Black and Blue (5 page)

“Blue?” she gasped out. No way. Just no way.

“Didn’t know . . . where else . . . to go.”

Hesitant, she approached the side of the bed. He watched her every movement, reminding her of a predator getting ready to attack. What would he do when she was within reach? Because it
was
him, she decided. Same height, same body mass. Same crackle of power so unique to the football playboy. A crackle that had rendered her blind to anything but lust for a few seconds of their first meeting.

“I must say, Mr. Blue, you’ve looked better.”

He might have snorted. Hard to tell while he was gurgling blood.

“How did you get in here?” An alarm should be screeching right now.

“Window. Disabled . . . security. Inside and out. Sorry.”

She craned her neck, zeroing in on the interior ID box. Sure enough, the lid had been pulled from the wall and the wires exposed, obviously cut and realigned. “That’s going to cost a fortune to fix.” But only because she would be doing the labor, and her time was mega money, and oh, wow, she really needed a moment to process what was going on.

“Bill . . . me,” he gritted. “First . . . help me.”

“Sure, sure,” she said. “I’ll ring the Arcadian chief of medicine at St. Anthony. Nice guy. Usually a three-month waiting time to see him, but for me he’ll make a house call. You will, of course, be responsible for your bill, as well as owe me a huge favor.”
Stop babbling.

“No. You.”

She got what he was trying to tell her, but wished she hadn’t. For a year straight, this man had screwed with her anytime they were forced to work together. Nothing overt, and nothing that would compromise the end result of the work—his work, that is. He’d left her behind. Told her wrong places to meet, stuck her with all kinds of paperwork. Worst of all, he’d
always
written a review of her performance.

The gist of every review? Miss Black stinks like arse.

She’d seen him a few times since Claire was killed, when she’d acted as an asset. He’d always ignored her, as if she were unworthy of his attention, and made a big deal of making out with his date. Whoever that happened to be.

The suckwad treatment cut to the quick, even though she hated the guy. Like she really needed another male to drive home the point that she wasn’t good enough—for anything! And for a conceited man-whore to do it? A male willing to hump anything that moved? Bloody humiliating.

“Ignoring?” he said now. “Typical.”

I should make him beg.
“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll help you.” For Michael. And information. “Just be warned. Arcadians are not one of my thousands of specialties, and I
will
be keeping track of your behavior. Expect
me
to write a report.”
Babbling again.

She dragged her gaze over him, medical eye assessing the massive amount of damage, her mind at last computing just how weak he must be. His nostrils were black. He could have inhaled a lethal amount of smoke.
She might have to place a tube in his trachea. It would deliver a higher concentration of oxygen to his lungs. Also, resuscitating fluid would definitely have to be dispensed. He might even need a transfusion. Clearly more than ten percent of his cells had suffered hemolysis, and that could lead to kidney malfunction.

If
he were human. But he wasn’t. Blimey. She truly had no experience with his race.

“I’m assuming you weren’t playing Throw Another Arcadian on the Barbie but were in the explosion that decimated Michael’s house,” she said, walking to her dresser and withdrawing her box of “home brew,” as she called it. Drugs she’d . . . tampered with.

“Yes. Woke up. Michael . . . gone. Everyone gone.”

Great. He knew as much as she did. So much for trading her services for info. “You’d fare better in a hospital, you know.” Once more at his side, she stuck him in the arm. “That should take the edge off your pain.”

“No hospital. Please . . . no. Too . . . dangerous. Star . . . bomb . . . could still . . .” He went quiet, his head lolling to the side.

Unconscious? Or dead?

Had the anesthetic harmed him?

She felt for a pulse, frowned. He had no— There! It was too slow, too light, but there. Relief flooded her.

Evie rushed into the bathroom and drew a bath. She gathered everything she would need—or, rather, everything she had that would work. Scissors, IV tubes, and fluid bags she’d once used to practice, as well as a medicinal liquid soap usually only loaded into an enzyme shower, and a bottle of antibiotics she kept on hand.
She would treat Blue as she would treat a human, and hope it worked.

She stuffed one of the pills under his tongue, praying it would dissolve and help prevent sepsis. Then she cut away what remained of his clothing, and removed his shoes.

When he was stripped to—
well, can’t say
the skin—raw meat, she loudly stated, “Blue, I need you to wake up now.”

His eyelids blinked open, and he moaned.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” she said, being merciless to be kind . . . maybe. “I have to get you into the tub, and while I may be strong, I’m not a crane and can’t carry you.” She slid her arm underneath his shoulders, intending to help him rise, but he flinched away from the agony of the contact.

“Don’t touch!” he roared.

Don’t shout!
Despite her calm appearance, she was kind of a mess inside and he was only making it worse. “Be a dear and stand up on your own. I need you to walk into the bathroom.”

Blue lumbered to his feet and stumbled toward the tub. She couldn’t fathom the enormous amount of strength required for him to remain in an upright position while his leg was broken, and tried not to be impressed.

“Good boy. Now climb in the tub,” she said.

Wheezing, grimacing, he slowly sank below the waterline.

“Guaranteed this isn’t going to be the sponge bath of your fantasies,” she said, crouching beside the stone
tub to wash him with the soap and minimize the possibility of infection, “but I have to do it.”

“Whatever . . . necessary,” he hissed.

Her grin was devoid of humor. “Give me a few minutes. You’ll probably regret saying that.”

*  *  *

Time ceased to exist for Blue. He lived only in moments.

There were moments he was utterly alone, lost to pain and darkness. There were moments he was trapped in a nightmare, when the meeting with Michael finished and he stood with John and Solo and they walked to the door, unaware their lives were about to be forever altered. There were moments a woman stroked him, and muttered to him, her honey-almond scent saturating him and her raspy voice delighting him.

He loved those moments.

“It’s been a week,” she said now, “and you’ve already grown a new layer of skin—unscarred, of course, because you’re the gold standard every man is measured against, and flaws aren’t allowed to stay. Gag. You grew a new hand, and a new head of hair.” Soft fingers shifted through the strands. “It’s sickening.”

He wanted to lean into her touch, her warmth, but his body refused to obey the mental command.

He hated his body.

“You need a scar. You’re too pretty. Why won’t you wake up?”

I will. For you. And then I’ll strip you and take you, and you’ll scream my name, again and again, and I won’t
stop until I’m sated, and you’re too exhausted to beg me for more.

“And how are you causing my furniture to levitate? Stop that!”

His power must be seeping out. He would have to do a better job of controlling it.

Who was she?

He’d gone to Pagan’s . . . and his fiancée had been with her sister. Yes. He remembered that much. The two talked about him, and Pagan mentioned becoming a mother. He’d thought she’d understood kids would never be part of their arrangement.

Humans and otherworlders could procreate, but it wasn’t easy. Still, Blue had taken measures to ensure it never happened. Plus he always wore a condom. He didn’t need protection from disease, since humans couldn’t pass anything to him; but in his early days, too many girls had come forward citing a rubber broke and pregnancy was the result. A lie on both counts, but the claims had scared him. No way did he want to raise a kid with a one-night stand. Or worse, a target. A simple little surgery negated the possibility of children.

Need to have a talk with Pagan.
He would make her understand kids were out of the question, or they would part ways.

But the woman with him wasn’t Pagan, he thought. Her scent was richer, and her voice sexier. She was thinner, yet somehow softer. Her tone wasn’t as gentle, and he was glad. He wasn’t easily breakable.

“Yesterday I hacked into Michael’s database and read your updated file, you know. And by ‘read’ I mean
skimmed. I wasn’t
that
interested. Still, you’ve done some pretty impressive wet work.”

Hells yeah, he had. He’d taken down his first target at the age of thirteen.

A male never forgot his first.

Blue had actually butchered the job, an up-close-and-personal grab-and-stab, getting himself grabbed and stabbed in the process. Somehow, even with his injuries, he’d found the strength to pull through and finish. It hadn’t been pretty, but the victory had tasted, oh, so sweet.

He’d learned a lot since then. Now his victims never saw him coming.

And maybe he’d been born for this type of work, because he wasn’t like Solo and John. He’d never felt a moment’s regret for doing what he considered a public service. The equivalent of a human taking out the trash.

“So my question is, why have you allowed Michael to leave you in the hobaggery department?” the female continued. “You rock with guns, blades, and even swords. You’re amazing in hand-to-hand. Compared to anyone but me, of course. And I was particularly impressed with your undercover stint as a cage fighter. Taking down six Bree Lians at the same time? Delish.”

He wanted to pound his chest with his fists. She was impressed by him. For some reason, that mattered.

“Ugh. Why am I complimenting you? You’ve already got an overinflated ego. And I bet that’s because no one has ever told you how much of a pain in the arse you are. No female wants to offend the man responsible
for her orgasms. Or are you a selfish lover? Do you forget all about your partner’s pleasure?”

I’ll never forget yours.
He wanted to tell her. Tried to tell her. Failed.

“No response? No witty comeback? Come on, Blue! Talk to me.” The mattress tilted on one side. The covers rustled. The scent of honey and almonds intensified, and his mouth actually watered. Heat wafted from her with furnace-like intensity, enveloping him. It was exquisite, better than exquisite, and he was suddenly as hard as a steel pipe.

“I hate yammering to comatose Arcadians, I really do. I’m giving you a few more days to wake up, and then I’m dumping you right out the window, just see if I don’t. Because you, Mr. He-slut, are a freaking cover hog, and I’m tired of it.”

He-slut
 . . .

The word reverberated in his head, irritating him. Who would call him—

In a split second, he remembered sneaking into a fancy two-story belonging to . . . Evangeline. Yes. Evangeline Black. Evie.

His caretaker’s identity stunned him. Angered him a little, too. Here he was, pussing up over the Black Plague and actually feeling affection for her. He’d even considered pleasuring her. Was still freaking hard for her! What kind of madness was
that
?

Maybe the explosion had fried the wires in his brain.

“When this is over,” she muttered, “I’m probably going to need a tetanus shot. The proverbial
they
say that inviting a man into your bed is the same as inviting
all of his previous lovers. That would explain why I feel so freaking
crowded
right now.”

The anger sharpened and clawed at his chest. He was desperate to strike back at her. But though his muscles twitched—finally, movement!—he remained in place.

He wasn’t worried about his inability to act. His body was in the process of re-creating itself, and was now in the final stages of the healing. Sometime soon, an electrical current would rush through him, bringing new nerves and cells to vibrant life. He would be back to his . . . old self and . . . he would make Evie . . .

Her insistent warmth drugged him, lulling him deeper and deeper into darkness. . . .

*  *  *

Evie sighed into her pillow. The past week had passed in a blur of activity. She worked at the hospital. She took care of Blue. One night, she finally scouted the military compound where she suspected her father was being kept, but didn’t break in. They’d beefed up security, and she was out of practice. She couldn’t risk getting caught while she had a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound manimal to feed.

What would happen when he woke up? How would he react? He couldn’t—

A massive burst of energy swept through the room, electrifying the air. Goose bumps broke out over her skin, and her adrenaline spiked, every cell in her body waking up to say hello. She gasped, startled.

“Smell good,” Blue muttered.

They were the first words he’d spoken since the night she’d found him, and his voice snapped her out of her shock. Excitement slithered through her. Was he finally coming around? Would she soon be rid of him and the annoying sense of awareness his mere presence elicited? Never had she been more conscious of her breasts, or the quiver in her stomach, or the ache between her legs than she had these past few days. And she didn’t like it!

Before she could turn over and check on him, he threw a heavy arm over her middle and tugged her into the hard curve of his body, spooning her. Warm breath tickled the back of her neck . . . and, blimey, she melted against him.
So good.

“Uh, Blue,” she said, embarrassed by the tremor in her voice.

“Mmm, you feel even better.” As he rubbed his erection into the cleft of her bottom—no way was that thing as big as it seemed to be—his fingers reached around to slide under her T-shirt. Suddenly she was skin to heated skin with her greatest enemy. He cupped one of her breasts, purring, “Sweet little teacup. Can’t wait to put my mouth on it.”