Xavier tore open the packet with the antiseptic wipes in it. I watched as he dragged it across the ragged wound, folded it in half, and did it again. He opened one more wipe and repeated the same process before tossing the bloody wipes aside.
“Sew,” he said, coolly.
“I don’t know how.”
“Start at one end. Work your way down in a zigzag, like you’re tying a shoelace.”
“This is so not like tying a shoelace,” I whispered.
Xavier leaned back on one hand and held his side with the other. “If you don’t start I’m taking over.”
I shook my head. “I can do this.”
“Then do it.”
I knew he was in pain. And I knew I was prolonging his rest by pussyfooting around the job that had to be done. But I couldn’t just snap my fingers and all of a sudden be okay with stitching up a bullet wound.
“Violet.”
I lifted my gaze to meet his. I wanted to answer him but no words came out.
He nodded at his leg. “Please.”
His skin puckered when I pressed the needle to the edge of the wound. He’d asked nicely. And that could only mean one thing.
Xavier was done.
He needed me to help him. And then he needed to sleep. One thing had to come before the other.
His skin gave way and the needle slipped in. it wasn’t as terrible for me as I thought it would be, and I intentionally avoided looking at him while I worked. Seeing his pain while I sewed him up like I was hemming a pair of pants was not a memory I wanted to have. So I kept my head down, pinched my tongue between my teeth in concentration, and got the job done.
Then I tied it off, cut the thread, and leaned back on my knees. “Done. Let’s get that shirt off and take a look at the rest of you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
He studied me intently. Then, with a few mumbled curses, he shrugged carefully out of his shirt to show me the rest of the damage.
His side was a disaster.
Burned flesh is an unsightly thing, especially when it’s fresh, and especially when it’s covered in dried up blood clots.
“That looks bad, Xavier.”
He looked down at himself and ran his fingertips gingerly over the seared skin. “Yeah. Feels pretty bad, too.”
I sighed and pushed myself up to sit on the bed beside him. Then I opened one last antiseptic wipe and used it to clean up the bloody mess above his eye. “How did this happen?”
His eyes were closed and he winced when I pressed the wipe to the wound. It wasn’t as bad as I originally thought. All the blood was misleading. I used an adhesive bandage from the kit to cover the gash and brushed his dark hair out of the way.
“Bullet grazed me,” he said simply.
I blinked at him. “In the head?”
He nodded.
“Got lucky is more like it,” I muttered before sliding off the bed. I lifted his legs and helped him lay down. Xavier grimaced and tensed against the pain, but as soon as he was lying flat he let himself relax into the mattress.
His eyes closed immediately, and I thought he’d passed out until he spoke. “We need to do something about that car.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said.
“It’s dangerous to go out there,” he said. His voice was low and he spoke slowly. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he was out. The thought of being in this room while he slept and recovered made me more than a little nervous.
He wouldn’t be there to stand guard.
It was the closest I would be to being alone.
I sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand over his. “I’ll be careful.”
One brown eye cracked open and stared at me. “You don’t know what careful means, Violet Wynn.”
I smiled and leaned over him. He opened his other eye. Well, sort of opened. He peered up at me through slits as sleep threatened to take him right there and then.
Stroking his cheek, I pressed my lips softly to his. “Sleep.”
My permission seemed to be all he needed, because he closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh before he melted even deeper into the mattress.
I became hyper-aware of everything around me.
The soft hum from the alarm clock on the nightstand. The sharp scent of copper permeating the room. The blood on my gloves and wrists. On my sweater. On the bed. Matted in Xavier’s hair. All over his forearms and hands.
Everywhere.
As quietly as I could manage, I pushed myself up off the bed and collected all the first aid kit items. I cleaned them in the sink in the bathroom, scrubbed my hands, and wrapped the gloves up in toilet paper before tossing them in the waste bin. I repacked the kit and set it on the counter before cranking the hot water in the sink and filling the ice bucket with it. I brought it and a couple face cloths over to the side of the bed and worked to try to get as much blood off of Xavier’s skin as I could.
When I’d gotten almost all of it, I grabbed a blanket from the closet and draped it over him.
Now it was time to face the scariest challenge. Moving the car.
I had no clue what Xavier would do in my place. I mean, I imagined he would dump the car somewhere where it wouldn’t be found for a couple days, and then he’d replace it with a new one. I figured I’d just ditch the car and worry about acquiring a new one when the time called for it.
The time was going to call for it soon. We couldn’t stay here long. We’d only driven for just shy of an hour after leaving the coal mine and we’d have the police as well as the Shades after us now.
I would give Xavier a couple hours to rest.
My chest ached with fear as I padded to the door and pulled the keys out of my pocket. Before I headed outside I cast a wary glance back at Xavier on the bed. He was still. Peaceful. And in a place where the pain couldn’t reach him.
I unlocked the door and slid the chain out of its bolt and stepped out into the night to move our bullet ridden car.
* * *
I’d been sitting by the window in our room for two and a half hours when a silver SUV pulled into the parking lot and stopped in the yellow painted lines in front of the lobby. They had a roof rack with one of those collapsible tents on top for sleeping off the ground. A couple got out and covered their heads from the rain as they jogged across the path and up to the doors of the lobby.
They were the first ones that had arrived since I sat down by the window, and for all I knew they might be our only shot at getting another car.
I looked over my shoulder at him.
He was still asleep on the bed in the exact same position. His chest rose and fell steadily, and if I held my own breath and sat very still I could hear every breath he drew. It was a comforting sound.
But we needed to move on.
And there was no time to waste.
I hurried to the bed and went around Xavier’s side to lightly rest a hand on his shoulder. “Xavier?”
He didn’t stir.
Guilt swirled around in my stomach at having to wake him. I wished I could let him sleep. He needed it, badly, and here I was forcing him to come to, so I could pile him into a car.
“Xavier. Wake up. We have to go.”
His forehead creased. A soft sound escaped his lips and I willed myself not to give in and let him keep sleeping.
I ran my hand over his bare shoulder. “Wake up. You can sleep again soon.”
His eyes fluttered open. He stared up at the ceiling for a breath, and two more, then his gaze slid to me.
I tried to smile. “Hey. There’s a car out there and I think I have an idea of how I can take it. But we’ll have to move fast once I come back. Can you get up?”
Xavier nodded and I held his upper arm to help pull him up. Then I handed him his bloody shirt and he put it on. He watched me as I went to the door. “Watch yourself out there,” he warned. His voice was thick and low.
“I will,” I said, and then I ducked out, f
ull of nerves, and hurried over to the lobby and the silver SUV.
The couple came out the lobby doors just as I was approaching. I paused by a white sidewalk sign that read ‘Caution, Slippery’ on one side. I turned it around and stood behind it so the blood on my sweater isn't visible, and then I called a cheerful hello to the couple walking back to their car. They stopped and turned to me.
I knew my chances of pulling this off were slim.
The sun was just beginning to rise and the morning was still dark. I was dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants and probably looked about as tired as I felt, and I hadn’t washed my hair in at least thirty six hours.
But I had to try anyway.
“Do you have your parking stall number?” I asked.
They both stared at me.
I forced the smile to stay on my lips. “Did the concierge give you your parking stall number? I can park your vehicle for you while you bring your bags to the room.”
The woman looked to the man. “Did she give you a number?”
“No,” he said.
They were both unsure. Unsure was better than skeptical. So I gestured at the backwards white sign. “I’m the valet. Usually we don’t get any visitors at this time, but when I saw your lights I hurried out here to see if you needed help. Please don’t tell the boss I was putting my feet up in the break room.”
The man smiled.
Ha. Got them.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and then he strode right over to me and dropped his car keys in my open palm. “Your secret is safe with me. We’re in room eighteen.”
“Thank you. I’ll park the car around back and bring the keys up for you. Can I get you anything else? Ice? Extra pillows?”
“Extra pillows would be nice,” the woman called as she opened the trunk and grabbed their bags.
The man opened his wallet and handed me a crisp ten dollar bill. Under any other circumstances I would have told him to keep it. But we had very little cash left and ten dollars was ten dollars. So I thanked him graciously, pocketed the money, and watched them take their luggage up to their room before I hurried over to the SUV, climbed in, turned it on, and drove it right to the parking stall in front of mine and Xavier’s room.
Then I rushed around, opened the passenger door, and went back into the room to find Xavier leaning against the dresser.
I went to him and offered my support, which he took, and then we hobbled out of the room and I got him in the passenger side of the SUV. He watched me skeptically as I did up his seat belt and then he looked around the vehicle. His eyes landed on the keys in the ignition. “How the hell did you pull this off?”
“No time to talk.” I closed his door and raced around the hood of the SUV to slide into the driver’s side. I reversed out into the lot, swung the car around, and had us back on the highway in less than two minutes.
I could feel Xavier’s eyes on me.
I beamed with pride. “I convinced the couple who owns this that I was the valet.”
He looked me over. “In your sweat suit?”
“Yep.”
He chuckled, and then let out an irritated groan as the soft laughter hurt him. “Fuck me.”
“Just rest. I’ll get us somewhere safe.”
Chapter Five
Xavier
I opened my eyes.
Always a good sign.
The ceiling above me was crisp white, and I had to squint against the bright sunlight striking it and bouncing all around the room.
I rubbed at my eyes and peered around to try to make sense of where I was. As I soaked in the sight of watercolor paintings and faux plants hanging from baskets in the corner I remembered the events of last night and early this morning.
Well, I assumed it was last night. There was no way to tell how long I’d been sleeping.
Violet had woken me up at the crack of dawn after stitching up my leg and tending to my injuries. She’d stolen a car. A silver SUV with a tent on the roof. Apparently the owners of the car had been foolish enough to fall for her valet trick—a clever move on her part. I’d have to remember to tell her so. Her improvisation impressed me. A lot.
From there my memory was fuzzy.
We’d driven down the highway toward Quebec. At some point I must have fallen asleep again. How I ended up in this room I had no idea.
It was easier to sit up than I expected. I moved gingerly and with care as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
I was naked.
“Huh,” I mused, looking down at myself.
I had to give Violet credit for managing to undress me while I was unconscious. It wasn’t an easy feat, especially when the person in need of undressing had nearly a hundred pounds on you.
I also had to give her credit for the better than decent stitch job she’d performed on my leg. While she sewed me up I’d been barely conscious and my vision was blurry, so I hadn’t really been able to tell if she was doing a good job or not. But I could now confirm that she had. The stitches were close together, and she hadn’t pulled them too tight. She hadn’t left them too loose, either. The wound was clean and the skin already appeared to be trying to grow back together.
The room smelled like lavender and eucalyptus. The fresh scent, soft sheets, and plush carpet under my feet tipped me off that something was amiss.
This was not a hotel.
I pushed myself to my feet. My thigh protested.
“Bad idea,” I muttered as the room started to sway. Reaching down, I braced myself with one hand flat upon the bed until the dizziness passed, then I straightened up and searched the room.
At the end of the bed was a cushioned bench. Upon it were a folded up pair of jeans, a long sleeve gray Henley shirt, and a pair of socks and boxers. I pulled them on, knowing full well they were not mine and belonged to whoever’s house I was in, and then I slipped out of the bedroom to find myself in a brightly lit hallway filled with family photos.
“What the hell?” I breathed, looking both ways down the hall. One direction led to a bathroom. The other opened up into a living room, of which I could only see a sliver of the back of a sofa and a corner of the fireplace.
I hobbled in that direction, stepping quietly, and paused when I heard something bang in the kitchen.
Then a quiet feminine voice muttered a string of curses.
Violet.
I moved down the hall as quickly as my battered body could move, and stopped at the threshold, gazing upon the woman who had saved my life as she twisted a corkscrew through the top of a bottle of red wine. Blood beaded from a cut on the tip of her finger, and once she’d pulled the cork free she ran her thumb under the kitchen faucet.
It smelled like fresh baked bread and garlic and thyme in here.
Surely this wasn’t real. Surely I’d bled out and died in the car and this was the afterlife.
Violet turned my direction to pour herself a glass of wine.
She spotted me and let out a startled yelp.
Then she pressed a hand to her chest and bowed over in relief. “Jesus, Xavier. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry.”
Violet swept her dark hair off her face with one hand and poured herself a glass of wine with the other. “How do you feel?”
“Alright.”
“Better than yesterday?”
“Yes,” I said.
She held up the bottle. “Want a glass?”
I licked my lips. They were dry and my mouth was parched.
“Xavier?”
“Am I dead?”
Violet snorted and then let out a chorus of giggles. “What?”
I looked around the kitchen. And then settled my gaze on her. She was wearing a pair of dark gray leggings and a loose powder pink long sleeve shirt. Her feet were bare. Her hair was clean.
Frowning, I shook my head. “Never mind.”
If I were dead, the other side wouldn’t be this nice. I didn’t deserve it. I’d be in Hell. Not a plac
e as nice as this with the girl who made the days better and the sun warmer and the air clearer.
Violet gave me a curious stare before filling up a cup with water. She handed it to me and I took four deep gulps. It soothed my dry tongue and aching throat.
“Where are we?”
Violet gave me a cocky smile as she leaned her hip against the kitchen counter and sipped her wine. “We are in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh. Lawyer and social worker. Two kids. And, lucky for us, they’re all on vacation in Italy for the next two weeks.”
“And just how did you come upon all this information?”
She ignored my skepticism. “Well, I had to stop for gas last night around seven. They were on the other side of our pump talking about their trip. The parents got in a fight about not being sure if they’d locked their front door. So they went home to make sure before heading back for the airport. And I followed.”
While she talked, I drained my glass of water. Then refilled it. “Good thinking.”
“I thought you’d approve.”
“Where did you park the SUV?”
“Around back. They have a covered carport back there. You can’t see it from the road.”
She was learning.
Violet set her wine down and opened up the stove. A waft of steam rose out of it and the kitchen was filled with the rich scent of cooking chicken and spices. My mouth instantly started watering and I watched Violet close the oven with her hip.
“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” I said.
She smiled. “I thought you might be. You haven’t eaten in—” she paused and did the quick math. “Oh boy. Forty hours. That’s not good.”
I frowned. Had that much time really passed?
“How long have I been asleep?”
“You slept the whole drive from the hotel where I got the SUV until we got here. And we’ve been here all night. So, twenty hours?”
I glanced at the clock on the stove. Five o’clock. Jesus. A whole day had already slipped through our fingers. Just like that.
Dark Lover: Sins of the Night Page 3
