With a huff, Max paces again. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it. What if something happens?” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “What if you only have a limited number of lives?”
Cold shock prickles across my skin. My feet go completely numb, and instinctively I try to sit up. Pain stabs through me. I crumple back, mind reeling, head spinning. Nausea socks me in the stomach. I’ve never thought of this before. What if there is a limit to the number of times I come back? And what if, at the end of this random number, I can’t come back at all?
Back teeth clamped together, I push myself into a seated position with my good arm, swallowing down another groan. “Are you really concerned about me, or do you just want to slow us down?”
“Would you blame me if I was?” Blood rushes his face, tinting his skin and the veins in his eyes black, a jarring water spirit trait. “Whether or not you believe me, I’m not in any kind of hurry to take the fall for my mom. Because I can guarantee that if whoever put out this bounty is hoping to lure her out into the open or whatever, that’s not going to work. She doesn’t care what happens to me.”
An ache completely unlinked to physical pain throbs through my every muscle. Frustrated by this wave of unwanted sympathy, I growl, grab the magazine, and work to shove it into the bottom of the gun. None of what he’s just said matters. I have to preserve the contract. This is the most important thing. I don’t even want to think about what might happen if I screw this up.
Besides losing a potentially powerful ally who might be able to help me find a cure for this curse, I’ll absolutely get kicked out of the Louisiana Guild. Without them, I have nothing, possibly not even Hank. There’s too much on the line for him to betray them.
Awkwardly, I twist the gun around, and press my thumb into the safety.
Max lunges for it before I can click it off. Out of pure reflex, I throw up a kick to block him. It makes contact, but pain shatters through my ribcage, sending sparks across my vision. Nausea again rolls through me. I gag, half blind, fully incapacitated long enough for the gun to leave my grip.
I peel my eyes open just in time to see Max vanish in a burst of water. Snarling, I force myself to my feet. The room pitches. My knees give out, colliding with the hard carpet. Dropping my head, I grind my knuckles into the ground, at bare minimum keeping my face from slamming into it.
With another splatter, Max reappears, hands now empty. He hovers by the door but sinks to my level. Fury burns through my veins at his furrowed brow.
I sneer. “I don’t need your pity, water spirit.”
A small smile touches Max’s lips. “Sure about that? You look pretty pathetic. No offense, little mama, but you took a pretty bad beating. Otherwise, there’s no way I could’ve gotten that gun from you.”
“Where...” I drag in a ragged breath, “is it?”
Max’ expression stiffens. “Somewhere safe.”
I growl deep in my throat, my thoughts not functioning fully, slowed by the damage done to my body. “So now what? We just sit here while I writhe in pain from broken bones and listen to your sob story?”
Max runs a hand over his face. “As fun as that sounds, you could just let me patch you up, find you some food.”
Letting out a long sigh, I slump to my backside. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
“I knew you’d see reason.”
“You didn’t give me much choice.”
Max stands, then takes me gently by the arms, and helps me back up onto the bed. Still standing, he grazes his fingers lightly over my injured collar bone. I gag.
“Sorry,” he says. “My guess is it’s probably broken. Mind if I take a look at your ribs?”
“Knock yourself out.”
Sinking into a crouch, Max grazes my midsection, then lifts the hem of my shirt slightly. His frown deepens, casting further shadows across his face as his thumbs slide slowly along my skin. Even amidst the pain I register their silky feel.
Comforting warmth follows their path. They search in order to help, not hungrily like so many of those I’ve lost time with...selfish lovers who only caressed when they wanted something. Under other circumstances, I might be inclined to lean into his touch.
“I probably don’t need to tell you these are almost definitely broken too.”
I gulp quietly. “They sure feel that way. And like I said before, something might be punctured in there too, so...”
“I’m not shooting you.”
“Sadist.”
Max snorts, then lets my shirt drop, and straightens. “How far does this thing let me go?” He taps the cuff on his wrist. “We should really get you some ice. I thought I saw a machine at the end of the hall.”
“You should be okay to go that far.”
“Then I’ll be right back.” Max swipes the bucket off the table, then slips out the door.
I ease back onto the pillow again, and fish out another bottle of liquor. This time, I chug the whole thing, then hunt around for my cell. No messages from Yaritza. Two from Hank. I smile at the gargoyle’s excessive use of emojis. With a thumb, I text back.
Me: How’s Sam? It’s the full moon tonight, right?
Hank: Exhausted. Discouraged. Acting like he isn’t. How’re things there?
A frown weighs me down. Of all the humans in the world to get saddled with a werewolf curse, Sam’s the last person who deserves it. I’ve seen his contraption, the chain-filled prison he locks himself in when the moon waxes, and it tears at my heart. Poor kid. Even with his odd ability to steer the beast inside of him away from humans, he still doesn’t trust himself.
I
