He was shocked when she scooted off the bed, scratching notes in her book as she paced. “I’d love to get an MRI.”
She glanced at him with a question, but he only shook his head. Part of his brain didn’t understand what it meant. The hope was so brutal he could barely speak. “The others can’t know.”
“Then I’ll work with what I have.” Trina set down her pen and paper then massaged her hands. Part of her trembled at touching Merrick again, but the bigger part of her was eager for it and that scared her more than anything. “I’ll warn you now. This is going to be painful.”
Trina knelt at Merrick’s side, her hands on his body, doing her damnedest to try and not get aroused. No way in hell would she survive if Merrick learned of her weakness to him. It was that sheet, the way it draped over his ass, revealing the upper swell of those muscles that her fingers itched to explore.
No matter how hard she tried to prevent it, her eyes trailed over his form, her fingers lingered on his well-defined muscles more than was proper.
Even the nape of his neck drew her attention. She wanted to scrape her nails through the fine hair then lean over and lick the strong cord of muscle to see how he’d react. Worst of all, she knew he wouldn’t protest anything she wanted to do to him.
She glanced around the room, her breathing a little fast, her heart thundering, desperate for a distraction before she followed through on her fantasies.
The sword.
She latched onto the topic with the desperation of a kid with a Popsicle in his grip. She was a doctor. Violence should sicken her, but she’d been on the razor edge of it for years. She respected violence, the need for it to protect those weaker. “Tell me about the sword.”
Air exploded out of his chest at her demand. Between the pain and lust, his beast was going wild. He wasn’t in much better condition. Those hands of hers were pure heaven and hell.
The smell of her arousal tinged the air.
Light.
Barely there.
Humans might not detect those signals, but shifters sure the hell could and often used that skill to their advantage.
If she hadn’t spoken, he wasn’t certain if he’d have had the strength not to roll over and demand she work the front side as well for the agony she put him through. Devil take it, if her hand swept down and touched his ass one more time, his dick was going to hammer a permanent impression into the mattress.
“It was my grandfather’s. Three hundred years ago, a branch of vampires broke off and departed for the Americas. Rumors of witch trials quickly reached the shifters. Vampires nearly destroyed the witches when they tried something like that once before.”
“The inquisition.”
He grunted in agreement. “Wars between the witches and vampires were heating up with no one to protect the humans. So my grandfather and a few others volunteered for the duty. When they first arrived, the blood wars were like the Wild West with no elders there to curb their rebellion.”
“Then came your grandfather.”
It wasn’t a question, but Merrick smiled anyway. “He carved out this place and banded together the clans. They say it was his sword that tipped the balance in our favor. He helped broker the peace between the races. When it was over, he hung the sword in this very spot and never took it down again.” How did one explain honor, duty and the clan to someone not born into it without sounding like a cult?
“You liked him.”
Merrick snorted. “Admired him. Respected his vision of the future. I’m not sure anyone liked him, but the pack would’ve died for him. This sword symbolizes everything that he’d worked and died to protect.”
“Have you ever had to use it?”
Merrick slanted her a look. “Once, a long time ago, when I fought for position of Leo.”
His arm clenched to pick up the sword and fight their current enemy, CreedMark, but there was nothing he could do to save his pack from that deadly killer.
But maybe she could, this deceptively capable warrior.
“The sword is only used in times of great trouble. It symbolizes the power of the pack. I hope I never have to pick it up again.”
Merrick spoke with such reverence that Trina glanced up at the weapon with new eyes and a pinch of envy. It represented everything she didn’t have and wanted so badly.
Guilt wormed its way under her skin for staying in the Den under false pretenses and putting everyone in danger. She vowed to leave before any threat came to them. She’d never forgive herself if she dragged Merrick and his pack into another war.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Merrick could barely hold himself upright as the shower pounded into his muscles. Every inch of him hurt. His muscles twitched and shivered, dancing in a way that told him today was going to be a bitch of a day, and it wasn’t even eight yet.
An alarm sounded, the one the she-devil had set, and he reluctantly turned off all that glorious hot water. He walked toward the sink, his gait more of that of an old man…one with a stick shoved up his ass.
Even breathing hurt, and he glared at the door.
“Do you need any assistance?”
Predictably, part of him reacted. Too bad he wasn’t in any shape to use it. But that didn’t prevent him from picturing her doing all the work.
Then that all shattered when she spoke again. “I can get Victor if you’re having trouble.”
She sounded so close, no doubt if he opened the door she’d fall into the room.
“I’m fine.” He didn’t want either one of them to see him like this. Who would have thought someone so little could work him over so much?
He grabbed for a pair of pants, noticed the absurdly long distance to his feet and winced when he bent over. It took him an embarrassingly long time to finish dressing. He entered the bedroom half-fearing she would’ve split on him.
He saw her at the bar, as far away from the bed as possible, papers spread out before her, absently rubbing her brow. When the door had opened, her head popped up. He didn’t like that her look was more assessing than appreciative, but he was too grateful that she hadn’t vanished to quibble over it. She would recognize their attraction, how irresistible he could be, soon enough.
“The scar tissue in your body is massive, especially for a shifter. It’s almost as if the bullet entered one spot and ricocheted through your body.”
Merrick had to admit he was impressed with what she’d uncovered after such a short time. A little leap of hope that she might be able to fix him jumped in his chest. “You’re right. The bullet entered and shattered on impact. Silver splinters became imbedded beneath my skin.”
“And the silver prevented healing, creating more than the normal amount of scar tissue.” She stood and started pacing. “That’s barbaric. Silver bullets shouldn’t be legal.”
“Because of the soft property of silver, they aren’t normally used for bullets. Hunters created them for us specifically. They’re expensive and hard to come by.”
“Without the use of an MRI, I can only guess what’s beneath the surface by feel alone.” She fiddled with her notes in a way that made him want to smile as if she were nervous at being alone with him.
“You’re sure all the silver is out?”
“All the pieces large enough to see.” Unable to keep away, hating the distance between them, Merrick very carefully walked toward her and sat on the stool.
“My best guess is your muscles formed around the scar tissue, restricting your movements. That you have so much flexibility is astonishing. Each step has to be agony.”
He clenched his jaw, but he saw she knew the truth by the way her eyes darkened.
“Surgery would allow the doctor to check for remaining silver, including those microscopic pieces you can’t see. It would be the fastest way to heal.”
“No surgery.” Surgery meant weakness. He might as well kill himself first and save the pack the challenge. “All the measureable silver has been removed. The few slivers that remai
ned have since worked their way out as my body rejected them.”
Trina nodded. “I thought that’s what you would say. The other option is to relax the tissue to reduce the damage. The affected areas need to be stretched and palpated. The longer they’re allowed to form and harden, the more difficult it will be for your body to re-absorb. I’ve worked with a few shifters before. A lot of scars heal on their own, but even with your DNA, I doubt those knots will go away without help.
“I’ll set up a schedule. You don’t need strength or endurance exercises, but we do have to get your muscles working again.”
His lips curled at the mention of her with another shifter. He didn’t like that others had found her first, others she’d touched, but he bit back the demand to know whom. Now was not the time, but he vowed to find out eventually and make sure they understood she was off the market. “Not all scars. When silver is used, some scars can be permanent.”
“That’s why I’d like to get blood samples next if you’re up to it. My theory is you might be suffering from a form of metal poisoning. It may be blocking your body from healing properly. You don’t have the normal human symptoms. My guess is the animal part counteracts them, but I wonder at what cost. You could be exhibiting atypical symptoms we know nothing about. I didn’t feel any metal burs under the skin, but if the bullet shards had remained in your body for a length of time, you could still suffer lasting effects.”
Everything sounded so plausible, he almost believed that she might be able to help him, that the silver could be blocking his change, not CreedMark. His animal rose to the surface as if as curious about this human as him.
A knock sounded on the door. Before he could answer, Victor entered. His second-in-command cast Trina a cursory glance before his focus settled on Merrick.
“There’s trouble.”
Chapter Eleven
“What qualifies you to view the body?”
Resentment poured from Victor. Ignoring him as much as possible, Trina gazed down at the dead woman.
Or what was left of her.
Decay hadn’t set in yet, but the scent of death was easily recognizable. Blood had long since turned sour, the odor lingering in her nose. Training allowed Trina to push it away and focus on the job.
She’d volunteered to identify the corpse, but she wondered if she’d made a tactical error. Guards gathered around the incident site, so many strangers that she felt exposed. They were all large and imposing and unfriendly if their impassive expressions were any indication.
“Three reasons.” When she didn’t immediately continue, he crowded closer as if he would pick her up and remove her from the scene if she didn’t answer him.
“I was the only person who saw beneath the spell and can recognize the woman who attacked us last night.” But it wasn’t that simple. The body had been dropped and dragged into the backyard like trash. Every inch worked over so much that not a spot on her skin remained undamaged by bruises or cuts.
No, not cuts. Claw marks.
Hell, whole chunks of the corpse were missing.
“And is it?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
What she didn’t tell Victor, the real reason she risked exposure, was that she needed to know if vampires had hired and then killed this woman in their quest to find her.
Though she didn’t see any teeth marks, that didn’t rule out vampires. One thing did though: the amount of blood left in the body. Trina rubbed her shoulder, wincing at the way the scar throbbed under her touch. No, vampires would’ve torn this woman apart.
“What’s the second reason?” Victor didn’t sound the least bit mollified by her logic.
“Magic.” She flicked a glance up at him, a little annoyed at his hovering. “Unless you can pull magic out of your ass, I guess that leaves me.” So saying, she shut her eyes and allowed her senses to expand to include the outside world. She grabbed the magic around her, but it slipped through her fingers too fast for her to hold a spell and left a slight sting like rope burn underneath her skin.
Sweat trickled down her back, soaking into the waistband of her pants. When she feared her body would ignite under the strain, she admitted defeat and dropped the spell. It happened to other unfortunate witches, the ones unable to control the magic they’d summoned.
But maybe she didn’t need a spell. She just needed to sense magic, and she could do that by breathing.
Self-conscious of all the attention, feeling very much exposed, she did her best to pretend the big brutes standing guard didn’t exist.
She shook her hands to work out the tension and allowed her eyes to lose focus. Magic brightened the world around her, subtly at first, like catching a flash from a firefly on a summer night. The spark of light cracked open her senses, and she welcomed the change, missing the view of this other world.
Like a whirlwind of dust, magic danced in the air, grew stronger and burst to life with a bright splash of color as it settled over everything. Objects became sharper, clearer to her senses. Careful not to allow any of the swirling magic to infect her, she gazed down at the body.
Using magic to cause a death was forbidden and left behind an unmistakable signature that even the best spell crafters couldn’t disguise.
The body revealed no such overtures. She couldn’t even detect the use of the amulet. Trina allowed the magic to drain away, surprised to find herself lightheaded and more than a bit woozy as if she had one too many drinks. Everything appeared duller, like the vibrancy had been yanked from them.
The magic she raised wasn’t blood magic. She believed her magic had mutated to work around the bindings, a hybrid of sorts that allowed her to use magic, if only peripherally.
“This is ridiculous. You are free to go.” Victor’s disgusted tone snapped her head up.
Trina nodded and gave a last glance at the body. One of her own, a wolf, did this to the woman. Trina guessed it was a consequence of failing to complete their task. So that meant the attack wasn’t directed at her. Until she learned whom she could trust, she would keep her findings to herself.
As she walked through the towering wall of shifters, she felt their eyes on her. It was different from before, as if her magic had called to something primal in them.
Feeling a little bit hunted, she quickly retraced her steps to the house. She’d reached the door when she heard herself being hailed.
“Hold up.”
Her pace increased before she forced her legs to stop. It wasn’t like she could run from a shifter. She whirled, going on the defensive, her body falling automatically into a fighting stance, her back against the wall. “What?”
Victor slowed, his lips compressed. The lean man radiated antagonism. He reminded her of a cat, his tightly packed body set to spring into motion at the slightest hint of trouble, but she couldn’t place the breed.
He was nothing like Merrick’s beast, all ready to pounce on a treat. No, Victor’s features were stark and imposing with nothing but frost behind his pale green eyes. If his animal ever came out, it would be the last thing a person saw. With him near, the wide hallways seemed narrower.
“What was the third reason?”
That was a stall tactic if she ever heard one. He was fishing for information, maybe guessing she’d learned something. Since the last reason wasn’t a secret, Trina didn’t protest. “I’m a doctor.”
Victor snorted. “You’re a little too late to help her.”
“You’re right. I’m not that type of doctor. I’m a hematologist, but I’m good, very good, at what I do.” She gazed out the open door at the body. “I’ve seen injuries similar to those.”
Interest sharpened his eyes. “So you know who killed her?”
“Not who, but I have a good guess of what.” Trina shifted her stance, almost positive now that he knew nothing of the murder.
Victor’s expression didn’t soften, but something gave, as if he’d come to a decision about her. Funny, but it didn’t make her feel all warm and fuzzy.
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“I think you should join the meeting.”
That’s the last thing she wanted. The more people who knew about her location, the harder it would be to remain hidden from those hunting her. Too many people had already seen her. It would only be a matter of time before she was found if they kept sticking her out in the open. “Do you think that’s wise?”
He might not know the truth, but he must suspect she was on the run from something.
He just had no idea from what.
“Walk with me.” He grabbed her arm and hustled her up the marble steps. On the second-level stairwell, he lifted his head, scenting the air.
Giving into curiosity, she did it as well, but detected nothing but cleaning chemicals. She envied the shifters their extra senses. Sure, she could do it with her magic like in the alley, but not without a price. “Are we alone?”
His eyes snapped toward her, and he continued upward. “I don’t trust you, there’s something you’re not telling us. Your being here is the worst thing for the Leo, distracting him when his focus is needed on the pack.”
The verbal attack stung. Each word peppered against her shields, and there was nothing she could do to protect herself from them.
Not when they were the truth.
She pulled away from his hold, unable to bear his touch, his hatred sinking its claws into her conscience.
“But the fact doesn’t change that you saved his life, and he wants you here.” Signs of strain peeked through the cracks of his composure as he dragged his hand over his hair. “It also doesn’t change that someone is trying to kill our Leo, and I think you are our best bet to catch them.”
“Don’t say any more.” Trina shook her head and backed away.
He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I want you to go into the meeting and stand by his side like a concubine should.”
She recognized a con when she saw one. “You want me to put my life on the line for his.”
“No harm would come to you.”
“You don’t know that for sure. You want to use me as bait to trap a killer.”
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