by Amelia Jade
“What’s done is done,” Flint said, dismissing her confession with a wave of his hand.
He was, she noted, not entirely caring of her words. Maddy had hoped that revealing the weight she felt on her shoulders, about how whatever had happened to Connor was her fault, would help relieve some of the stress she felt inside her. Flint had effectively prevented her from doing any such thing.
Before Maddy could find the words to respond, something drew her attention.
“Umm?” she said, turning the sound into a question as she nodded her head at the crowd of people.
Several of them had begun to back away from the group, while several more rushed forward, disappearing out of sight under an overhang.
“That is the entrance,” Flint said, indicating the direction several employees had headed in. He didn’t say anything else, and instead just watched.
A circle opened up as several of the people who had rushed toward the doors reappeared. This time they were dragging someone over their shoulder. Whoever it was, they were having a hard time moving of their own accord. The white marbled floor was streaked with dirty water as the person moved over it.
Maddy peered closer, her eyes trying to focus through the tinted glass.
“Shit,” Flint swore angrily at the same moment she realized that it wasn’t water.
It was blood.
***
Connor!
She turned and barged through the door, barreling down the unfamiliar stairs and emerging into a warren of hallways.
“Wait!” Flint’s voice came from behind her. “It might be a trap!”
Maddy ignored him, frantically searching for the door that would take her out to the floor. Behind her she heard a door swing open. Whirling, she saw two big men haul Connor inside. She darted toward them, but they ignored her. She followed their eyes, and arrived at the door they wanted two steps ahead of them. She threw it open and held it wide so that they could easily get Connor inside.
Turning, Maddy noticed it was a sterile, medical room of sorts. Not a surgeon’s operating room at a hospital, but much more than she would have expected a normal club to have.
Then again, judging by the size of the two men who had brought Connor inside, this was far more than a “normal” club.
“Connor,” she said desperately as they gingerly lifted him onto the bed in the center of the room.
“Get his leg,” one of them commanded.
At their directions, she helped them lay him back on to the bed. He groaned, but his eyes stayed closed.
“He’s in a bad way,” one of them commented. “We need to rebreak his leg and set it properly. Otherwise he’ll have a limp.”
“Okay,” she said, looking back and forth. “That should hurt, but I mean, he’ll recover, won’t he?”
The pair of shifters looked at each other quickly before they focused back on her. Maddy felt her stomach tighten. There was more. Something they weren’t telling her.
“What else?” she whispered.
The one who had spoken the first time hesitated.
“Show me,” she commanded, fixing him with a stare, refusing to back down from the challenge she had just thrown out there. By giving an order and forcing her will upon the man, Maddy knew she had just tried to insert herself in the hierarchy. If the shifter decided she was an unknown, he would probably kick her from the room.
“Who are you?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m with him,” Maddy replied, her body language making it very clear which him she was referring to.
After another moment, the shifter finally nodded, respecting her authority, and lifted up Connor’s blood-soaked shirt.
“This shouldn’t be,” he said bluntly. “This should have stopped bleeding a long time ago.”
Maddy peered at the wound, a mass of black dried blood, green-tinged skin, and angry red flesh exposed to the open air. The man was right. The wound was bad, but if the blood had dried to a blackened color on him, it should have closed by now. Instead, it continued to bleed.
“Leg.” The faint word escaped from Connor’s lips as he stirred.
“What’s that?” she asked, moving immediately to his side, careful of his injury.
“My leg,” he said, eyes blinking open. “Fix the leg now.”
The two shifters started to move, then stopped as they looked at her. Maddy frowned. Why were they looking at her? They knew it needed to be done, and Connor had just confirmed it. She hated to see him put in any more pain, but she knew he would react worse if he ended up with a limp for the rest of his life that prevented him from doing his job.
Then it hit her. She had taken charge of the situation. They were looking to her for permission!
“Do it,” she said in her best command voice, indicating the clearly broken leg. She could see a lump of what she presumed to be bone sticking out, almost puncturing the skin on his calf. How the hell had he been able to walk on it? Her stomach rebelled at even contemplating the idea of doing something like that. Her eyes flashed with pride as she wrapped one hand around his face, looking into his eyes as the two shifters set about their business.
Maddy had always been amazed at how well most shifters could set bones. She had broken her arm rather badly when she was younger, and her father had reset it for her before taking her to the hospital. The doctors had been amazed at the job he had done. Her father had blown it off when she asked him about it, saying that shifters both learned young and had an innate sense of just knowing how to do it.
That sense was in full force now as the men worked on his leg.
Connor jerked in her arms and his eyes bulged. Maddy heard something pop loudly, and Connor cried out, clamping his lips closed, but the sound still escaped. The shifters relaxed their hold on him, and almost immediately Connor’s blue eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out.
“The leg will set properly now,” one of the guards said.
“What are your names?” she asked, looking at both of them.
“I’m Andre, he’s Milos,” the one who had spoken to her at first replied.
“Thank you both,” she said, before returning her attention to the wound on his side. “Now, what do we do about this?”
“Clean it, and hope for the best.”
She turned as Flint finally entered the room. Where the hell had he been? It had been a good five or ten minutes since Andre and Milos dragged Connor into the room. Flint had been right next to her in the office. What had taken him so long to get down there? Maddy had forgotten all about him in the commotion that had followed.
“That’s it?” she asked, angry. “Just hope and pray, nothing more?”
Flint shrugged. “I am sorry Maddy, but I have never seen something like that before. He is a shifter; his body should have healed that quickly. It looks deep, and it might have taken a day to completely heal, but the flow of blood should have stopped in five or maybe ten minutes. That blood around it is black and crusty. It has been dry for a long time now. This happened at least an hour ago.”
Maddy glanced at a big digital clock on the wall above the door. It had been two hours since she and Connor had split up. Flint was right. Something was wrong.
“Is he going to survive?” she asked, looking at the three men in the room.
All of them looked uncomfortable.
None of them replied.
Chapter Nine
Connor
He groaned as the pain slapped him awake. Eyes crusted with sleep struggled to blink open. Even as they did, blinding white light reached out and took his tender head and shook it like a spray paint can, leaving him reeling in agony.
Connor decided the world could go to hell and he closed his eyes, content to rest for a little longer.
“Connor?” the concerned, quiet feminine voice sounded from near his ear.
He knew that voice! Inside, his bear came to life, insisting that he turn his head and open his eyes. It wanted, no needed, to see Maddy. The command w
as so powerful it overruled the pain that he felt as his eyes flicked open.
To his surprise and his relief, his neck didn’t protest as he turned to look at the most beautiful brown eyes he had seen in a long time. They hovered at his head height, the rest of her cut off by the bloodstained pillow he was lying on.
“Hi,” she said softly, flashing him a weak smile.
Connor felt a soft, tender hand take his. Though she didn’t grip hard, he instinctively knew that she wasn’t going to let go.
For some reason, he was okay with that. Connor felt the influence of his animal rise to the surface, and had to fight it down. He was in no condition to be attempting what his bear was suggesting. Nor was this the right time, or place, for such an action. There might never be one, he told himself. Maddy cared about him, but it was likely just a result of what they had been through together.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“You should see the other truck,” he bragged, twisting the normal statement to imply that he felt like he’d been hit by one. “How long?”
Maddy didn’t question him. She seemed to know what he was asking.
“You were out for about twelve hours,” she said quietly.
“Twelve hours?” he exclaimed, his hands moving in protest, breaking the grip between them. “That’s impossible.”
His bed was facing the door out of the room. He recognized the silvery metal walls, white-tiled floor, and medicinal cabinets lining the walls. This was Flint’s medical ward at another of the small nightclubs he owned. The clubs had proven to be wise investments. They allowed for all sorts of people to come and go over the course of a night without drawing attention. Connor put that thought from his mind as he focused on the clock above the door.
It was now fourteen hours since he had sent Maddy on her way. Two hours of escape, and twelve of unconsciousness. Something was wrong.
He relaxed into the bed, relief that she was okay just now flooding into him as his addled brain recognized that fact. Connor had worried about her, but the sudden easing of weight on his shoulders surprised him. Apparently he had been worrying more than he thought.
But twelve hours? Even the few times Connor had been hit with a tranquilizer gun he had never been out that long. Fourteen minutes? Sure. An hour? Perhaps. Something was very, very wrong. Even now he felt lethargic and felt weak.
“How do you feel now?” Maddy asked.
He looked into her eyes, yearning for the touch of her hand. She looked worried, her arms now nervously crossed in front of her. Whatever had happened to him had scared her, badly.
“Better now,” he whispered truthfully, slipping out of his professional role for just a moment, not breaking eye contact with her at all.
The pair continued to look at each other, neither moving nor speaking. Something passed between them then. Connor knew he might never understand what, but something did. A tear formed in her eye as her guard crumbled under his gaze.
“Hey, come here,” he said, reaching out and pulling her close. Pain twinged in his midsection, and he noticed that Maddy was very careful to use her hands to rest herself on either side of him as he pulled her in close.
But in the end, she allowed herself to be embraced by him.
“I thought you were going to die,” she whispered, looking up at him.
The single tear rolled down her cheek.
Connor reached out with a finger and gently brushed it away. Her eyes were filled, but no more fell, only that single, solitary droplet made its way down her face.
“I didn’t,” he told her, murmuring softly into her ear as he nuzzled his face against hers.
There was a pause. A tremble ran through her body.
“Good,” she replied.
He laughed, resting his forehead against hers. Their eyes locked onto each other.
What are you doing? You just met this woman! She is the mission, you are a soldier. You have your orders. Do not complicate things.
His bear roared in anger, fighting for supremacy, to be heard and obeyed. Connor had fought with his bear before, but he had never felt it so insistent, so demanding. He swallowed nervously as he realized that no matter what the voice inside of him was saying, this time around, the bear was going to win.
The animal growled triumphantly as he tilted his chin slightly, using his fingers to lift Maddy’s until they were level. He had kissed her outside of the safe house, but that had been a spur of the moment thing. This was far more deliberate, far more planned. His skin tingled with the knowledge that they were going to kiss. Butterflies danced in his stomach, pulling at what he now remembered was the knife wound from his earlier fight. Something about that tugged at his brain, but was brushed aside by vivid memories of the brief kiss they had shared earlier.
“Connor, I—”
He pressed his lips against hers, silencing whatever she was going to say. Connor had to act, then and there. If she chose to pull away, he would let her. But he knew, instinctively knew, that this was one of those moments where if he didn’t follow through, he would regret it for the rest of his life. So he brought his face close and kissed Maddy. One of his hands slid up her back, holding the back of her head, fingers running through her hair.
She tensed, and he prepared himself for the awkwardness of her pulling back, denying the kiss. But after a few tense heartbeats, Maddy allowed herself to fall into him, returning the passion in spades. Their lips moved frantically as they searched for confirmation that the other was alive. His brain knew it, but he needed more reassurance. He needed to feel it.
“Ahem.” A throat cleared in the doorway.
They split abruptly. Maddy pulled herself off of Connor and slid back into the chair at the bedside, studiously ignoring the man who had walked in. He glanced at her quickly, trying and only partially succeeding at hiding a grin at the sight of her reddening cheeks.
“Andre,” he said gruffly. He liked the other man, but he should have known better than to interrupt. The door did have a small window in it.
“Sorry,” the shifter replied, and to his credit, he sounded rather sincere. “But we need to talk.”
“Where’s Flint?”
Andre shrugged.
Connor frowned. That seemed unlike him. Flint should be the one here, talking to him about whatever bad news there was. And it was bad news; there was no mistaking that. Andre’s voice hadn’t given it away, but the tense stance he had adopted spoke volumes to Connor.
“Okay,” he said at last. “Lay it on me.”
“Look at your stomach,” Andre said instead.
He glanced down, pulling up the remnants of his blood-encrusted shirt. His right side was a mass of bruised flesh and a three-inch-long line that indicated where the blade had entered his body.
“What the hell?” he said, looking in shock at how visible it all was. He looked at Maddy. “I thought I was out for twelve hours?!”
“You were,” Andre said.
“Impossible. This would be long gone by now.”
The other shifter nodded. “And it should have been healed by the time you got here.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Should have?” He didn’t remember much of the last of his flight. The pain from his leg had been too much to handle as he forced himself to walk on the broken joint to get to the club.
“It was still bleeding when you walked in the front door,” Andre said, crossing his arms in front of him.
“Bullshit.”
“I can show you the damn bloodstains if you wish.” Andre didn’t back down from his statement.
“Why didn’t I heal?” Connor asked at last.
“I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure it was because of this.” He produced a plastic vial capped with a black lid. Inside was a bit of green sludge.
“I don’t get it.” Connor looked back up at Andre.
The big shifter went over to the table on the far side of Connor. Maddy had recovered now and was watching with interest as well. He
dropped his hand off the bed behind him. Her fingers found his in seconds, intertwining where Andre couldn’t see. He’d caught them kissing, but he didn’t need to know that it was more than just a physical need between them.
At least, Connor thought it was more than just that.
“Hand,” Andre said.
Connor stuck out his hand. Andre swabbed a dirty rag into the back of his palm. A bit of green gunk was still on it, and it smeared slightly on the skin. Andre then grabbed a knife from his belt and used the tip to make a small incision an inch to the right of the smear. A cut appeared, welled blood, and disappeared almost as quickly as his shifter healing sealed it up immediately.
Then he moved the blade and mimicked the same cut where the green smear was. The wound welled blood and continued to bleed. Andre cleared the area with an alcohol pad, and the wound began to close. Slowly.
His jaw was hanging slack as he realized what Andre had just demonstrated.
“They found a way to stop us from healing.”
Maddy gasped behind him, her fingers tightening.
***
“Not stop,” Andre said. “But drastically slow, possibly to the point of being slower than a normal human.”
Connor looked at his hand, the cuts both gone now. The difference had been so stark no one could have missed it. “No wonder I was in such bad shape. I was so blinded by my leg, I didn’t even realize I was bleeding out.”
Andre nodded. “You almost did. It was touch and go there for a bit, until we cut off any flesh where this stuff might have gone. Once we could get the outer cut to seal, we knew your insides would take care of themselves in time.”
He nodded. No one in the Underground was a doctor, and operating on someone was beyond anyone’s skill. But closing wounds, stitching, etcetera, was something that they were all proficient in.
There was a knock on the door, and then Flint walked in. He gave Andre a look. The shifter nodded, gave Connor and Maddy a last look, and then departed. Although Flint wasn’t a shifter himself, he was the head of the Underground, and the shifters gave him deference out of respect for his actions in creating it to help their own kind. No one knew why Flint did what he did, but the shifter community in King City was very grateful for it.
