by T. S. Joyce
It took the better part of an hour to sew sexy Humpty Dumpty back together again. No doubt, without his shifter healing, he would been in a lot more trouble. She coaxed a numbing tea down his throat, and spread a poultice across his closed wounds to encourage healing. If he was as strong as he looked, she would be able to take the stitches out in two days’ time.
When he was all bandaged and not weeping red anymore, she cleaned up his leather jacket as best she could in the kitchen sink. Despite her efforts, it would probably always smell like blood.
Logan’s sweater was ruined, so she threw it in the trash. Her gaze kept drifting to the steady rise and fall of his chest as she worked around his unconscious form. His chest muscles were cut and severe, pressing against his smooth skin, and even in his sleep, the mounds of his abdominals flexed with every exhale. A tattoo of a curving symbol she didn’t understand stained his shoulder and added another mystery to the pile.
He needed a damned shirt on before she found herself humping his leg like a horny Chihuahua. Plus he would need meat when he woke up so he could heal faster, and thanks to her missed grocery run, she was fresh out of the good stuff.
Did she want to leave him alone in her house? Hell no. He could be a sticky-fingered maniac for all she knew.
But as she tried to pry her eyes away from the crease of muscle that delved into his dark jeans, escape seemed like a really appealing game plan. Plus, she was poor as dirt and two days behind on the rent payment and if he was going to rob her, he was going to have a time trying to steal her furniture and finding a buyer for the shabby chic theme she’d adopted as she pieced together her mother’s things with the possessions Bron had given her in the divorce.
A light dusting of hair trailed from his belly button to the snap of his jeans and she tried again to take her eyes away from his beautifully sculpted body.
She didn’t know much about this stranger in her house, but she did know one thing.
Logan was trouble.
Chapter Three
Logan bolted upright and hissed at the pull of fresh stitches across his chest.
The house was dark, but that didn’t matter. Not with his shifter night vision. Gingerly, he stood and padded over to the wall to flick the light switch on.
The woman, Muriel, had removed his shirt and shoes. And where were his damned socks? It felt too intimate for him to have spent God knows how long with a woman he’d never met before. The house smelled of shifter, so she definitely wasn’t human. Even if her scent hadn’t tipped him off, she hadn’t taken him to a hospital. Any human would’ve taken one glance at what Shira’s challengers did to him and then called an ambulance.
She knew what he was too.
He ran his hands through his hair as he studied her small home. A glance out the front window told him she lived out in the woods and probably didn’t have a neighbor for miles. Thick pine forest painted the landscape as evening shadows stretched across the yard.
The cabin was small, and the only scent here was hers, so she must live alone. Maybe clan life was different and females didn’t mate until later in life.
Mismatched furniture with colorful throw blankets gave the cabin a homey feel. The walls were wood, stained in a light color that made the space feel more open. Cheap, transparent curtains bracketed the windows, and an abstract painting of a red moose hung over the small television set.
“Hello?” he called in a voice that sounded like he hadn’t had water in a week. His throat was on fire for a glass of cool water.
The kitchen was crowded but not messy. Only a toaster and a coffee maker sat on the longest counter, but there was so little space, it looked cluttered.
It smelled strange here—like plants.
He followed the trail to a door across the living area and turned on the light. The single window in there was lined with strings of dried plants, and a long table took up an entire wall. The rest of the house was spotless, but maybe she’d cleaned up while he was passed out. He hadn’t really noticed much on his way inside earlier, other than the dizziness that crashed through him in sickening waves and that comfortable looking couch.
This room had a sacred feel, but she wasn’t home and he wanted to know more about the beautiful woman who had saved him. Her raven black hair and bright green eyes had been slashing across his mind on a loop since he’d come to. Her lips had been full, and pulled into a worried moue, and her dark, delicate eyebrows had been pulled down like she was actually worried about whether he lived or died.
It had been a long damned time since anyone had looked at him with anything other than disdain.
He stepped inside and fingered the haphazard stacks of notes and sketches. More were pinned across the wall over the table. Concoctions, ingredients, instructions and endless drawings of plants overwhelmed his senses. She must be some kind of healer.
That explained the chemical smell wafting from beneath his bandages and the drunken edge to his thoughts. She’d given him something to dull the ragged fringes of his pain, and now the effect on his muddled thoughts was uncomfortable.
His animal seethed inside of him, but he gritted his teeth against the urge to give into his beast. His feral side wouldn’t help anything. He stalked across the room and brushed the curtains aside with his fingertips. There was some sort of storm shelter or storage shed buried into the ground and beside it sat a small shop.
“Make yourself at home,” the woman, Muriel, said from behind him.
A snarl curled his lips as he crouched down and spun. Whatever witch’s brew she’d given him was stifling his instincts even more than he’d thought. He hadn’t even heard her come in.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as attitude and insecurity fought for her face.
“Sorry,” he gritted out, still pissed that she’d managed to scare him. He wasn’t used to cowering. “I shouldn’t have come in here.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t tell you not to.”
He straightened his spine until he towered over her. He had a good foot of height on her but she didn’t back away like humans tended to do around him. Even their dulled senses could tell he was dangerous, but Muriel just dropped her eyes to his toes and held her ground.
Smart woman.
His animal didn’t even want to kill her. In his life, little victories were few and far between, and he canted his head and looked at her with a little more interest than before. Either she was trained around alpha males, or she was high in her clan and her bear didn’t house the fear that submissives did.
“I brought you food,” she whispered so low it tickled the fine hairs on his ears.
Her change in mood was distracting as he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. “Listen, I really didn’t mean to pry if this room is special. I was just curious about the plant smell.”
“Do you like steak? Of course you like steak.” She shook her head. “That was a silly question.”
She sounded frazzled around him and his animal rumbled discontentedly inside of him. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? The only women he knew well were two notches shy of insane and feral to boot. He didn’t know many shifter females, but the ones he did know never had a problem dressing him down when he’d crossed a line.
“You live here alone?” Dammit, he’d meant to sound nonchalant to coax her thoughts away from whatever was making her uncomfortable, but now he sounded like a stalker instead.
“I do, but my friends are close.”
“You mean your clan?”
Some emotion flittered across her face, but before he could decipher it, she slipped back into a mask of suspicion. Turning for the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “I’m not much of a cook.”
Her car keys were tossed onto the dining table and plastic grocery bags littered the small countertops. Logan shifted his weight from side to side as she began to put away the food she’d bought. Her fingers fumbled, like his presence made her nervous, so he excused himself to the bathroom to
wash up and give her some space.
Perfumes and face washes and other suspicious liquids whose mysteries could only be realized by rocket scientists and members of the fairer sex lined the counter by the single sink. And being the nosy asshole he was, he popped the top to one of the mystery gels and took a sniff. He’d pay for his curiosity later with a headache.
He did a double take at his reflection in the mirror. Holy hell, he looked rough. He wasn’t big into vanity, but his bandaged torso looked like he’d been put through a meat grinder, and he was so pale his skin was tinged blue.
At least his eyes weren’t glowing like damned bug lights right now. That had probably been what got him kicked to the curb by that prick alpha Steven Marsden. He splashed his face with water and washed his hands, but when he reached for the towel that smelled like laundry detergent and Muriel, a loud clatter sounded from the kitchen.
Like a shot, he bolted from the bathroom. Muriel clutched her hand to her stomach and muttered something too low for him to hear.
“What happened?” he asked, wiping his wet hands on his jeans.
The quick glance she gave him was full of embarrassment, and a sexy blush landed in her cheeks. “I told you I wasn’t much of a cook.”
A broiling pan lay on the ground with two steaks still sitting in it. At least the meat hadn’t been wasted.
Twitching his head as he approached to wave off the warning snarl of his animal, he said, “Let me see.” Reaching out, he tugged her fingertips.
“Don’t touch me,” she said with a gasp. The look on her face was truly startled, and her eyes shone with an inhuman silvery color.
Crossing his arms, he waited until the stubborn female relented. Slowly, never lifting her eyes to his, she unfurled her arm and held it out. A red burn lay across her forearm.
“I can cook. You go soak that under cold water and I’ll make the food.” She might not be any good at cooking, but he’d been living on bachelor cuisine long enough to know a trick or two in the kitchen.
Muriel hesitated, but she moved readily enough when Logan picked up the pan of meat and invaded her space near the stove. As she turned the sink on, he nonchalantly sniffed her hair. He couldn’t help himself. She didn’t smell like the bitter, acrid scent of fear that humans got around him. She was all herbs, and woman and floral scented shampoo that imprinted in his mind so deeply, he’d be able to recognize her scent for the rest of his life.
“Are you some kind of healer?” he asked, as he turned the heat of the front burner down. A slow cook on this meat would preserve the flavor more. She had a seasoning rack set up near the back coils, so he picked his go-to combination as she doused her arm in tap water.
“Sort of. The women in my family have always been medicine woman as far back as we could trace our lineage, but the art was lost with my mom. When she passed, she gave me the books though, and I’ve been trying to play catch up.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Why do I want to learn? Because it’s a shame that the tradition ended with my grandma. There aren’t many of us left anymore, and no other healers that I know about.” She tipped her chin up and her eyes, now back to their normal green color, were so serious. “Who are you?”
That was a loaded question. Who was he? He was a traitor and a rogue, and either one of those things could get her hurt. Normally, he wouldn’t care about who he dragged down with him, but Muriel was different. She’d helped him, and he’d be damned if he repaid her by putting her life in danger.
Inhaling slowly, he turned and leveled her with a look. “You already know more than you should about me.”
Chapter Four
How could Muriel know too much about him? All she knew was his name. And also that he was sexier than a fireman’s calendar, but that was just an uncomfortable observation that her ovaries had made—one anybody with a sex drive and an appreciation for well-formed men could make.
Had he felt the rush when he brushed his fingertips gently against hers? She’d been stunned at the flood of feelings he’d caused just by a touch of his hand. Even now, her heart beat erratically as she watched him move around the kitchen out of the corner of her eye.
“I bought you a shirt,” she said softly.
She couldn’t be sure from here, but it looked like the corner of his lip crooked up. “I suppose it is strange of me to be half naked in your kitchen, isn’t it?”
Hot was the word she would’ve used, but okay—strange would do.
She’d never treated a burn before, but tonight she was going to figure out how. Hitting the tap, she dried the stinging red mark on her arm, then pulled a gray thermal sweater she’d bought in town from a plastic bag on the table. “It’s as close to the one I had to throw away as I could find.” In fact, she probably spent way too much time looking.
“How much did it cost?” Logan asked as he pulled it gingerly over his head and settled it over his bandages. He had to be in a great deal of pain, but he didn’t show it much.
“Don’t worry about it. I got it on clearance.” A lie, but she couldn’t help it. Discussing money always made her stomach turn cold.
With a grunt, he flipped the steaming steaks and reached into his back pocket. Muriel’s eyes widened as his triceps fought against the thin material. He’d left the top button of his shirt undone, and she could make out the crease of his chest from here. Sliding a wallet from his pocket, he pulled out four twenties and laid them on the kitchen table. “For the shirt,” he declared. “And for the food too.” His dark eyes met hers and his words turned hard. “You saved me and you didn’t have to. If you ever need anything, you come to me and I’ll take care of it.” Why did it sound like he was pledging his fealty to her?
“Anyone would’ve done the same in my position,” she said, embarrassed by his scrutiny.
“That’s a lie just like you saying my shirt was on sale. That entire clan up in those mountains saw my predicament and sent me packing. Don’t pretend like what you did doesn’t matter. It matters to me.”
She wasn’t used to men speaking so openly, and especially not shifters as dominant as he was. Oh, she knew exactly where he would rank in a clan. He would be able to fight and claw his way to the very top, second possibly, and wait for his turn as alpha. Bron had been like that, but he hadn’t been able to talk to her about his feelings. Not ever. He’d been too hung up on Samantha to ever let her in, and she’d been just as wary.
But this man, this stranger, was looking into her eyes like he wanted to make sure she understood how much he appreciated what she’d done for him. “You’re welcome,” she said. “You don’t owe me anything though.”
“Is your mate dead?” As soon as he asked the question, he busied himself with stirring the boiling green beans on the stove. His jaw ticked once, like he wished he could swallow the question back down.
“No. I don’t have a mate.”
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not.” Her retort was laced with defensiveness, but the entire subject made her want to run and hide from him. She’d been mated, and it had failed. It was her biggest disgrace and would haunt her all of her days. Softening, she snatched two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with clinking ice from the small freezer. “I was mated. Married. I’m three months divorced. So…now you can look at me just like everyone else around here.”
Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his chin and glared at her. “And how would that be?”
“Like I’ve failed at the one important role I was supposed to excel in.”
“Mmm,” he grunted non-commitally. Pulling the steaks from the pan, he set them onto two plates he grabbed from the drying rack by the sink, then draped a dishtowel over his shoulder. The man actually seemed to know what he was doing in her kitchen. “My brain doesn’t work on the same wavelength as most everybody else’s, Muriel. Hence the rogue status. You’ll get no judgment from me. I was curious why you lived here alone is all. I thought clan were more soc
ial that this, but maybe I was mistaken. Then again, after spending five minutes with that asshole, Marsden, I can see the appeal of you living away from them.”
Muriel pursed her lips and turned her face so he wouldn’t see the smile his observation about her father caused. Dad was an asshole, and she liked Logan a little more now for seeing it too. The ice crackled and broke in the glass as she poured the rest of his herbal tea. “Do your injuries hurt?”
“No.”
Stubborn man. “You don’t have to posture in front of me. You don’t judge me and I won’t think less of you if you admit you’re in pain. I need to gauge how much pain relief to give you until I can take the stitches out.”
“I feel like shit.”
“Ha!” She hadn’t meant to laugh out loud, but finally, finally someone shot straight with her. “Sorry. I wasn’t laughing at your pain. Here.” Setting the table with their drinks and silverware, she settled into her usual seat and waited for him to bring the plates of food over.
This time, he sank into the chair so hard, it creaked under his weight, and he let his face fall with the pain sitting probably caused him. Without a word, he gulped the fragrant herbal tea down and handed her the plate with the biggest cut of meat.
She thought about arguing, but he didn’t seem the type to be goaded into something he didn’t want to do, so she thanked him and stabbed a forkful of green beans. That top button on his shirt was so tempting to stare at, and as she chewed, she tried to remember what his skin felt like under her touch. She hadn’t paid much attention at the time, on account of being afraid he would die on her, but now she wished she would’ve taken a second to appreciate a strong man under her hand. The way her love life was shaping up, she might never get another shot at touching a man as handsome as Logan.
Dinner was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Or at least it wasn’t for her. Muriel was busy watching Logan’s jaws work as he chewed, and his dark lashes almost touch his cheeks as he looked down at his plate. His nimble fingers around the fork and the ripple of muscle across his shoulders with every movement were seductive enough to hold her rapt attention.
