explanation. Which meant they’d stay clueless. Perfect. Just the way he liked humans, well… at least, most of the time. Jamison, however? He needed to clue her in fast, not to mention get her help. She was bleeding from the cut on her arm, shivering against him…
Hurting. In shock. In need of serious care.
Or something.
Wick couldn’t be sure. Injured females weren’t his specialty. Glancing down at her, he grimaced. God, she was pale, her lips nearly bloodless, eyelashes nothing but dark smudges against her cheeks, and…
Ah hell, who was he kidding? He wasn’t equipped for this. Didn’t know what to do or how to help her. Females, as a rule, belonged anywhere but near him. Venom always dealt with the touchy-feely stuff. It worked better that way, considering his propensity for violence and the phobia he carried around like baggage. But as he scanned her face, Wick refused to cop out. Not tonight. Her care fell to him, at least in the interim. Time to dig in, grow a pair, and get it done.
Inhaling long and smooth, Wick cradled her closer and put himself in gear. Striding past the gaggle of humans still extolling over the wheelchair, he paused at an intersection. Empty in both directions, two options existed: turn right or go left. Recall flared, providing the layout of Swedish Medical. Wick turned right. As he walked toward the stairwell exit, he scanned the hallway for a place to check her wounds. An empty room. A chair pushed up against a wall. Hell, a broom closet would do, just as long as he found a place to put her down and—
Bingo. An empty gurney.
Parked against the wall, the hospital bed was just what the doctor ordered. Solid. Soft. Comfortable. Exactly what Jamison required and he needed for a minute or two.
Wielding his power, Wick enclosed the bed in the cloaking spell. Privacy ensured, he sat her down on the cotton sheet. Eyes still closed, her brows puckered. The plaster cast on her foot bumped the inside of his leg, making her list sideways. Instinct made him reach for her. The sleeves of her hospital gown brushed the back of his hand as he grasped her biceps. Upon contact, her bio-energy flared, zapping him with—
Jesus Christ. Holy God. Not even close to good, never mind advisable.
Wick sucked in a quick breath as a channel opened inside him. Oh fuck, the Meridian. The electrostatic current was… it was… reversing course, tying him to the female he touched, making it impossible for him to let go. Locked against her, he felt her connect, then link in, becoming one with the energy stream that fed his kind. Except…
He wasn’t the one doing the feeding.
She was—blocking his ability to fight, drawing heat from his core, rendering him powerless in the face of her need. Wick gritted his teeth. He never should have touched her. Should’ve known better than to make contact with her bare skin. Jamison was high energy, and his dragon half way too responsive. Despite his aversion—and objections—the beast wanted to feed her. Now the fucker was providing something Wick never had before… healing energy. In a gushing torrent, forcing him into serious sensory overload.
His stomach pitched. He flexed his fingers, willing intellect to override instinct. He must let her go… right now… take his hands from her skin before—
His dragon snarled. Well, so much for that. The idea was a total no-go. The territorial beast inside him refused to back down, robbing him of recourse. No way out. No backtracking either. He was headed into dangerous territory, the kind Wick knew he might not come back from as the energy stream intensified.
The strain put him in lockdown.
He fought the imprisonment along with the rumble of body tremors. All to no avail. Jamison possessed the power, and until she pushed him away, he was stuck. Trapped. Tied to her in irrevocable ways and unable to stop the awful rush of energy moving from him into her. And judging by the look on her face? Not something that was likely to happen anytime soon. Relaxed against him, she took everything he gave, clinging to her connection and the Meridian’s power.
With a hum, she nestled in, pressed her cheek to his heart.
“Fucking hell,” he rasped, still fighting her hold on him. “Jamison… let go. You’ve got to—”
“No.” Eyes closed, voice slurred, she shook her head. The slight movement caressed his chest, cranking him a notch tighter. “Feels too good. You… stay… with me.”
Frozen in place, Wick prayed for mercy. She didn’t give him any. Pressing closer, she sighed and wiggled to the edge of the mattress. A second later, she grew bolder, wrapping both of her legs around one of his thighs. The heat of her body snug against his, she murmured in contentment. He cursed and tried one more time to back away. With a grumble, she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him close.
Wick frowned. He didn’t feel threatened. Or the need to throw up either. Which didn’t jive. Not by a long shot.
He always panicked when near a female. But not with Jamison. Strange, but for some reason, she didn’t push him into flee-like-a-motherfucker mode. Wick snorted. All right, so that wasn’t quite true. He didn’t like it— wasn’t sure he wanted to keep touching her—but at least the closeness wasn’t freaking him out. And like it or not, that begged a question.
How far could he push it?
An interesting concept. One that made him want to explore a little.
Swallowing past his sudden case of dry mouth, Wick forced his muscles to unlock. As his tension ebbed, the current increased. A prickle rushed over the tops of his shoulders, then slid upward on a mesmerizing glide to stroke the base of his skull. His senses tunneled, attuning him to the female in his arms. He focused on the top of her head. Legs and arms around him, she surrounded him, blurring his vision with flaming energy. His dragon rose to meet her, giving what she demanded, feeding her from the flow. Wick’s lids grew heavy. He blinked—once, twice, a third time—struggling to combat the sudden haze of mind-fog.
Oh baby. That felt unbelievable. Nourishing. Gentle. Hot as hell.
And he wanted more. Just a little bit more, but…
Hmm, yum. So good. She was so damned good.
Wick swayed on his feet and, forcing his eyes open, stared at the pale wall over her head. Huh. Not home. Not in a club. He frowned, swimming through the river of heat to find the truth. He should be doing something… shouldn’t he? The question helped his brain kick over. Yeah. Right. No question. He needed to be somewhere doing
Giving his head a shake, he uncurled his hands from her upper arms. The current downgraded, moving from ball-busting intense to soft and smooth. She grumbled in protest. The urge to reconnect and strengthen the flow poked at him. He ignored the need and inhaled long and deep. The scent of blood reached him. Concern shoved the load of feel-good aside.
Jesus help him. She was hurt.
The realization propelled him into action. Looking for the wound, Wick’s gaze skimmed over her. He found the cut in under a second flat. The IV needle had torn her arm open, leaving a gash just above her wrist. Grabbing the blanket edge, he applied pressure to the injury and conjured some medical supplies, only to realize she wasn’t bleeding anymore. The plasma had clotted and—
Wow. Would you look at that? The cut was closing too, healing much faster than he would’ve expected for a human.
Dumping the roll of tape and sterile gauze on the bed beside her, he examined the wound more closely.
She flinched. “Ouch.”
“Sorry, baby,” he murmured, keeping his tone soft. Holding her steady, he ripped the package of gauze open. With a quick twist, he wrapped the thick bandage over her wound, then reached for the roll of tape. “Almost done.”
“Baby?” Dark lashes flickered. A slow up and down before she opened her eyes. Under the influence of the Meridian, magic went to work on the drugs in her system. As he watched, the empty-eyed expression she wore started to dissipate, helping mental acuity along. “No one ever calls me that.”
“No?” Surprising, really. The endearment suited her.
