He tried to smile calmly, forcing his growing concerns to stay locked up tight. “Thanks. See you in the morning.”
She only nodded as he strode out. He lifted his keys from his pocket as he neared his Explorer. It was a better vehicle for the area than the little sports car he’d owned in St. Louis. He laughed once as he pictured the little red two-door buried under a snow drift. It wouldn’t have taken much. As he started the drive to Selene’s, he wondered why he was doing it. He wasn’t going to let whatever this was between them go any farther. He could forget about the kisses. If he tried really hard, he could. Really, really hard.
He snorted a disgusted sound, his hands twisting on the steering wheel in agitation. Okay, so he was lying to himself about forgetting them, but it didn’t matter. He would find her, tell her to call her brother before he sends out search parties for her and then go home. He killed the engine in her front clearing next to her Jeep. So she was somewhere nearby. He searched through his windshield for signs of life or of the dog but saw nothing. The cabin looked dark from the outside. In fact, the whole clearing was silent. No birds, no breeze. It brought back the eerie chill he’d first felt when he’d picked up the phone in his office. He got out of his SUV.
“Selene!” he called and waited, but there was nothing. He slammed his door, annoyed that he was letting this get to him so much. Morgan had gotten into his head, that’s all. She was a grown woman. There wasn’t anything to worry about.
He walked up to the porch and knocked. His chest tightened painfully when the door pushed open under his hand. He edged it open further, poking in his head. “Selene?” His voice held a soft echo for a split second. His eerie feeling doubled.
His sight adjusted to the fainter light in the cabin as he searched. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed as he closed the door behind him, which offered a small reprieve of relief. He passed by the kitchen with barely a glance. Something he couldn’t name told him he wouldn’t find her there. He called again, consciously aware she wouldn’t answer.
His gaze landed on the half-open door to her bedroom. Instantly his memory recalled the last time he’d been on the other side of that door. Her bared shoulder, her softly tousled hair, her face warmed with a blush that he hadn’t tried to place, but could remember well now. He gritted his teeth, fighting the memory back down as he took careful steps to reach the door. He knew she was not in the house. That much was obvious, but his hand still shook as he pushed the door open.
He felt his world spin as he took in the carnage. “Oh, God. Selene!”
EIGHT
Her bed had been stripped with a dragging hand, bedding piled onto the floor in a mass of blood and woman. His voice cracked. “Dear God, what happened?” But there was no answer. He slipped to his knees, crawling carefully to reach her. He found her pulse. A bare thread of life. Relief crashed through him as he sagged in place. “God, how long have you been like this?” he whispered, his heart in his throat, unable to move for the first time in his life as he stared. He didn’t know where to begin as he took in her wounds and injuries. Her palms were shredded, the blood long since dried to a dark red umber crust. There was a long gash that gaped for several deep inches across her calf, bared to the bone, and if he hadn’t already seen it happen once he wouldn’t have believed he was looking at another bullet hole in her side, below her ribs. She was scratched from head to toe; there wasn’t an inch of her body that didn’t show some sign of damage.
“Jesus, woman, when you look for trouble you know how to find it, don’t you?” he gasped out on a harsh breath. His feet were unsteady as he rose and walked into the living room, dragging in air to get a fast grasp on his bearings. He quickly called the hospital and gave them a change of plans. He looked over his shoulder. He desperately wanted to take her in, but he knew there would be too many questions by people who knew her for those kinds of injuries. With a steadying breath he marched to his vehicle to claim his bag, locking her front door to return to her room. He lifted her as carefully as he could to put her on the bed. She didn’t flinch or even moan with the movement. He brushed the stray hair away from her pale face, forcing his hand to stay steady as he looked once more, deciding on the course of action for her wounds. He washed his hands as he mentally did a list, and as if he were in a surgery theatre instead of her simple bedroom, he set to work. He started with the ugly gash on her leg, cleaning it where the jagged, torn skin and flesh made a good suture near impossible. He winced for her when he flooded the open wound, grinding his teeth when he washed away the old blood, until fresh color began to appear. The white shine of bone against the newly pinked surface of flesh was a startling contrast. He forced his hands to remain firm as he made a web of loose stitches.
The bullet was next. The way it had lodged itself, it wasn’t anywhere as hard to work out as the first one had been. It wasn’t deep but had entered at an angle and had cracked a rib on the way. No matter what she said, she was going to be in pain when she woke up. He lifted a shoulder to wipe his brow as he meticulously continued to work, unaware of the passage of time, unaware of anything other than the woman who lay under his touch.
He shifted his focus, taking in the rough treatment of her hands. He shook his head as he wondered what she could have possibly been doing to get this cut up. The question evaporated when he knew he couldn’t even begin to answer it.
Once her hands were clean, he found a long gash down the center of her palm that miraculously had stopped before her wrist and the arteries that lay within. It was almost as severe as the gash on her leg.
He was slow, methodical with his ministrations, cleansing, drying, stitching, until the last thing he had to do was wrap them to help keep them clean.
He shook out the sheet he had found her on, his gaze widening as he saw the holes that had been ripped through it and the blood that was everywhere. He tore small, mostly clean strips from the sheets, wrapping her hands with tender care.
He worked through the afternoon, caring for her with sure fingers until he was finally able to stand and breathe a sigh of relief. Looking out the window, he found it was well after dark. He took a few minutes to double check everything, from sutures to bleeding and then covered her with a fresh blanket. He would have to move her soon. The bed was ruined.
He stopped on a turned heel when he realized he was going to have to stay with her. Morgan was away and he didn’t have any idea who to reach for her. Okay, he could do that. He turned on a lamp next to her bed, turning off the bedroom light as he made his way to the kitchen. Maybe he could make a broth or something for her. She’d need water soon and if she didn’t get a fever she was going to wake up needing to eat.
When he opened the refrigerator, he was surprised to see a few packages of beef, bacon and eggs and very little of anything else, as in nothing else. He closed the door and popped open the freezer and stood in stunned silence. It was packed with red meat. From steaks to strips.
“Do you only eat meat?” he wondered. “How can a body live on that?” He closed the freezer again. Food wasn’t the first thing on his list at the moment, either. The only thing he could do was be close by and wait.
He walked back out to the living room and noticed something he had missed when he had entered. The painting of the pale wolf was gone. There was an empty hole on the wall where it had hung. He felt an ominous shiver slide down his spine as he stared at the blank space. When the phone rang, he jumped, his heart shooting through his ribs. “Doctor Benedetti.” Then, on a shaky breath, “Sorry, Doctor Aiza’s residence.”
“Morgan,” came the clipped response. “What are you doing there?” The note of angry distrust was clear even over miles and miles of phone wires.
Bram felt exhaustion creep up on him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The hours he spent bent over Selene hit him like a sledgehammer. His voice was gravelly as he said, “You asked for me to come check on her.”
Morgan’s silence was short lived. “Did you find her?” Bram relen
ted when Morgan’s anxious concern was obvious.
Bram sat down on the couch that lined the wall below the windows. “Yes, I found her.” His head fell forward, held in a tired hand.
“Why doesn’t that sound like a good thing?” Morgan asked quietly.
“She’s hurt. I don’t know what happened. I found her on the floor of her bedroom torn to shreds. She’s resting in her bed, but I doubt she’s going to be happy when she wakes up, and someone took one of her paintings.”
Morgan’s tone was distrustful. “What painting?”
“I noticed it a few minutes ago. The pale wolf is gone.”
“Oh, God,” he whispered in an agonized voice. Bram was taken by surprise at the emotion in those two words. Then, “You didn’t take her to the hospital, did you?” Morgan’s voice had spiked as if the idea had just occurred to him.
“No, the injury questions would have been too hard to answer.” Not to mention her ability to heal, he thought silently.
“Among others,” Morgan replied, almost in agreement with Bram’s thoughts. His voice was agitated with worry. “Look, I can’t get out of here until Saturday at the earliest. Sunday is more likely. If you need to leave, call Roman. His number’s in her book on her bed stand. Brooke is still out of the country and he’s closest.”
Bram’s gaze swept to the partially open bedroom doorway. “No, Morgan. I’ll stay. I’ll get someone to cover the watch at the hospital.” He had until morning to find someone at least.
“All right,” he allowed, only a small concession of relief in his voice. “One other thing.”
“Yes?” The hair on Bram’s neck had stood up at the tone of his voice.
“The meat.”
Bram made a note of disgust. “How can she live on just that?”
“Doc, you still don’t get it, do you?” When Bram remained silent, Morgan continued. “Warm and very, very rare. She’ll heal faster if she eats.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Morgan snarled across the miles between them. “If you can’t do it, then call Roman. She needs someone there who cares if she lives.” The slam of the phone was harsh in his ear. He stared at the phone in his hand in disbelief. It just wasn’t possible, was it? His gaze traveled across the room again, landing on the blank spot that once held the painting. He hung up the phone with a twisted feeling in his stomach.
He shook his head minutes later and rose to check on his patient. Her pulse was growing stronger and wasn’t showing any signs of fever yet, knowledge he met with a sense of relief. He checked her pressure and was thankful to see it was leveling off. She’d lost a lot of blood and he’d been worried.
As he stood over her, he brushed the hair away from her face again, careful of the scratches that had not been major considering what he’d had to work on. He stayed with her for some time just watching her.
It didn’t matter how many days had passed since their last kiss, he still wanted her with a burning need that wasn’t letting go or lessening on any level. What had hit him as he stared at her resting form was the incredible depth of need to just lay with her and offer comfort, to hold her, to ease her pain. As a doctor, he knew that wasn’t going to be possible, as a man, he wished it were. Much later he went to the kitchen, making himself something to ease his own hunger. He looked at his watch to see that it was after nine. He’d left the hospital at three to come find her. An eternity had passed since he walked out those double glass doors.
He slept on the couch, rising once an hour to check on her throughout the night, but she never stirred, unaware of her surroundings. He was sore and hungry by the time six o’clock rolled around. He called the hospital and advised them he had been called out for an emergency in the middle of the night and if they needed him for anything to call him. He hung up with them, not knowing if the cell worked out where he was or not. He knew he wasn’t going to tell them he was at Selene’s. He heard a motorcycle shortly after seven and then a heavy tread on the porch. The knock was persistent. He opened it cautiously, aware of what Selene had said of who knew of her house and where she lived. He blinked in the bright morning sunshine as he looked at the man on the porch. At nearly six feet, Bram was not short, but the man on the porch towered over him by at least half a foot.
“You must be Bram Benedetti,” came his deep rumbled voice.
“You could only be Roman.” The dark haired man nodded. “I guess you’re the cavalry,” Bram muttered. Roman just shot him a black-eyed stare. “I told Morgan I could stay with her and I will.”
But Bram stepped back anyway to let Selene’s brother in.
“That’s not why I’m here. Although I would like to know how she is, see her if possible. Morgan said she was hurt pretty bad.”
“She was. I have no idea how she got that way, either.” He shook his head as they faced one another.
Roman grunted, cutting him down with a sharp gaze. “I believe you. I can tell Morgan was right.”
“About what?” Bram snapped, then remembered this was her brother as he glared back. Roman made a low sound in his chest. “You have no idea,” was all he said as he turned to march into the bedroom uncaring if he should or shouldn’t. Bram let him go, feeling relief. Was her whole family that intimidating? No wonder she’d never married.
There was silence for a few minutes until he heard his name from her bedroom. “Make nice with the crazy family,” he muttered under his breath.
Roman had exposed her leg and was staring at the long garish wound. “You did that?” he asked brusquely pointing to the stitches. Evidently her brother wasn’t a heartless rock. Seeing Selene was bringing him down to earth quickly.
Bram was kinder when he answered. “It was the best I could do under the circumstances. The skin was too ragged and swollen to suture well.”
Roman nodded once. “Well, for an ass, at least you’re a good doctor.” But he was smiling as he said it.
“I can only assume then that Morgan has already given you his opinion of me,” Bram replied dryly.
“Yes, but I reserve my judgments. I believe everyone deserves at least that much,” he said as he carefully folded her leg back underneath the sheets. “How long has it been since she’s eaten?”
“I don’t know. I found her unconscious and she’s been out since I’ve been here.”
Roman bowed his head. “She won’t heal like this,” he said thickly. “She needs to eat.”
“I would have fed her at least a broth, but she hasn’t even woken up long enough to drink water.”
Roman’s words were anguished as he closed his eyes, his expression tight with pain. “She doesn’t want to.”
Bram’s head swirled. “Doesn’t want to? Why would she give up? I know she can heal.”
Roman’s look rocked him from the other side of the bed. “She’s done everything she could to help you figure it out.” Roman looked down once more at his sister then with a commanding stare left the room. Bram could only follow, closing the door gently behind him.
Roman had stopped in the middle of the room staring at the wall adorned with the paintings, and one open space that just didn’t look balanced.
“Bram,” he said, calmer but with a thoughtful undertone. “Do you know anything about wolves?”
“Some. Why?”
Roman took a deep calming breath, his exhalation a forceful sound in the silence of the cabin.
“When I met Del—Delilah—I didn’t know what to do. She drove me crazy, and not always in a good way. She still does.” He offered a rueful smile. “The only difference was I didn’t let the secret out until much later. Selene tries to be sensible, but when someone she cares about is threatened, she will do anything to protect them. She’s done that for you. I know you’ve made the connection or you wouldn’t have even noticed or cared the painting was gone. We all feared for her, for when this time of her life would come.” He crossed thick arms as he contemplated the wall. “Did you know wolves mate for life?”
“Yes,” he said with a touch of tired impatience. “I’ve heard that many times. But what that has to do with me—”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Irrevocably, she must tell you herself. I know you don’t want to believe. Do you know who those are?” He tossed a pointed look at the remaining paintings.
“Who?” His confusion was right there in the one word.
“I didn’t stutter,” he said with a biting force. “Do you know why the one is missing?”
“I noticed it was gone after I had stitched her up. I assumed someone had stolen it, but I get the feeling you’re going to tell me something completely different.” He swallowed once, slowly. Roman turned to face him over his shoulder. “Bram, I’m going to give you a bit of advice, something I wish someone had done for me. Give it a chance. Let yourself believe.” He faced the wall again. “I can only tell you she took it down because it is her statement. She came home to die.”
“To die?” he said, feeling a physical blow in his gut.
Roman placed a kind hand on his shoulder. “What do you feel you should do for her? What is your heart telling you to do?”
Bram shook as his gaze sought the door, where she was laying wounded, helpless. “I want to hold her. It’s irrational, I can’t stop the pain.”
Roman smiled at him. “It’s not irrational. Let her know you do care, however much it is. I’m asking as a brother, please don’t let her die.”
“To die?” he whispered, still reeling. “I think Morgan is expecting me to leave now that you are here.” Bram’s head was spinning.
Roman made a disgusted, impatient sound. “Morgan is the oldest and a royal pain, and he looks out for the girls with a vengeance.” Roman caught Bram’s gaze as he stepped back for the front door.
“But I can’t stay. Del is due to deliver any day now.” Roman shot him a huge grin as he opened the door. “See? Many things are possible if you believe.” And before he could argue, the door had shut between them and seconds later he heard the rumble of Roman’s motorcycle outside, receding quickly into the quiet morning.
A Trust Earned Page 10
