by fox, angie
But he didn't say I shouldn't have touched it. We both knew I'd had to do it.
"What happened to the Shrouds in the hell vent?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Rustle, rustle, burp. I don't care. They're gone."
I stopped in front of the OR. "I need to help out in surgery." I might not be on a table, but I could assist. I could hear them working inside—Rodger, Kosta, Horace.
Galen glanced at the closed door. "Let them handle it. They're good."
I knew that. I wanted to be a part of it. I squeezed my eyes shut. "This is my one chance to make a difference and I can't." I could barely stand up straight.
Surprise skittered across Galen's face. "You already did."
Weak bulbs cast pale yellow light over the yard. He tipped my chin up, his thumb caressing my tearstained cheek. "You think the only way to save lives is to be a doctor? It's not, you know."
The strength in his voice, the surety of his words made me want to believe him. I could see why people followed this man. He came at the world from a different angle. He acted with complete clarity. It almost seemed effortless in the way he drew the right people behind him at the precise moment to make a difference.
If I was science, he was art.
He'd even motivated a persnickety vampire.
I gave one last, long look at the closed door of the OR. "What else can I do?"
"Come on," he said, leading me away. "I'll show you."
Chapter Nineteen
I shivered as the cold desert breeze blew in from the north. The sleeves of my coat were clammy, wet with the colonel's blood. My entire body ached.
Galen wrapped an arm around me, avoiding my bad shoulder, as he led me across the yard toward the visiting officers' quarters. EMTs were already clearing out the back of our battered ambulance, prepping it for next time.
We passed the cluttered bulletin board that gave the latest count on the vacation pot—three weeks, one day, seven hours, and forty minutes.
A loudspeaker crackled above, hanging crookedly on the old dead trunk of a palm tree. I had a new appreciation for whoever had dragged that out of the closest hell vent. And I could have sworn I saw one of Rodger's sea creatures slink behind the supply tent.
Nothing changed at the MASH 3063rd. That usually drove me nuts. Now it settled into my bones with a familiar comfort, like returning home from a long journey.
My legs were still wobbly, but it wasn't why I leaned against Galen. The truth was I needed him. I craved the kind of comfort he offered. I rarely allowed myself that type of weakness, but either I had to accept some support or I was going to give in to a crying fit. Nobody wanted that—least of all me.
"You're doing great," he said, tugging me closer.
I let out a slightly crazed laugh. Tonight was the closest I've ever come to death. Both my own and losing the people I cared about. I'd barely held on. In fact, I hadn't. I'd collapsed. I'd have been Shroud bait if Galen hadn't shown up when he did.
And Thaïs. He wasn't just an asshole, or a traitor to the cause. Tonight, he'd shown himself to be a homegrown terrorist.
"Thaïs attacked those soldiers," I said. We'd come in peace. "He had a bomb."
He'd been struck down. He'd gotten what he deserved.
Still, for as much heartache as he'd caused, I didn't want to see him die, either.
I almost felt guilty about that after what happened to Colonel Spiros.
We reached Galen's tent. The torches outside burned high, illuminating his handsome features in the firelight as he untied the front flaps. "It's over now," he said. "You did the best you could. And if Thaïs survives, I'll kick his ass myself."
I tried to smile, but I couldn't. I'd failed to night. It tugged at me. I should have prevented Thaïs's insane suicide charge. I should have known. If there was one thing I'd learned in this hole, it was to be aware of the people around me. "There had to be something I missed."
"Some situations, some creatures you can't predict," Galen said. "You just deal with them as they come." There was rock-hard assurance in his voice, a grim determination that no matter what we'd face—be it scorpions or Shrouds—he'd have my back. He touched my arm. "We'll get through this."
"Which part?" I asked, overwhelmed.
He held my gaze. "All of it."
God, I wished he wouldn't look at me like that. It was just one more thing that could go wrong.
"I'm a mess," I said, ducking inside the tent.
After the events of to night, the sheer luxury of this place was lost on me. Galen sat me down on a plush purple couch and slipped my white coat off from behind. He wadded it up and tossed it into the kitchen garbage.
"Hey," I said, in halfhearted protest. Oh, who was I kidding? Marius's coat was toast.
He squatted in front of me, running his hands up my arms, checking for injuries.
"It wasn't my blood on the coat," I said, half impressed by his methodical search, half turned on. I swallowed hard. "I just got kicked around," I insisted as he ran his hands up my sides, his touch warm against my white tank top.
We were finally alone together and I felt like death warmed over. My breasts grew heavy as he lingered on the blossoming purple bruise on my shoulder.
"I'm fine," I insisted. I was pretty clean. "That's not even my blood on my pants." Although there was quite a bit of it, now that I really looked. Still, you couldn't really tell against the rusty red of my uniform.
"They're bloody," he said, tugging open the buttons.
His touch was certain, and unfair, considering this was just a mercy undressing.
Unless... God, was I even considering it? We'd just been through hell.
Galen stripped the pants off my legs. It felt good.
I found I wanted them gone. I wanted to be rid of the blood and the grime and the feel of the desert.
At least I'd worn my barely there lace bikini bottoms.
He tried not to stare.
My mouth twitched in a smile I didn't quite feel.
He liked them. I could see it in his hitchy movements as he stood, the way his eyes traveled everywhere but on me.
I felt the tightening between my legs as I shifted my hips on the couch. "Is it okay to be turned on?" I wanted to forget about blood and death and simply feel.
"It happens," he said, his voice a bit hoarse. "But you don't need me to jump you right now."
Ah, but that's where he was wrong. I needed to forget. I needed to find a place far gone from the suffering. I needed to feel valued, cherished, loved.
"At least take your shirt off for me," I coaxed. "It'll make me feel better."
"Stop it." He stood, backing out of my reach. "I'm pissed off and I'm taking care of you," he grumbled, but I could hear the desire underneath his words.
He strode through an open tent flap and toward the bubbling mud bath. He pulled a towel from a freestanding rack.
"Fine," I said. If that's how he wanted to play, "I'll take my shirt off."
Galen dropped the towel.
He stared at me as I seductively inched my white T-shirt up, freeing my breasts. My muscles ached and my arm stung, but I didn't let it show in the sexy smile I gave him. I tossed the shirt at his feet.
Yes. This felt good. No pain, no fear. Only desire.
He stood with his arms at his sides, absolutely motionless. "Shit, Petra. I'm trying to be noble here."
I toyed with the soft skin between my breasts. "What if I want you to be hard instead?"
He couldn't tear his eyes away. I don't even think he blinked.
I let my knees fall open. "Do you want to know what you do to me?"
His breath was ragged. "I don't think I'd survive it."
He swallowed hard as he retrieved the towel and held it under the gurgling fountain. He wrung the fresh, clean water onto the floor as he returned to me.
Oh yes, he was hard. As he stood over me with the towel, I could see his swollen cock fighting against his black combat fatigues. He bent at the knees, and I caught him in my
hand. He hissed and grew even more as he crouched in front of me. I inched my hand up his chest, over flesh and muscle, as he sank down all the way.
He closed his eyes, fighting for control as he came level with my breasts. His muscles shook as I drew my hand up farther, baring his chest. "I thought you wanted to make me come," I said, brushing my thumb over a flat, hard nipple.
His eyes blazed. "Gods." He lowered his gaze and took a shuddering breath. "I'm not going to grab you and shove my cock into you," he muttered, as if he were about to rip off my panties and fuck me right there. "I have to make sure you're okay."
I lingered on the idea of his cock. Hot and ready. Moisture beading at the tip before he drove it inside me. I felt myself grow wet.
The muscles in his chest and jaw tightened as he brought the cool cloth up to my cheeks and neck. He cleaned me gently, lingering on my jaw. The pain and the chaos of the night faded away.
He worked slowly, taking extra care with my bruised shoulder. He eased the cloth down my arms. He took my hands in his and wiped the blood away from my palms. Then he ran the cloth over each finger, gently pulling, his head bent as he worked. Every stroke of his fingers spiraled straight through me. His eyes caught mine, hungry.
We both shivered as he drew the cloth over my aching breasts, again and again, like he was fighting some kind of battle in his head and this was the line of demarcation.
As long as he was cleaning me, he was taking care of me. Never mind the fact that I didn't have any blood or dirt on my breasts. He held the cloth in a death grip, rubbing, stroking.
My nipples tightened to painful points. My skin flushed. I pushed into him. Gods, it felt good.
"Fuck." He exploded, dropping the towel, dragging me into his mouth. He closed over one breast and then the other as he took turns kissing and sucking and worshipping them both. I shoved my chest forward and my head back. Yes. This was exactly what I needed.
Pleasure threaded through me, making me even wetter. I wound my fingers through his hair and squirmed my hips closer. I wanted him to feel my soaked panties, to know how ready I was for him.
"Hades," he cursed against my trembling skin, "I should be taking care of you to night."
"You are," I said, as he rose up over me.
He kissed me deeply, over and over, like he was afraid to stop. I clung to him, kissed him, loved him.
He jerked away, his mouth glistening. "I almost lost you to night. It scared the hell out of me."
I was tired of fighting, this and everything else. "Then make love to me, Galen. Make me forget."
"In here," he said, lifting me like I weighed nothing and carrying me to his bed.
My pulse raced, my heart pounded. Finally. I wanted this. I wanted him.
I'd never allowed that for myself. Never expected to find it after Marc was taken and killed. God, that seemed so long ago.
It was.
Galen lowered me onto the sumptuous bed. He lit the candles, one by one.
Warm light bathed the room as he moved back to me, his large hand cupping my jaw, cradling it in his palm. "You are so beautiful," he said, lowering his mouth.
His lips brushed against mine, strong and warm. He caressed me, avoiding my hurt shoulder and arm. He was so good. So noble.
He was mine.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me flush against him.
I could feel him—all of him—hard against me.
"Strip," I whispered against his ear. "I want you to strip for me."
He raised up over me, his hips straddling mine. His muscled arms and chest flexed as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. With a wicked grin, he tossed it behind him.
"Mmm...very nice, soldier."
He tilted his chin down, eyes on me. "I aim to please, ma'am."
He slid off the bed. Soon his combat boots were in a heap with his shirt. He stood in front of me, wearing his fatigues and nothing else.
I raised up on my one good elbow. "Very nice. But I'm not letting you back in bed until I've tasted your cock."
His hand froze on his top button. "Holy hell. You're like a walking wet dream."
"Strip."
He shoved down his pants and unveiled a tapered waist, strong thighs, and the most beautiful cock I'd ever seen. It was long and thick with a glistening drop of pre-cum at the tip.
"Oh my god."
"That's right," he said, grinning.
Yeah, well I knew how to wipe that smile off his face. I reached out and caught him with my tongue. He groaned as I circled his tip and then took the whole of him in my mouth. He tasted rich and salty—alive. I slid a hand between his legs to caress his heavy balls.
"Holy fuck."
I took his whole length again, working him with my tongue.
"Enough," he grunted, lifting me up and slamming us both back down onto the bed. I ground against him, raining kisses against his chest as he ripped off my panties and buried himself inside me.
I hissed as I felt the full length of him, kissed the sweat dampened line of his neck.
He gasped and withdrew, his tip hovering outside my entrance. We both wanted it again—the sweetness of that first invasion. I wrapped my legs around him, and we both groaned as he slipped inside of me once more.
He plunged his tongue into my mouth.
Yes.
I kissed him back with everything I had, reveling in the feeling of him on me, in me.
His wide shoulders were corded with tension. He watched heatedly as he took me. He was so hard and powerful. He held nothing back.
He was perfect.
I reached a hand down between us and touched the place where he pumped in and out of me. I felt my juices on his cock, whispered my fingers through it as he penetrated me.
"Like this," he said easing my hand over my clit. He pressed it there. I gasped, reveling in the weight of him sliding in and out of me, stroking me, my fingers pressed down, the pleasure spiraling.
He tensed, never taking his eyes off me as the speed and depth of his strokes increased. It was delicious. Searingly beautiful to be held by him, loved by him, owned by him in the most primitive way known to man.
The friction built, spiraling into warmth and then, and then, I reached for it, thrust down harder, bucked against him.
I screamed as the full force of it slammed into me.
It washed over me, it owned me. Galen wrapped his other hand around my backside and held me there, forcing me to take it, to feel it. He drove into me until I flew apart.
I came so hard my shoulders leapt off the bed, trying to get closer, to feel more, to take more as the sheer pleasure of it streaked through me. It was too much. Too hard. Too long. I gave a hoarse cry as wave after wave of it crashed over me.
He threw his head back and shouted as it captured him. He gripped my hips with both hands as he poured into me over and over again.
Chapter Twenty
When we were both shaking and utterly spent, he collapsed over me. Eyes closed, I drew circles on his back, enjoying the weight of him on top of me. I couldn't stop touching him.
After a long moment, he spoke. "I think I broke something."
"You'd better not have," I murmured, licking the salt from his shoulder, "because I plan to be doing this a hell of a lot more."
He chuckled and flexed his hips, still half hard inside me. "Lucky for you, I heal quickly." He gave me a long, lingering kiss. "Come on. Let's get you under the covers."
"Still trying to take care of me?" I asked as he snuggled us both under the blankets. Me, with my head on his chest. Him holding me close.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, his voice tight.
"Oh, I have some clue," I said, drawing my fingernails over his side, pleased when his breath hitched in response.
He snaked his body over mine, heavy and warm. "You'd better be careful. More of that and I'm not responsible for my actions."
I ran my tongue along his collarbone. I loved the way he moved, the way h
e felt. It humbled me the way his eyes glittered with want for what I could give to him. For me.
But damn, didn't I deserve a little happiness? Didn't we all?
I touched the short, stiff hair above his ear, caressed the back of his neck. "Thank you."
He drew my hand down and kissed it. "For what?"
There were so many things. "For coming after me tonight. For protecting me. For leading me through this mess." Before, I'd been hesitant to admit I needed him. Never again. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You would have done it without me," he said, with more surety that I'd ever felt. "You would have found a way." He held himself over me. "You're one of the strongest women I know."
I looked away, to the darkened doorway. "It's not because I want to be. It's because I have to." I'd been taking care of myself my entire life. "I can't quit," I told him, "even if I want to every day."
"I know," he said simply. "I want out of this war, too." His expression grew tight. "When I was stabbed this last time, I knew it was different. I thought it was fatal. It was almost a relief."
"That's awful." I could only imagine the pain he must feel. I wished I could take some of it away.
"Hell, I know," he said quickly, misunderstanding me. He shook his head, his eyes clouding over with what? Shame? "I shouldn't even think it."
"Why?" As far as I was concerned, it was good to get it out.
"It's treason, you know," he said, his tone grim, as if he could hide his sorrow and his hurt.
"What? To have feelings? To be overwhelmed by death and violence?" It was absurd to expect anything less.
"I should be above that," he said, steeling himself.
"Nobody is," I said, coaxing him down next to me. I propped myself up on my pillow, resting my head on my arm. "You're only half god. You don't have to keep up the shtick all the time."
"Shtick?" he said, slightly entertained at the word.
"You know what I mean." For once, I was glad my mother was a selfish, derelict fairy. At least she wasn't a god.
"It's not about my mother," he mused.
I gave him the you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look.
"Okay, it is sort of about my mother." He rolled onto his back. "She got me into this." He glanced at me. "Do you know how it works?"
