Читать книгу Warrior Untamed - Shannon Curtis - Страница 13

Chapter 6

Hunter eyed the witch, his eyebrows dipping slightly. She looked like hell. He saw the blood on her shirt, saw her sway, and he rose to his feet. He had one only cuff that was anchored, but if she collapsed, he wouldn’t be able to reach her. “Are you okay?” He gestured to her shirt. He didn’t know who was more surprised by his concern, the witch or him.

The witch looked down at herself. “Uh, yeah, I’m—I’m—it’s not mine.” Her voice was huskier than usual, a slight rasp that was like velvet against skin.

She stepped inside the room and rubbed absently at her forehead. He masked his concern with expectation. He’d seen her angry, mildly curious, angry, exasperated, angry, wary, more angry...he’d never seen her so...flustered. Yeah, flustered.

She put her hands on her hips and looked down at her boots—those same killer heels—then looked up at him. “I need your help.”

His eyebrows rose. Okay. That was unexpected. She looked so damn uncomfortable, he almost laughed, yet her obvious exhaustion, the blood...she wasn’t here to ask him to stop dreamwalking, as he’d thought, as he’d hoped. His intention had been to wear her out so that she would be begging him to leave. “What kind of help?” he inquired smoothly.

She moved her arms, halted, then folded them against her body, as though unsure what to do with her limbs. “I, uh, I need a doctor.”

His heart thudded in his chest, and he stepped closer. “Why? What’s wrong with you?” He looked her up and down. She was a mess. Her hair was tangled, and dark shadows rested beneath her eyes. Her lips were tightly pursed, and her shirt...all that blood. He wanted to check her, make sure she really was all right. The instinct surprised him. He told himself it was his medical training taking over...although he wasn’t really the nurturing type.

“Uh, not for me. For a friend. I need your help for a friend.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You have a friend?” Melissa Carter, bitchy witch, had a friend. He’d have to see it to believe it. “You?”

She frowned. “Yes, me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have a friend, and he needs help.”

He. Her male friend needed help. His concern shrank, swallowed by a darker emotion. He shrugged. “Then take him to a hospital.”

“There’s no time, and the transfer could kill him,” she said quietly, at last meeting his gaze directly.

His eyes narrowed. “So...you need me.” He leaned back against the wall. Hmm. She was in a position of demand, and he was in a position of supply. He liked where this conversation was going. “What exactly do you need from me?”

“You have a reputation for being good at what you do,” she said brusquely, although her tone suggested she found it hard to believe. “I want you to fix him. Heal my friend.”

“And what do I get in return?” he asked her, a smile teasing at his lips. She was direct. He’d give her that.

“What do you want?” she asked, shrugging.

He blinked. She was asking him to name his price? He tilted his head. “This friend must mean a lot to you.” She struck him as being so prickly, so quick-tempered, it was fascinating to see this side of her, this loyal, protective side.

She tilted her head back, and he watched her red hair slide over her shoulder. “I’m too tired for games, Hunter. What do you want in return for healing my friend?”

Hunter. Not pyro jerk or any of the other monikers she’d given him. It was the first time she’d used his name. Things were serious. He rubbed his chin, the remaining chain clinking with his movements. “I want you to release me,” he said simply.

Those green eyes flared with anger, and he met her gaze intently. Did she care more for this friend, or for her own revenge? Her lips tightened, then she dipped her head. Once.

“Fine. You heal my friend, and you can walk away.”

“And then you and I are done, right? No more snakes or snow or spiders?”

She nodded. “No more snakes or snow or spiders.”

His eyes narrowed. Yeah, she wasn’t the first witch he’d ever dealt with. “Or any other form of revenge or retribution from you for what I did. It was wrong, I’m sorry, we’re moving on.”

Her pouty lips tightened even further, and he saw the anger, the reluctance to let go of her punishment. She nodded. “You do this, and we’re done. Moving on.”

It was so obvious she hated this whole discussion. His curiosity deepened. Who was this friend, and why was he so damn important to this witch? Not that he cared, it would just be nice to know what reasoning had bought his freedom. He held up the chained cuff.

“Release me,” he said softly.

She stepped closer, and her eyes narrowed. “The deal is you heal him. If he dies, or if you kill him—”

“I’m not in the habit of killing folks,” he interrupted in exasperation.

“You tried to kill me,” she pointed out, and he grimaced.

“Okay, so just that one time...”

“You’ve attacked me five times.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

“You don’t get to leave until my friend is well,” she snapped. “If he dies, you die.”

He stared at her for a moment, reading in her eyes the worry she tried to hide. He tried to think of someone who would do this for him, sacrifice their own vengeance for his well-being. Sadly, no name came to mind. “If he has a pulse, he’ll live.” His reputation was understated. He wasn’t just good, he was the best.

Her eyes narrowed. “You sound cocky.”

“Oh, you have no idea. Now, if you want me to save your friend, I suggest we stop flirting and you release me,” he said, taking extra care to pronounce his last two words clearly as he jangled the chain.

She raised a finger, then paused. “If you try to attack me, or harm me or my friends, whatever you try to do will be visited a hundredfold back on you.”

“You have my word as a gentleman,” he promised, bowing. He kept the triumph out of his voice, his expression. He was getting the hell out of here.

“You’re not a gentleman.”

He raised his hand, parting his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s not a scout’s—”

“I promise,” he growled, then sighed. He dipped his head to meet her gaze directly. “I promise to heal your friend,” he told her, all attempts at levity gone. “You’ll have to trust me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I am a doctor, after all.”

Her gaze flickered away, and it was so clear she didn’t trust him. He straightened. He guessed he deserved that. “What else can you do for your friend?” He knew already she couldn’t do anything else, because sure as hell, he would have been her last resort.

She blinked and looked away. Were those—were those tears? She really was worried about this guy. This time it was Hunter who looked away, unprepared for the spark of envy for a dying man.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked roughly. “I don’t hurt you, you don’t hurt me, your friend lives and we go our separate ways?”

She nodded. “We have a deal.”

“For this to work, you’ll need to do as I say. You’ll need to be my—nurse.” He smiled. “See, we get to play doctors and nurses.”

The witch didn’t crack a smile. At all. He needed her promise, though. He got the impression that promises were important to her. “Your word—I don’t want to argue over treatment, I just need you to do as I say.”

Her lips tightened. “Fine. With regard to Lance, I’ll do as you say.”

He didn’t miss the qualification but didn’t comment. He jangled the cuff, eyeing her suggestively. She waved her hand casually and the cuffs around his wrists snapped open and fell to the floor. She turned and led the way to the door.

He nodded as he rubbed his wrists. “Neat trick.”

She didn’t look over her shoulder. “Oh, you have no idea.”

* * *

Melissa walked into her apartment, conscious of the man who followed behind her. Her shoulders were tense and she occasionally glanced over her shoulder warily. This man had tried to kill her, and now she was letting him into her home, her haven.

God, what the hell was she thinking? But what choice did she have? She’d understated Hunter Armstrong’s reputation. No, wait, he was Hunter Galen now. She’d been hiding in the next room when he’d renounced his father’s name. Hunter wasn’t renowned simply for being adequate, or even good at his job. He was widely reputed to be the best at his job. Surgeon. General practitioner. Specialist. If anyone was to work on Lance, she’d want him to be the best.

She’d also want him not to have homicidal tendencies.

She led him into the spare bedroom, and Lexi looked up from the bed. She rose to her feet, frowning. “Who’s this?”

“A friend.”

“A doctor.” Melissa eyed him. They’d responded simultaneously, and he’d called himself a friend. Friend? Good grief. If he thought this was friendship, she’d hate to see the man’s enemies.

No, wait, they were probably all ashes, somewhere.

“This is Hunter Galen. Hunter, this is Lexi, and that’s her brother, Lance,” she said, indicating the bed.

Lance’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and sweat gave a sheen to his body in the muted candlelight. Gauze and bandages covered his chest, and although she’d seen Lance’s injuries, and had treated his wounds as best she could, the sight of his damaged body was still a shock. She glanced away. Only three candles remained burning, the rest had long since blown out or burned out.

Hunter stepped closer, his bulk casting a shadow over Lance’s body. Hunter touched his patient’s forehead, then raised the man’s eyelids. He placed his fingers at the side of Lance’s neck, as though taking a pulse, and a faint frown marred his brow.

“What is it?” Melissa whispered.

“Talk to me. Tell me what happened,” he commanded.

Melissa drew in a breath. “I don’t know.” She glanced over to Lexi, who shrugged, her eyes wide. “This is how he was found. I asked him what had happened, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Oh, so you two are close, huh?” Hunter commented dryly.

“He doesn’t want me to go after who did this,” Melissa whispered, ensuring Lexi didn’t hear her. Hunter’s gaze met hers briefly, then flicked over to Lexi and then back to his patient.

“He’s been cut. Doesn’t look like claws, though. And he’s been shot.”

Hunter peeled the gauze off Lance’s chest and grimaced. “Yikes. That’s nasty.”

“There’s—there’s something near his heart,” Melissa told him, pointing to the bullet wound high on Lance’s chest. “A fragment, maybe.”

Hunter leaned down to peer closely, not at all bothered by the blood. “Uh-huh.”

“But you can heal him, right?” Melissa stepped up to stand beside him. She’d meant it to sound like an order, not a plea. It was such a contrast, her friend, pale and sickly on the bed, and the light warrior, so damn vital and strong, next to her. Hunter flicked a quick glance toward her, and his eyes darkened as he noted the short distance between them. He finally nodded.

“I believe so.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief.

Hunter frowned and placed his head on Lance’s forehead. “There’s something not quite right here,” he muttered.

“I, uh, I think that bullet is creating more damage with every breath he takes.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, so now you’re a doctor, too, huh?”

She frowned. “No, but I am a witch, and I sensed something dark in there, like a shadow that is expanding inside him.”

Hunter nodded. “Poison. Looks like the bullet was possibly tainted. If the bullet had just passed through him, he would have been really sick. With that bullet fragment in there, and the sustained exposure to the toxin, it’s killing him. His body hasn’t got a chance to rejuvenate with that thing eating at him.” Hunter tilted his head. “But that’s not quite what I meant. There is something...unnatural here.”

“Oh, that would be me. I worked a dormancy spell.” She couldn’t think of anything else to do for her friend, and the knowledge of her limitations was excruciating.

She met his gaze, and was surprised by the flicker of approval she saw there.

“Smart move. It slows the spread of the toxin, but still keeps his system active.” Hunter folded his arms. “A dormancy spell, huh? I’m surprised you’re still standing. So, he’s human, or at least part human? I mean, I have to assume that, otherwise you would have used a suspension spell, right?”