Chapter Thirty
After a long, horrible pause, Nik turned to look at me. He caught me with my hand halfway to my mouth. I froze before dropping the nuts back into the jar and wiping my hands on my ruined jeans. Eating seemed suddenly inappropriate considering I had recently tried to kill my best friend. The guilt slammed into me, threatening to crush me into a puddle of vampire goo.
I felt my eyes begin to burn and the muscles in my throat tighten—not in a thirsty way, but in a blubber-like-a-baby way. I was going to cry again and was damn angry about it. I had cried enough for one night. Nik crossed my apartment in three quick steps and pulled me into his arms. I tensed in his grasp, but he didn't let me go.
Again, I wondered why I couldn't trust him. Hadn't he just done what I couldn't to keep my friend alive—my friend who had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time? He had put himself between me and danger time and again. Was it just because Mikhail told him to? Or was there a true friendship building? Could I let myself be friends with him? Could I forget the first impression he had made?
Nik let me cry until I started to sag in his arms. Finally, he lifted me up and placed me on the bed. He knelt down beside me, carefully brushing my hair away from my wet face. His green eyes were soft and understanding. The red flecks took on a strange sort of dominance in his unique irises.
“I'm going to take care of Tereus and pack you a bag.”
I didn't understand what he meant until he began filling Muffler's bowls with fresh food and water. To my astonishment, Nik moved on to my cat's litter box, tucked in the corner of my kitchen and cleaned it. He didn't even comment on its overflowing state. While he was doing this, Muffler bounced onto the bed and sat down with his front paws draped over my legs so that he could get a better look at my face.
“What exactly happened to you?” Muffler asked in a tone mixed with interest and annoyance. I knew he was upset that I had spent the better part of the week away from my apartment.
“We got attacked by werewolves again,” explained Nik as he tied up the plastic bag filled with cat poop.
Muffler turned back to me and reached a paw over to scratch behind his misshapen ears. Whoever had put Tereus into a cat's body had chosen a Scottish Fold, thus Muffler's ears were tiny and, well, folded over. The cat-fae-thing leaned into my legs until it was difficult to move them at all.
“Not good,” purred Muffler. “They seem determined.”
“Yes, but I'm not too worried about them attacking again,” said Nik. “They've lost most of their dominants, including their alpha. They don't have anyone left to fight with.”
“Dominant?” I asked, my voice cracking with fatigue and post-crying phlegm.
“Werewolves act a lot like their normal counterparts. Their pack hierarchy is based on how dominant they are. The submissive wolves are at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak. Those that are dominant are better fighters and more protective. But we've killed twelve of them so far. I doubt they have anyone left to send at us.”
“Why didn't they send everyone at you at once?” my cat asked.
“They probably didn't expect my people to be able to defend themselves.” Nik stopped himself, aware that his statement wasn't entirely true. “Or, rather, able to put up a bit of fight… giving me enough time to take them out. This second attack was simply what was left, other than the young, submissive, or inexperienced.”
Muffler made a movement with his head that looked like a nod.
Nik rose from his place by the litter box and dumped the plastic bag into my larger garbage. He went to my dresser and began rummaging through my clothing. I didn't really like the idea of him packing for me and so I sat up.
“You up to packing?”
I nodded wearily. “Is doing laundry on our agenda for the rest of the night?”
“You can do some at the seethe tonight. I'm gonna call Mikhail and have a car sent over. You're not up to walking back.”
“Especially if there are more monsters waiting to attack us,” I mumbled. This brought a smile to Nik's lips.
As I got up off the bed, I realized I had left a stain on my bed. Oh well, I thought as I stared at it. Suddenly I realized it was too thick and wet in places to be transferal from my stained clothing. I looked down at the bite marks in my thigh and my wrist—I couldn't see the one on my shoulder. Surprisingly, they were still leaking. It didn't look like they had healed at all. I tried to think back and count the minutes since the attack, but I couldn't decide how long we'd been at the apartment. It seemed like the wound should have stopped bleeding by now. I was about to ignore it when I heard the click of my phone hitting the receiver and Nik's voice.
“Something wrong?”
I glanced at him over my shoulder, not really sure if he was talking to me. “Should I still be bleeding like this?” I asked, pointing at my gouged leg with my wounded wrist. The room started spinning in a lazy, hazy sort of way.
Nik rushed to my side in a blur of motion. He ignored my leg and wrist to brush my hair away from the bite on my shoulder. I nearly fainted when he gave it a gentle poke. “Lay back down.”
I was going to argue, but he applied a little pressure and I simply collapsed onto the mattress. Had I not been nearly unconscious, I would have had some sort of smart ass comment for his next move. He tore his shirt off, just like they do in the movies. Though it was already blood-stained, he wadded it up against my neck and used my good hand to apply pressure.
“Stay put. I'll pack, including the stuff in the laundry basket,” he added when I began to protest. “Mikhail is sending someone. They should be here any minute. And he's sending someone to deal with the corpses too.”
Nik rummaged around my room, throwing things into the large army-green duffel bag. I reminded him about my need for bras when I saw him beginning to pull the tie shut. He added the entire contents of the drawer to the horde and yanked the drawstring closed. I chose not to tell him I didn't foresee a need for the strapless lacy number or the super-date-night push-up bra.
“That's them,” Nik announced at the distant sound of cars tires screeching to a halt. “Tereus, someone will come to check on you.”
I began to sit up, but he shifted to my side before I could manage it. Nik flung the bag over his shoulder and picked me up in his arms like I was a baby. He trotted down the stairs at a slightly askance angle to make room for my dangling feet.
Sure enough, a car was parked at the curb. A man in black was standing by the passenger door. He nodded respectfully to Nik as he opened the door. Rather than place me on the seat, he slid in, keeping me in his lap. The man, a human by the sound of his heartbeat, rounded the car as quickly as he could and climbed in.
“She okay?” he asked.
“She needs to drink… and I need to get her wounds properly bandaged.”
To my disgust, the man reached around the duffel bag wedged between him and Nik, placing his wrist right in front of my mouth. I gulped and held my breath. I could hear his heart pumping and could almost see his pulse through the translucent skin on his wrist. I didn't have much left of my not-too-reliable control. I jerked my head away, into Nik's shoulder while trying to slam my fist down on the window controllers. Of course, I missed and only managed to turn the air vents toward the floor.
“No,” ordered Nik to the driver. He rolled down the windows, evidently getting the message. “She doesn't think she can control herself. Besides, she only drinks from blood bags,” he added when I made a gruff sound in the back of my throat.
The man shrugged and drove quickly to the restaurant. He stopped near the side entrance, which led straight into the multilayered basement. Nik opened the door and somehow managed to get out of the car, even though he had me in his arms and a giant duffel bag over his shoulder. The driver got out to open the side door, leaving the car running in the middle of the street. With a nod to our chauffeur, Nik practically fell down the stairs, or at least that's how it felt to me. Maybe I was getting light-h
eaded again.
“What happened… is she okay?” a voice asked. It was Josh.
“We got attacked. More werewolves. Bring me blood bags. A lot of them!”
Josh didn't answer, but I heard his footsteps running away from us. Nik moved quickly into his room. From my position in Nik’s arms, I could only see small portions of his room, but from what I saw it was sterile and opulent all at the same time. His white couches, though clearly expensive, contained sharp edges. I noticed an enormous bed with a silver framing and maroon coverings. The walls were whitewashed, with faint silver stripes which I almost missed. Before I could figure out his décor choice, he was kicking open a door and striding into his bathroom.
Like the bedroom, it was a strange mix of modern boxiness and rich elegance. The bottom half of the walls were tiled with stark slate, with the far corner glassed off into a not-so-private shower. The upper half of the walls mimicked the bedroom with silver and white stripped paint. The tub was a perfect rectangle on the outside—the sides running all the way to the tiled floor—and a sophisticated oval on the inside. I spotted plush, white towels standing out against the dark slate. I could only think of the blood that would soon stain the whiteness. He gently deposited me into the bathtub and tossed the duffle bag toward the bedroom. From under one of the sinks, he pulled out a first aid kit the size of a large tool box.
“I have to take your shirt off.” With gentle fingers, he pulled the drenched fabric away from my shoulder and tore it clean off my body. Quickly, he covered the wide wound with a large pile of Telfa pads and wrapped my shoulder and neck in three rolls of vet wrap.
“Now for the jeans,” he added as he reached for the button. I was too tired and in too much pain to think about modesty, though I did notice his growing blush. I let him tear my jeans off… literally, though not in the sexy way they did in my books. Thankfully, I was wearing pretty concealing underwear and a heavy duty sports bra. In reality, I'd seen bathing suits more revealing. Nik bathed my leg and carefully wrapped it in Telfa pads and vet wrap. Just as he was cutting the end of the vet wrap from the roll, Josh entered with a large cooler, the kind you use for weeklong camping trips. He placed it next to the tub.
“What else can I do?” Josh asked in a worried voice. I tried to turn my head to smile reassuringly at him, but the movement brought a grimace to my face. In the end, I think it did more harm than good.
“Get out,” snapped Nik. Josh was nearly through the door when Nik called him back. “Wait… get that bag of clothing cleaned,” he added, nodding toward my duffel bag. Josh grabbed it and left.
“You didn't need to yell at him.”
“What are you? Josh's protector?” asked Nik, his eyes only for his work—my mutilated wrist.
“No… just your pain in the ass,” I mumbled.
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