Fury of Desire

She shook her head. “Get called Injin a lot though.”

“Who calls you that?”

“Asshole Griggs.”

“Sounds like asshole Griggs needs his head ripped off.”

“Been saying that for years,” she said, her words slurring a little.

A half smile on her face, she gazed up at him. Wick’s heart flip-flopped, doing a somersault behind his breastbone. Jesus, she was pretty. Even with her split lip, busted leg, and all the bruises, she was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Which made him think he’d lost his mind. The fact he wanted to call her “baby” confirmed it. He was officially upside down and backward, waist deep in a stink hole and sinking fast. But even as he told himself to get a grip, the urge to return her smile snaked through him. He retreated instead, playing it safe, putting distance between them as he smoothed tape over the bandage.

She made a face, protesting the pressure of his hands. “That hurts. I hurt… all over.”

“I know,” he said, feeling the need to apologize again.

Christ help him, without meaning to, he kept adding to her pain. Wick swallowed past the knot in his throat. Perfect, wasn’t it? She needed gentle. He gave her rough. The truth slapped him in the face. He wasn’t equipped to care for her, never mind provide comfort. Duh… made total sense. Kindness had never been part of his makeup. He didn’t have a big heart or a gentle nature. Violence and cruelty, however? Wick knew both well. But as she held his gaze, something crazy happened. He saw the trust in her eyes—the kind of acceptance he’d never experienced—and wanted to be different. The idea sparked another, providing guidance, laying the groundwork for know-how and…

All of a sudden, he knew how to handle her.

Her eyes slid closed again.

“Jamison, look at me.” A crinkle puckered her brows, but she gave him what he asked for and opened her eyes. Nodding his approval, he murmured to her, adopting Venom’s method. By all accounts, females liked soothing tones. His friend employed the technique all the time, using the sound of his voice to bring comfort and pleasure. Not something Wick ever indulged in, but… hell, why not? No harm in trying, so he got with the program and talked to her. “I’m going to pick you up… carry you out, all right? It’s going to hurt, but I need to—”

“You know my name.”

“Yeah.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I guess that means it’s official.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” One tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. The urge to brush the moisture away gripped him. He hesitated a moment, then lifted his hand and gave in to the compulsion. And why not? With her clinging to him, his no-touching rule was already history. No sense freaking out about it. “I know it’s your job, but I’m not ready. I don’t want to die.”

His lips twitched. Amazing, but even overloaded by the Meridian, she was astute. Him and killing, after all, went hand and hand. “I’m not here to kill you.”

“You’re not?”

He shook his head.

“But you and the other angel were—”

Wick snorted. Angel. Now that was a stretch. “I’m here to help. Tania sent me.”

She blinked again. Another slow up and down. “Wow, that was fast. I only just sent the text message.”

The whispered words wound him tight. “You called Tania?”

“Nurse’s cell phone.”

“Shit.”

“Is that bad?” Injury and exhaustion made her lean on him. Wick shifted toward her instead of away, catching her forward slump. The electrostatic prickle connecting them intensified, making him wince. “Sorry, but I couldn’t wait. Asshole Griggs is here, remember? He’s mean, and I need a lawyer.”

“It’s all right,” he said, reacting to her fear even as he fought what she made him feel. Intense, raw, beyond normal, she made him feel far too much. Dangerous things. Wholly unfamiliar things. Things that could never be taken back. And as she turned him inside out, snuggling in, putting them skin-to-skin again, Wick wanted to be anywhere but here, holding her, caring for her… frickin’ feeding her. “We gotta move, vanzala.”

“Vanzala… that’s pretty,” she said, holding in a yawn. “What does it mean?”

Wick cursed under his breath. Nice going, hot shot. The last thing he needed was to give her a pet name in Dragonese. “Nothing.”

“Tania and I have a rule.”

“Really.”

“Yup.” Fading fast, she stopped fighting it and yawned. “No lying allowed.”

Sucky rule. Particularly since lying would be easier. More expedient too, but… whatever. If she wanted honesty, he’d give it to her. What could it possibly hurt? Not much. Half baked by the drugs, deep in the energy stream, she wouldn’t remember anything he said anyway.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he settled the leather around her shoulders. “Vanzala means ‘songbird’ in my native tongue.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she whispered, her eyes half-closed. “I like you. You’re nice.”

Nice? Wick stifled a snort. Sure, he was. “And you’re completely shitfaced.”

“Drugs will do that to a girl.”

“No doubt.”

With a tug, he pulled the coat lapels closed, cocooning her in the lingering warmth left by his body. It was cold outside. He didn’t want her getting a chill when he stepped into the alleyway, a few strides away from the extraction point. And speaking of which? Time to find that door. Wick glanced down the corridor. A quick shift, and he gathered her up. Less than a second later, he was on the move, the exit into the stairwell in his sights.

Her face half-buried in his coat collar, she took a deep breath. “Hey, you know what else?”

“What?”

“You smell nice too.”

Wick flinched. Good Christ. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He didn’t have a clue. Polite conversation wasn’t his strong suit. He only talked when necessity required it. In fact, the whole convo with Jamison qualified as bizarre. But as he stared down at the top of her head, he thought maybe… shouldn’t he… well, say something? Respect her effort—along with the compliment—by answering her in some way?

Silence expanded around the idea. Inspiration struck, prompting him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

No worries. He wouldn’t be mentioning it anytime soon. The entire topic was out of his league. A different one, however, circled, demanding clarification. “Hey, vanzala? ”

“Yeah?”

“You know the text message you sent?”

“Sure.”

“Did you sign your name?”

“I dunno.” She took another deep breath and hummed on the exhale, the sound one of pleasure. Wick gritted his teeth, determined to keep his shit together. Turning into a pansy over the fact a female enjoyed his scent wasn’t on his list of things to do tonight. “Maybe.”

Terrific. Trouble lived behind that maybe.

Wick upped his pace. The Razorbacks weren’t idiots. Masters of technology, the rogues monitored human channels and databases the same way Sloan did. So if Jamison had used her name while contacting her sister, the enemy would investigate. Which put him on an even tighter schedule. He needed to get out of the area fast. Before the enemy picked up the Nightfury energy signal. Under normal circumstances, the frequency a large pack of males emitted while in the same area worked in their favor, making it easy to draw multiple Razorbacks into the kill zone.