by Zoe Forward
“Fine.”
“Does he want anesthesia for this? At least a local block?”
He glanced at the injured wolf. “Just get the bullets out of him so he can transform.”
“Now they’re bullets and not dog attack bites like you checked him in as having?”
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. The wolf growled and bared his teeth at Eric, who cleared his throat. “Checking him in with bullet wounds garners too much attention.”
“Let’s take a look at the damage.” She pulled on latex gloves and approached. The wolf maintained a less than trusting glower, but, to his credit, showed no teeth.
Addressing the furry beast, she said, “So long as we have a clear understanding of shut-lip on all issues that pertain to my helping your kind in the past and right now, I’ll do this. This is the last time I help one of you, though. I can’t promise this won’t hurt, since you declined anesthesia.”
Vee detected the mental vibrations of communication between Eric and the wolf. She detected words passing between them, but it was a foreign language she didn’t recognize. No pictures.
“He agrees. No injections. Don’t try to take his temperature.” Eric chuckled.
The wolf growled.
“Telepathy. Cool trick.” She pulled her thermometer from her lab coat and placed it on the metal exam table. “Got it. No temp.” As she knelt next to the wolf, she asked, “I didn’t see a name on the chart. Does your dog have a name, or do I call him Wolfie?”
“Wolfie works.”
On her knees, the wolf towered above her and threw her the hairy eye. Sweat broke out across her forehead. One neck-grab and she’d be toast. Power rolled from the beast, but not a run-of-the-mill preternatural buzz. The wolf radiated something ancient and deadly. Looking between Eric and the injured wolf was like comparing a copperhead snake to a black mamba.
Survival instinct flared. She rocked back on her knees away from the beast. Her pulse thudded between her ears. “If you intend to use me as a pawn to end this war, then be warned Dominic won’t care if you kill me. He’d gladly use it as ammunition to fire up his people. Or if you want to draw out the Italian DiFalcos as a way to end the war, it won’t work. They don’t care. Well, that assumes you’re here to end it.”
“We won’t hurt you today,” Eric promised.
“Gee, that’s comforting.” She sucked in a deep breath and touched the wolf. Dealing with injured, fearful, aggressive dogs was second nature to her. She put aside apprehension to focus on the clinical. Her fingers parted the soft sable fur on his shoulder to expose the skin beneath. She used her ability to connect with other beings mentally in order to soothe the animal. Within seconds, the wolf relaxed.
“What happened to him? I mean, how did he get shot?” Her exam found a wound in his shoulder. His blood wafted the aroma of a rich chocolate dessert. Her canines elongated, and her stomach grumbled. Weird. Either she was far hungrier than she thought, or she was losing it. Werewolf blood was toxic. She clamped her mouth closed. Her teeth dug into her inner lips.
A snippet of the wolf’s thoughts flashed in her head. First, a blurry, but familiar vamp face…her brother, Trace. Then automatic gunfire and a chase. A memory. It’d been a Squad fight, which meant silver bullets to ensure a wolf died when shot. The secondary allergic reaction was the killer. The animal couldn’t transform back to human until the metal was removed. If he changed, then the silver would merge with the wolf’s cells, making it virtually impossible to extract. To prevent the reaction, any bullet had to be removed within a few hours of entry. The new bullets Trace was playing with these days exploded into liquefied silver upon impact, making it tricky to completely extract.
Eric still hadn’t responded to her question on what happened.
She asked, “At least tell me how many times he was shot.”
“Twice. Left shoulder and left thigh.”
“Were they normal silver bullets or the new exploding liquid silver?” Vee found the source of the blood on the ground to be a jagged laceration near the wolf’s left knee. That had to be painful.
Eric paused long enough for what Vee suspected was more metal discussion. Finally, he said, “Not sure. Suspect normal bullets.”
She nodded. Blood hunger rose to the fore in her brain as the wolf’s blood continued to torture her. She stood up fast and stepped away from the wolf. Vertigo sent the world into an eerie shift, a worsening problem over the past few weeks. She hadn’t found time to seek out a vamp doctor. The only one she trusted was several states away. She blew off the dizziness as the product of low quality REM sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time sleep had been peaceful. She gripped the exam table to hide her weakness.
In a well-practiced, steady tone she said, “Were he a real dog, his left leg would be toast. He’s lucky you guys have bones like titanium. He needs Benadryl and a steroid injection to counteract the allergic reaction. I recommend sedation or a local block before we go beyond that.”
Eric stared at the wolf in silence for several seconds. Then he met her gaze. “No sedation. No local. The allergy drugs are fine. You can use a local if it makes you feel better, but he won’t need it. He’s handled far worse.”
“Fine. But remember, no biting. Is it okay if a tech assists me?”
“No tech. You alone. I’ll help, if you need it,” Eric said.
…
“All done.” Vee pushed away from her patient and waved at the mostly shaved left thigh and shoulder.
Eric glanced up from his iPhone. “Twenty minutes. That was fast.”
“I need to get going.” She glanced at her watch. She also wasn’t sure how much longer she could take the tempting smell of her patient’s blood. Perhaps the odor was some sort of ramped-up defense mechanism. Inspire a vamp to bite. One suck guaranteed death.
The wolf jumped up from his prone position on the floor and shook, fluffing out his coat. Between one blink and the next, his fur was completely regrown. She turned away to pull her lab coat off the exam table and shrug it on. When she glanced back to her patient, he was in human form.
“That was not part of our deal.” Her breath caught.
Stop staring.
Her eyes refused to break away from his sculpted muscles while her entire body went haywire. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts as if someone had turned off the air conditioner. The wolf rated damn near spectacular. And…wow, the man was proportional everywhere.
Her brain provided a detailed fantasy montage of this wolf’s hands on her. Everywhere. She also fantasized her share of touching back. But not just touching. There’d be biting and pleasure. It’d be hard, possessive, and driven.
With a mental shake, she took a step away from him. She didn’t harbor illicit fantasies about jumping into bed with a wolf. She liked her species. This amplified sexual attractiveness had to be a part of his ancient aura—some sort of trans-species enthrallment.
She squirmed to shake off the desire to be touched in a way she’d never wanted before. No other wolf would do. It had to be King Werewolf.
She’d never experienced a hint of attraction with Ambrose, who was old enough to be considered an ancient. Maybe it was because Ambrose wouldn’t be doing any touching until the moment he was forced to comply.
What was wrong with her? The wolf was the enemy.
He stretched his muscular shoulders, bringing into focus stylized lettering in an unfamiliar language across his back. Immodestly, he pulled his long, dark hair away from his face. He turned his head slowly while smoothing a hand down angular facial features that reflected deep European origins. His hand ended its trek on a manicured dark goatee. Then his lips parted into a seductive smile.
She couldn’t think. A giggle almost exploded, but she bit back the airheaded noise. Nothing flustered her when on the job. Until now.
Pull yourself together. Mind off sex.
She eyed His Highness directly. The diluted blue of his irises appeared icy, but far
from cold. His intensity sucked her in and held her immobile. His brows drooped, and his smile dimmed to serious.
Foreign energy swamped her mind. Was he trying to deep read her?
Break eye contact.
She couldn’t. Oddly, she worried he’d read every mistake, every misstep, every bad ethical choice she’d made during her entire existence, and judge. She wanted him to find her on the right side of whatever scale he used, which made no sense.
With a mental kick, she slammed up a barrier and telepathically screamed at him, “Keep out!” After one forced blink, she pulled her gaze from his. She fiddled with the ear pieces on her stethoscope before draping it around her neck.
Her gaze bounced between the two guys. “Someone has to go out as a dog.”
“Not me,” the king rumbled in a deep baritone. His voice alone was enough to make a woman want to jump him.
Without warning, Eric stripped and handed over his jeans. He dropped several knives, his ear communicator, cell phone, and a gun on the bench. He, too, was a stunner, but nothing like King Werewolf.
“Aleksander Dimitrov, I presume?” She gritted her teeth and resisted his lure.
“It’s Lexan. Nice job.” He ran a hand over the sutures along his thigh and shoulder, completely at ease with his nakedness. The almost-healed gunshot wounds cut through several ornate tattoos. Even for a werewolf, his healing time was fast. As the alleged oldest of his kind in existence, it made sense.
“If you expect me to curtsy or something because you’re king…well, I won’t.”
“I’ll let you get away with it this time.” Lexan’s pale gaze, filled with humor, caught hers. His gaze dipped to her chest then moved back up to her face. The intensity in his eyes shifted to full-throttle sexual appreciation. Even though they were separated by more than four feet, his presence crowded her space. The smell of his blood mixed with the scent of male surrounded her, but not the stinky body odor she equated with most males, especially the Squad vamps. And not the heavily cologned stench of Ambrose. This was clean and attractive to the point of intoxicating. She caught herself swaying toward him.
She backed up another step and fisted her hands inside her lab coat, fighting a bizarre urge to touch him. Hormones continued to dump into her blood stream, activating a writhing need to get naked. Audience be damned. How mortifyingly inappropriate on too many levels.
A smile tipped the edges of his mouth. Primal. Sexual.
Those lips. He’d know how to put them to good use. And, the tongue he now pressed against the inside of his teeth. Pulses spread through her middle when his gaze dropped again in a slow, predatory scan. Beneath the oversized white lab coat and unisex blue scrubs, she felt buck naked in the wake of his head-to-toe.
When his smile deepened, she caught smugness in his gaze. He knew his effect on her. Maybe this was normal for females in his presence. He probably planned to use it to get his way. The need to smack him had her fisting her hands tighter.
She said, “I guess this means Eric goes out wolf? Someone will notice. The two of you don’t look at all alike.”
“You give humans too much credit. They’re not observant, and those who are will overlook subtle differences.” Said like an ancient with significant disdain for humans. Lexan continued the clothes swap, pulling on Eric’s T-shirt, which stretched a little too tight across his chest.
“You guys violated all but one of my conditions. I think the owing someone a favor part is heavily balanced toward me.” She tossed the remnant suture into the sharps container.
Crystal entered the exam room without knocking. While staring at a patient chart, she asked, “Dr. Scarpa, can I borrow you for a minute…”
Crystal noticed Lexan. Unabashed lust shone on her face as she stared, transfixed, while he slid the top button of the jeans into place.
Vee said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes. Let me wrap it up in here, Crystal.”
Crystal didn’t budge from her lock on Lexan. Nor did she acknowledge she’d registered what Vee said. Or the fact there was no longer a dog in the room, but two guys, one being naked and the other putting on jeans.
“You can go,” Vee said, waiting for Crystal’s what-the-hell explosion.
Crystal didn’t move. The expected outburst didn’t happen. She didn’t even glance at Eric, or at her, nor ask about the now absent patient.
Vee glared at Lexan.
Lexan wasn’t giving Crystal the read-look. He crossed his arms and scowled.
Vee bit her lip against a smile. She liked him irritated.
Lexan rumbled out, “Crystal, you can leave us now and resume your duties. Dr. Scarpa will be out soon. You may speak with her then.”
Crystal nodded and exited in an automaton way that gave Vee chills. What kind of unique mental capabilities did this guy have?
Vee rotated her wrist for a time check. The wedding would commence in five minutes. They wouldn’t wait for her. Even if she left now, she had no chance of making the ceremony. Being late would be added fuel to ignite her father’s reaction to this wolf encounter episode into the stratosphere. No question of if he found out. The question at this point was when.
“You’re going to be late for your sister’s wedding festivities,” Lexan said.
Could he read her mind? She thought to him, “Keep. Out. Of. My. Head.”
“We’ve held you up long enough.” His gaze turned intense. His tone was ultra smooth as he murmured, “I’d like us to meet later. We need to…talk.” He stepped toward her.
She backed away. “I don’t think so. Let’s forget this incident happened. Don’t send more of your friends my way.”
Lexan frowned. Eric shot him an answering slack jaw shrug and head shake. Maybe no one questioned His Highness’s orders. Or whatever he used on Crystal didn’t work for her.
In a blink, Eric was in wolf form. Lexan donned Eric’s hoodie and pulled up the hood.
“Let’s not run into each other ever again. Deal?” She did an authoritarian doctor nod and headed for the exit.
“No deal, catifea,” Lexan called as she exited. “You’re going to need me.”
Chapter Two
Vee could use about ten more minutes on hair and makeup. Her long, dark hair was out of its ponytail and up in a French twist. The result screamed rush job. A brief glance at her reflection in the cramped restroom mirror brought back her brother’s words from a few decades ago: “You’re a solid eight, sis. No way around it.”
Yep, size eight, five-foot-eight, and on a vamp male’s grading scale apparently she was an eight out of ten. Passable, but not one of the leggy, busty, pale beauties that made vamp men fall over themselves, not that she thought any “ten” vamp guys were worth aspiring for, given she was about to marry one. They might be gorgeous, but they were self-obsessed and narcissistic.
Catifea. She shook her head to clear Lexan’s low rumble of the word. No use. Her mind fixated itself on Mister Naked Hotness. Was it some form of endearment or threat? Although tempted to Google the term, there wasn’t time right now. Later.
You’re going to need me. The warning repeated itself over and over in her mind.
Her stomach churned. She didn’t need another ancient being playing mental chess with her. Her father’s manipulative antics and Ambrose’s political power plays were tough enough for her to handle.
Yet, a connection had passed between her and Lexan—something not about threats or blackmail. She couldn’t define exactly what it’d been, but maybe that’s to what his words referred. Maybe it was attraction. What would it feel like to lie next to his broad chest and rub against his skin? She shivered and then drove the image from her brain. Attending this wedding while mentally undressing a werewolf was suicidal. At least Ambrose wouldn’t be there. He was too busy on the West Coast to care about her half-sister’s arranged marriage.
She unwrapped and munched on a Hershey’s kiss. Then another. And went for a third. Stop eating, she screamed at herself. When nervous, she ate choc
olate. It didn’t assuage the blood hunger, but it made her taste buds happy. Vamps, in general, despised chocolate, which meant growing up there hadn’t been any around. She’d discovered the delectable treats in college. Now she kept chocolate everywhere. The vampire aversion to cocoa came from a slight toxicity of the cocoa plant to a vampire’s digestive tract. At least, that’s what Roman told her. It wasn’t fatal but gave most vamps profound cramps. He proclaimed her unique.
Back to cosmetics. Her cheeks, flushed from the persistent image of Lexan naked, made it tough to gauge if she’d applied too much blush. She did a final swipe of mascara, trying ineffectively to separate her clumped eyelashes. Her makeup skills sucked, since she rarely used the stuff. A frustrated dark green gaze reflected at her in the mirror. She hated the splash of brown in her left eye.
With a shrug of defeat, she zipped the mini-makeup case.
…
“Waiting in this parking lot will get us killed,” Eric griped. “Hell, we’ll be lucky if a nosy pet owner doesn’t call the police on us for loitering.”
“Keep bitching and I might kill you myself,” Lexan mumbled. “Get in the car.”
“It’s dark. No one can see me.” Eric rolled his eyes without a hint of fear at the threat. He jerked on a T-shirt and hopped into the SUV driver’s seat. Between the stress of getting security in place for this Stateside visit and several subverted assassination attempts, he looked beat. The captain of his Elite Guard would never admit weakness, though. Not until he lay dead.
They both watched a yuppie couple try to entice two morbidly obese pugs to walk toward the hospital by using treats. The dogs refused, necessitating they be carried, which wasn’t easy given their heft.
“She’ll leave the hospital soon. Patience.” Lexan blew out a sigh. He wasn’t sure if he added the last for himself or Eric. Everything about meeting Velvet Scarpa had him wound tight.
“Damn it. If I’d known we were here to see a fucking Scarpa, I wouldn’t have allowed it.”
“Allowed?” He locked gazes with Eric.
Eric dropped his head in submission. “Poor word choice, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Why are we waiting for her to leave? Are we following her?”
