South of Surrender (Hearts of the Anemoi) (3 page)

She sighed. Stupid storm. The service would get restored soon. In the meantime, she grabbed the first-aid kit and a couple of stable blankets and returned to her mystery guest. Laney was known for taking in strays, but this was going a little far, even for her.

Inside the kit, the bottles were sized differently and color-coded so she could tell the different solutions apart. She poured saline from the white bottle over the wound to clean it, then did her best to center a gauze pad over the injury before securing it with Vetwrap. Doing this was probably stupid, given what his other injuries likely were, but it made her feel useful. And at least it would stay clean until she could get the vet out here.

“What else is wrong with you?” she murmured. Carefully, she worked her way around his head, and smoothed her hands over his shoulder to his—

“What the hell?”

Her fingers encountered something downy soft. Something that had no business on a horse’s back.

She looked. Squinted. Leaned in and looked again.

There was no way she was seeing what her very low vision was telling her she was seeing.

No way on earth.

Running her hands over the feathery protrusion confirmed what her sight had identified.

The horse…the horse had wings.

Chapter Three

Awe and wonder—not to mention a healthy dose of fear—rushed through Laney’s veins so hard she became lightheaded.

She pressed her fingers against the downy softness of the wings again and sucked in a breath. Never had she felt something so silky, so plush, and her fingertips were especially sensitive to touch.

Sinking her hand into the complex layers of feathers, Laney had to accept what all her senses were telling her.

A winged horse had crashed through the ceiling of her stable in the midst of a terrible storm.

Dizziness threatened to swamp her. She forced a deep breath.

How was this possible? Maybe she was actually in her bed dreaming right now? Or maybe her sight had finally failed her after all? Though, that didn’t explain what she’d
felt
…

Her amazement morphed into concern as her imagination painted a picture of this magnificent beast battling the elements and losing. Were there others like him? Would they be searching for him?

Did the fact she was actually entertaining the existence of a…of a Pegasus certify her as raving mad?

But here he was. In the flesh. Far, far from wherever he belonged.

The thought that he was lost, all alone, and injured made her heart squeeze. And,
oh God
, it wasn’t like she could bring the vet out now. What the hell was she going to do? If anyone else saw him, they’d take him away, study him, lock him up.

No way.

Or, they’d take her away, run a series of psych tests, and lock
her
up.

Also not appealing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out,” she whispered as she stroked him.

Her finger caught on a bent feather. She smoothed her palm over the area and found more damage—the sharp edges of broken feather spines and, again, a stickiness she feared was blood. Red smears on her hand confirmed her suspicion.

Unlike his leg, she had no idea how to treat a wing, for goodness sake. She just hoped he didn’t thrash in his sleep and damage it further.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked. She spread out several horse blankets to provide a barrier between her skin and the puddles and debris, then sat all the way down. Her legs were all pins and needles from squatting, and she just needed a minute to stretch them out. “I’ll stay with you, okay?” Stroking his golden neck and mane, all she could think was,
I’m touching a Pegasus!

After a while, she grabbed an extra stable blanket and pulled it up over her bare legs. Her clothes were nearly dry, but her sneakers were still wet and squishy, so she slipped them off. Thunder rumbled in the distance, once, twice. Laney’s stomach dropped and, instinctively, she leaned into the horse’s big body. Through everything, horses had always been her greatest comfort. Despite this guy’s differences, he still gave her that same feeling of safety and solace.

And, in contrast to the cooling night breeze, he was so
warm
.

For a long moment, Laney reveled in the soft rise and fall of his body, proof that this miraculous beast existed. And that he lived.

His heat seeped into her muscles, achy from the tension she’d borne earlier. Now that she knew all her babies were safe, fatigue roared through her body and Laney couldn’t stop yawning. She should get up. Arguably, it wasn’t safe sitting here by him—
are Pegasuses even friendly?
The question made her head spin. Five more minutes. She just couldn’t pull herself away from something so magical. But it definitely wouldn’t be safe to fall asleep. Just a while longer. The shoulder she leaned against rose and fell, rose and fell. Just a little while longer…

…

Bone-crushing pain and soul-deep exhaustion told Chrysander Notos he was still alive.

He was adrift in a dark sea of agony, disoriented and alone. His limbs weighed a thousand pounds. Putting the full force of his wavering concentration behind the effort, he forced his eyelids open. The low light stung and he blinked and squinted.

Finally, his eyes adjusted. He scanned his surroundings—an odd red metal floor lay beneath him, and the wall before him was made of some kind of unusual fencing. Chrys couldn’t assemble the parts into a meaningful whole, and didn’t have the energy to think about it, anyway.

At least his form had stabilized. He lay as a man…wherever he was.

The tighter his grasp on consciousness, the more Chrys became aware of another sensation: luxurious warmth against his back. And as hurt as he was, he craved more of whatever was providing the life-giving heat.

Lifting his head made the world swim, forcing him to pause and breathe through the disorientation. His right shoulder protested the movement, still raw from being stabbed by the leashed lightning Eurus shouldn’t have been able to wield, but Chrys had to know what he was feeling.

Easing onto his back, Chrys found himself staring into the sleeping face of an incredibly beautiful woman. Long black hair spilled down around her shoulder, and cherry red lips set off the fairness of her skin. She lay stretched out against him, her head now resting against his bicep.

The comfort her body heat provided was so intense, her laying against him didn’t even set off his usual anxiety about being touched. As long as he controlled physical contact, he could handle it, but being touched by others was a one-way ticket to a panic attack. It was a sign of his pain and desperation that he now wanted more of this stranger touching him. His condition yearned for her warmth, demanded it.

He struggled to turn toward her, and was struck by the burning ache seizing his forearm. From where he’d blocked the— He gawked. Thick bandages now covered the wound. She’d patched him up?

The thought that she’d touched him while he was so vulnerable should’ve alarmed him, but it simply made him crave her even harder. Shaking from the effort, Chrys slowly turned until he faced her. Soft, warm exhalations hushed over the skin of his chest. He scooted closer, until her lips were but a breath away from his pecs. A length of her hair caressed his arm, thick and soft and warm.

It still wasn’t enough.

Chrys pressed his legs against hers. She let out a sigh and shifted. Chrys froze and then nearly groaned as she burrowed against him, her forehead tight against his chest and her legs entwined with his. Her incredible body heat flowed into him and more than compensated for the dizziness sending black spots around the edges of his vision. He breathed through a rolling wave of nausea.

Thank the gods for this woman, whoever she was. Bad off as he was, he couldn’t even bother to care. He should. Gods only knew what she’d seen, but all he could think about was how her body warmed his from calves to throat. To Chrys, heat was life. And she was giving him both. A shudder of relief ran through him.

Not wanting to wake her, Chrys refrained from going as far as wrapping his arm around her like he wanted to, but he needed heat so intensely he couldn’t muster more than a passing guilt for using her this way.

His head thunked to the floor and his eyes sagged.

Naked
.
You’re naked, Notos.
Shit. Chrys concentrated, willing material, any material—he’d take a damn toga if that’s what he could get—to materialize over his bottom half. He broke out in a cold sweat and shuddered. You know you’re in the shit when you can’t even cover your bare ass.

Fuck it
. After some shut-eye and a few hours of her heat, he’d be in more shape to worry about making himself presentable.

Fatigue pressed down on him, made even the involuntary action of breathing take way too much effort. His gut soured and tossed. Closing his eyes and concentrating on her heat seemed to be the only way to combat the revolt his stomach kept threatening. He pressed his face into the woman’s hair—oranges. She smelled of sweet, juicy oranges.

Soaking in her warmth and her summery scent, Chrys succumbed to his injured exhaustion and passed out again.

…

Laney woke up sweating. The sun streamed in through the hole in the ceiling, roasting her body and drawing out a sheen of perspiration on her skin. The underneath of her hair was even damp.

It’s so hot
, was her first thought.

The winged horse!
was her second.

She jumped up. Only, something heavy braced around her waist. Shaking off the fog of sleep, she reached down to push herself out from the warm weight.

What the hell?

It was a…it felt like a…

Laney wrenched into a sitting position, and an arm fell into her lap. An arm that had been wrapped around her. A…human arm?

Her heart pounded blood through her ears.
No, no. Time to wake up, Laney
. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Scanned her vision over him until, like a puzzle, the pieces started to come together. And…

Still. Freaking. Human.

A moan of panic tore up her throat. She crab-scrabbled backward, and her hand came down on something sharp. She cried out. From somewhere else in the barn, a horse whinnied, a long, low call of concern. Laney slipped, and something sharp and metallic scraped the back of her calf.

But Laney couldn’t fight the blind panic. There was no horse.
No horse!
Only a man.
A freaking man!
Questions flooded her brain, disoriented her, ignited her panic.
How? Who was he? What was happening to her? How could her senses have failed her so badly?

“What’s happening?” the man groaned. “Gods, are you okay? Hey, watch out!”

Laney’s back slammed into the stable’s grillwork. The impact rattled down her spine and set off a sickening ache in her neck and head.

Shadows shifted in front of her, but her sight was no more than a blurred, unfocused array of pinpoint images. She had to calm down.

“Are you all right?” came a deep voice from right next to her. Warmth radiated close to her leg. “Aw, Hades, you’re bleeding.”

Laney had to swallow twice before she could muster a verbal response. “Wh-who are y-you?”

“Chrys.”

“C-Chrys?” As if that explained anything. The light turned gold directly in front of her. Laney blinked and forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. “You’re a man.”

“Last time I checked,” he said, voice weak but amused.

She scoffed.
Yeah, well…
“Last time
I
checked, you were a horse, so one of us isn’t quite in their right mind.” Laney groaned. Did she really just say that out loud? She sighed, still shaking. None of this made any sense. “Forget I said that.” He didn’t respond, making the air feel hot and awkward. “Why are you in my barn?”

“I’m not sure. What’s your name?” he finally said, amusement gone from his voice.

“Laney.”

“Okay, Laney, can you stand?”

“I can, but I need you to get me out of the stall.”

“Uh, what do you—”

“I’m having trouble seeing,” she said, unwilling to reveal her disability when she didn’t know who he was or what he was doing here. She waved her uninjured hand, accidentally brushing against him. “I’m all disoriented.” Thankfully, it was less and less true. The more she calmed, the more she regained clarity in her limited vision.

“Sure,” he said in a tight voice. He grasped her good hand. “Go ahead and stand up.”

Laney nodded and allowed his strength to pull her to her feet, his hand totally encompassing hers. Her legs were like Jell-O from fright, from her injury. Metal warmed the bottom of her feet. “Do you, um, see my sneakers?”

“Uh, yeah. Got ‘em.”

Laney held her hands out, but his light touch fell on the top of her foot.

“Lift.”

“I can put my own shoes on.”

“No doubt. Lift.”

Laney obeyed, ignoring the heat of his skin against hers and the soft brush of his hair against her thigh. She fought the urge to reach out and see if it felt as silky against her hand. Silky like the horse’s wings.
Let it go, Laney
.

“There you are,” he said in a deep voice. The golden light moved away from her.

What the heck was that, anyway? If she was developing halos, her sight was deteriorating yet again. “Thanks.”

“Okay, uh, take about three steps to your right, and you’re out in the main hallway, but there’s a rough piece of metal you need to step over.”

Wincing at the sting of her cuts, Laney allowed Chrys to guide her.

“Step up and over,” he said. “Good. You’re clear.”

The rubber beneath her feet confirmed the truth of his words. Then the hard concrete told her when she’d returned to the central aisle. Laney swayed.

His hand gripped her shoulder. “Whoa.”

“Think I just stood up too fast. It’ll pass.”

“How hard did you hit your head?”

Distracted by the weird sensation of vertigo, Laney shrugged and braced her hand against the rail. She hissed. Holding her palm up close to her face, all she could see was red, not the specifics of her injury. Her wounds needed to be cleaned and treated, but no sense revealing just how much they hurt. She dropped her hand, ignoring the stinging, and tried to look him over.

She was used to the limitations of her low vision by now, but sometimes it was
so
frustrating not to be able to see more than a pinpoint of the world at a time, her brain putting the whole together like a slow computer loading the pixels of a high-resolution image. Blond hair. Longish. Angled jaw. Muscled shoulder.
Bare
muscled shoulder.

Laney gasped and cut her gaze away, half of her afraid of what else she might see if she continued to scan her gaze over him, and half of her
dying
to know.

“What?”

“You don’t have a shirt on.”

“Uh, no.”

“This is so crazy,” she whispered to herself. She cleared her throat. “Please tell me you’re not naked.”

“I’m not naked.”

Laney looked. Scanned. Jeans. She released a long breath. “Good. That’s good.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, his tone strained and raspy, like it took effort to speak.

“For what?” Adrenaline flooded through her, along with a healthy dose of fear. She wasn’t sure what scared her most. Whatever he was about to apologize for? That her impossible Pegasus didn’t exist after all? That she’d woken up with a strange and equally impossible man? That she’d apparently imagined the events of last night?