fingers wrapped around hers, his thumb stroking across her knuckles. Removing her hand from his was something she should do, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Nor did she meet Dane’s gaze. Anger simmered at his irresponsible behavior. And he called himself a mayor? She snorted. Safest person to chat to was sweet Aiden.

Jake stamped snow off his boots as he entered the diner, slid into the booth next to Dane, and squeezed Aiden against the window. “How are you feeling, Doc?” He gestured to the pie. Mo hurried to fill his order.

Ilona gritted her teeth and flicked a glance at Jake. “Ask Mayor Ass.”

Dane winced and grumbled something under his breath.

Jake jerked and twisted to gape at him. “You didn’t.” He ran a hand through his gray hair with light flickering off his earring. “Sorry, Ilona, his intentions were good.”

“Intentions?” she squeaked, and instead of ranting at poor Jake, she shoveled more pie into her mouth.

She was hungry, and the pie was amazing—hot and sweet against the cool whipped cream. No matter what she decided tonight, she would enjoy this treat.

“How’s Edison?” Aiden steered her focus to him.

In that second, she loved him. Her emotions rollercoastered out of control. She wanted to crawl into a hole and not show her face for weeks.

“In jail.” Jake sighed. “Come, Doc, I’ll drive you to Harriet’s.”

Ilona dropped her fork onto the plate and froze. Rhys blocked her way. Her breath caught when she raised her wide eyes. “Um, I’d like to leave…please.” Squaring her shoulders, she waited until he climbed out. With a mumbled ‘thank you,’ she scrambled to her feet. She circled the booth to squeeze Aiden’s shoulder in thanks and ignored Dane.

The trip to the bed and breakfast was in silence until Jake stopped outside the house. “Monitor your wounds, Doc, and if it heals, think about going easy on a panicking polar bear.” He winked and left her standing on the pathway.

Dane was a polar bear? She shook her head, trying to focus on the important things like what the hell had just happened. Harriet ushered Ilona up the stairs, clucking under her breath. She must have heard about the incident and somehow understood Ilona didn’t have the energy to talk about it.

As soon as she stood in her en suite, she peeled off Rhys’s jacket, pausing to shove her face into the lining. Fuck me, James, he smelled good, like freedom, and sex, and her deepest longing. Careful, she draped it across the chair, then stripped the rest of her clothing, piece by piece. The reflection in the mirror wasn’t the excited med student she once was. This woman had deep sorrow-filled green eyes, messy auburn hair, too pale skin, and a puckered red scar running from eyebrow to chin, tugging her facial muscles down.

Now a white bandage crossed her chest.

She didn’t recognize this woman even though there were elements of her parents in her features. Whatever prettiness she had before the accident, she used it to charm unhappy or distressed patients.

She forced her lips into a smile, but it made her grotesque, like something out of a horror movie. Smothering a sob, she focused on what she could control. The sting of the tapes clinging to her skin proved the morphine was wearing off sooner than it should have. She frowned, not feeling anything but stiffness in her shoulder like she had played a squash tournament.

A cry escaped her lips at the red scratches where the lacerations had been. She stumbled, bumping into the shower door before leaping forward to bring her shoulder into focus. No, this was impossible. Her wounds looked weeks instead of hours old.

Electric excitement warred with cold fear at this discovery. Did other doctors know, or was she the first? She gasped. Amos knew. Stepping into the shower, she raised her face to the warm spray as possibilities fired across her mind. What else could their blood do? What could it cure? Cancer? Leukemia? Trauma victims? Brain inactivity?

Ice tingled her scalp, slithered down the back of her neck to trickle into her hair. She whimpered at the realization her dad might have been healed if the hospital had shifter blood in storage.

Washing her hair and body was easier than she had expected, with her injured shoulder not hindering her movements. As she slipped into bed with her hair in a towel, she tried to think of a way to pump Dane for information about shifter abilities without having to forgive him.

In the end, she succumbed to sleep with the phantom sensation of Rhys’s warm hands caressing her hair and holding her hand.

Rhys sprawled on his bed, unable to silence his bear and the fire scorching his veins. The excitement thrumming his nerve endings were all thanks to one woman. Lona. He grinned. She hadn’t tarred him with Dane’s brush, and for that, he was grateful. To stop Dane, Rhys would have had to challenge him for leadership. One of them might have died, and if not, then their friendship would forever be altered.

Rhys had been tempted. The fear darkening the brown of her hazel eyes had wrenched his heart, urging him to toss caution to the wind. He rubbed his chest, hoping to calm his bear. Somewhere in the house was Ilona, and he longed to find her room, to sneak in, and to watch her sleep. Perhaps his bear would find peace in knowing she was well.

Grunting, he rolled onto his side. She was only one woman, but more than that, she wasn’t Callie. Hope flared like an unfolding blossom bathed in sunlight. He would pursue whatever wove between them, and even if—he growled—he never saw her again, he had moved on from his silly suckblood infatuation.

An argument broke out in the hall, but he tried to ignore it, despite his advanced hearing.

“You fucking bled on me without asking me first or warning me. Humans can’t mix blood types, idiot. Not to mention the diseases transmitted via blood. But if you’d bothered to ask…” Lona’s voice was husky.

Her passionate fury poured molten desire through Rhys, raising the hairs on his arms and snagging the rhythm of his heart. What was she doing awake at this late hour?

“It healed you, though,” Dane mumbled.

She had the balls to argue with the alpha. Rhys admired that.

Palm hitting flesh followed. He grinned, not the slightest bit sorry for Dane.

“Feel better?” Silence met Dane’s question.

“A little.”

He chuckled. “Come here, Doc.”

“I don’t want a hug.” She squealed then grumbled, “Bloody bear.”

“Here I was hoping you were developing a crush on me.”

“Hardly. I would like nothing more than to rip your balls out through your throat. As a doctor, despite knowing it’s physically impossible, the thought of trying fills me with wicked joy.”

Rhys winced at the mental image but laughed anyway. Feisty, Dane had called her. Rhys couldn’t agree more.

Dane growled, “What the hell? I thought I was forgiven?”

“You are, but that doesn’t mean you can get all lovey-dovey with me. The number of women clinging to your impressive biceps leaves me cold, Mayor Ass. Besides, I’m temporary, remember.”

“Fine, but I’ll wear you down.”

A pause followed. “Why? To what end?” Curiosity filled Lona’s voice. “Y’know, never mind. I’m not interested for…reasons.”

“I’ll ask your gran—”

“Night, Dane.” A door banged shut.

Dane whispered to his bear, unaware Rhys listened in.

So, his friend liked the doctor? Rhys smothered a chuckle lest Dane heard him and intruded. Things had become interesting. Despite Dane warning Rhys away from the woman, he had no intention of stepping aside for his dear old friend to sweep her out from under him.

He growled and squeezed his eyes shut, recalling her pinned beneath him, moaning at each bite of her apple pie, and climbing over him like he was nothing but a hay barrel. Fuck. He threw himself onto his back and splayed his arms out wide.

The way his blood pulsed through his body, ignoring this attraction wasn’t possible. And all was fair in love and war, right?