by Vivian Wood
On top of that, Wyatt had come to an arrangement of sorts with Paul Roberts, the head security guard at Mount Mercy. Wyatt wrote an astonishingly large check to Mount Mercy for a number of much-needed security upgrades. In exchange, Roberts put an extra guard on every shift that Lucy worked, making certain to have a guard discreetly follow her through the hospital, waiting around the corner of whatever room she was in.
Still, though he’d taken every precaution he could think of, Wyatt couldn’t seem to relax. Every time he drifted off to sleep in his Escalade, he awoke with a start a few minutes later. He couldn’t stem the tide of his visions now, dreaming about Lucy. Dreaming about fucking her, holding her close, listening to her breathing as she slept. Dreaming about her death, dreaming about his own.
And that one terrible vision, the outcome he feared most. Lucy, taking a pregnancy test, sobbing at the results as she readied herself to go to his funeral. That dream turned him inside out, gutted him, made him wake with shaking hands and tightness in his chest.
The feeling of impending doom descended on him two days after their dinner date, and now he couldn’t even bring himself to go back to the hotel while she worked. Driven by instinct and fear, he’d given up on any semblance of respecting Lucy’s privacy and had stuck a GPS tracker on her car, under the front wheel hub. After that he’d parked himself outside the hospital, then leaned the seat back and allowed himself to drift off for a few minutes.
He awoke to the blaring of his phone’s alarm, sitting up and rubbing his face. When he picked up his phone to turn off the alarm, he saw that he’d slept through it for over twenty minutes.
“Damn,” he muttered.
He’d specifically parked on the far side of the hospital’s employee parking lot, giving himself a good view of the whole lot while blending in with the other cars, effectively hiding himself in plain sight so Lucy didn’t know just how closely he was watching her every move. He turned on the car and pulled out of his space, circling the lot until he found the spot where Lucy’s little Volvo had been parked.
The space was empty. She’d probably left a few minutes earlier, driving right by him without any idea that she was slipping his carefully constructed safety net. Gritting his teeth, Wyatt pulled out his laptop and opened it on the passenger seat, connecting to the web. He opened the tracking software he’d installed only hours earlier, his chest constricting until a bright red dot began to flash on the screen.
Lucy was on the edge of downtown Seattle, maybe ten minutes away or less. He left the parking lot and sped toward her location, noticing that the red dot stopped moving. That was good news, presumably. If Lucy parked and stayed in one spot for a few minutes, Wyatt could catch up to her. On the other hand, if she left her car behind and got a ride from someone else, she’d evade him easily.
Wyatt made it to her location in half the time he’d estimated, flooring it the whole way. He circled the block a couple of times before spotting her car. Empty.
“Fuuuuuck,” he growled.
He parked at the end of the block and jumped out of his SUV, jogging back toward her car. He looked around, scanning the area, wondering where she might have gone. He saw a pizza place, a tax agency, a record store…
And an art gallery. On impulse, he moved toward the gallery, thankful for the wall-to-ceiling glass windows that gave him a clear view inside. The second his gaze landed on Lucy, who was hugging her friend Lexie in greeting, Wyatt almost sagged with relief.
He’d almost lost her. Wyatt had run himself ragged, watching her every minute of the day. Things were fine when the price was just his personal comfort, but when he lost the ability to keep Lucy safe, it was time for more precautions.
He watched Lucy through the window for a few more minutes, admiring her. She’d changed into a pretty olive green dress, tucking her curls up into a fashionable bun. She roamed the gallery, Lexie at her side. She was safe and sound, and Wyatt needed to let himself relax a little.
He pulled out his phone and paced a few doors down, knowing that his next move was going to seriously piss Lucy off. He wanted nothing less than to push her even further away, but he couldn’t watch her constantly. He needed backup.
He dialed.
“Jake?” he asked when his friend answered the phone.
“I guess you’re calling in that favor,” came Jake’s gruff voice.
“Yeah. I have a friend who needs some private security,” Wyatt informed Jake. The man was a private investigator who’d stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, working a case, and had ended up on the wrong side of the Japanese mafia in Portland. Wyatt had saved his ass, and Jake had promised him a favor.
“Well, that’s my job, not a favor.”
“The subject… she’s not willing. She’ll hate having a body guard,” Wyatt sighed.
“A lady? Huh, I know that feeling,” Jake chuckled.
“I don’t need the commentary. How soon can you get some guys out to Seattle?” Wyatt asked.
“Tomorrow morning soon enough?”
Wyatt mulled it over for a second.
“Yeah. I’ll need coverage for at least twelve hours a day for the next couple of weeks. I’ll pay whatever you need, but the guys need to be unflinching when the subject protests their presence, which is going to happen the second she spots one of them.”
“Alright. No problem. I’ll email you some details within the hour,” Jake said.
“Thanks. Consider us more than even,” Wyatt said, disconnecting the call.
That was one thing taken care of, at least. Wyatt tucked his phone back in his pocket, then paced back toward the gallery. He stopped dead as he scanned the place, not seeing Lucy anywhere. Lexie was in the far corner, arm linked with an attractive man. Wyatt waited for a few seconds, then moved toward the gallery’s entrance, thinking that perhaps Lucy had just gone to the restroom. After a full minute, he couldn’t wait any longer.
He rushed inside, blowing by a gallery employee and making a straight line to Lexie. Lexie gave him a startled look when he tapped her on the shoulder.
“Uh, hey?” Lexie said, looking confused.
“Where is she?” Wyatt asked, keeping his voice low.
“Lucy? She went down the street to grab something to eat. We’re going out later,” Lexie said, eyeing him with an uncertain gaze.
“Which way?” Wyatt said, knowing that he sounded a little crazed.
Lexie stared at him for a long moment, then pointed.
“There’s an Indian place she likes. Take a right out of here, and another right. Five blocks down, I think,” she said.
“Thank you, Lexie,” Wyatt breathed, whirling and rushing out of the gallery.
He pushed into a trot as he rounded the corner of the block, catching a glimpse of Lucy as she turned a corner onto a narrow side street. Dread filled him suddenly, a cold certainty that something very bad was about to happen.
He slowed as a dark figure stepped out of a doorway, following Lucy on silent feet. The stranger seemed to be so intent on trailing Lucy that he didn’t even notice Wyatt slowly closing the distance between them.
A gust of wind came down the alley, and Wyatt’s hackles rose as he caught the scent of another Berserker, a male. The mystery figure was one of their own, and he seemed dead set on catching Lucy unaware.
Wyatt’s gaze snapped ahead, and puzzle pieces started clicking, gears churning in his head. He knew the next street corner all too well; he’d seen Lucy die right there a hundred times. Things were a little different now; usually Wyatt was in the far corner, coming from the opposite direction. And the unknown assailant was usually across the street… Somehow, Wyatt’s meddling had changed things a little, and that gave him a sickly sort of hope.
The man in front of him picked up his pace, and Wyatt did the same. Lucy slowed, perhaps sensing her pursuer, but she turned her head a few seconds too late. Wyatt growled deep in his chest as the other man reached her, grabbing her by the back of the neck and yanking her into a sh
adowed doorway.
Her scream echoed on the empty street, then cut off suddenly. Wyatt’s vision went red, but in the next second he heard a muffled grunt and Lucy sprang from the doorway, running from her attacker. She spotted Wyatt and hesitated, confused. Just as she moved toward Wyatt, toward safety, her assailant shot out from the doorway, a knife flashing in his hand.
Wyatt launched himself, managing to get in front of Lucy just as the attacker struck, the knife arcing high in the air and coming down to slide deep into Wyatt’s shoulder. Wyatt gave a deep growl of warning and reached out for the man with his uninjured arm, but the man danced back, avoiding capture.
The man turned and took off down the street. Wyatt glanced at Lucy, planning to warn her to stay put, that he would return after tackling her attacker, but he noticed the anguish and worry on her face… and the fact that she clutched her collarbone, a tiny blot of red beginning to seep out of her wound.
“Fuck,” Wyatt said, abandoning his pursuit.
He went to Lucy instead, his long legs eating up the short distance between them.
“Lucy, are you hurt?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her skin pale, lips trembling, stormy gray eyes wide. Then her eyes rolled up in her head and she crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Wyatt snagged her by the waist and pulled her up into his arms, cradling her head.
He looked at the wound on her collarbone, which bled profusely. He didn’t think it was a deep wound, but she might be hurt somewhere else, a more serious injury.
Wyatt turned and raced for his car, heart in his throat. He needed to get her to Mount Mercy, and fast. He got her into the car in record time, pulling out and racing toward the hospital, hoping against hope that the first of his doomsday visions wasn’t coming true.
112
Ten
Lucy opened her eyes and found herself staring at a very familiar-looking white ceiling. Her brow furrowed as she tried to put together why she should be looking at the white foam ceiling tiles at Mount Mercy, but her brain struggling. She hadn’t slept at work, had she? She was wearing hospital scrubs, which was normal, but they were light green instead of her customary light blue. They were also a little baggier than usual, and she was pretty sure they weren’t hers.
She felt like her brain was moving in slow motion. After a moment’s deliberation, she realized that she was under light sedation. That thought made her push up to her elbows and look around. When she discovered that she was lying in a hospital bed, she was floored.
“What the hell?” she said.
She turned from the window toward the sliding glass door that led into the hallway, and nearly screamed. A massive, dark-haired stranger sat in the chair beside her bed, his eerily familiar ice-blue gaze intent on her face.
“Who are you?” Lucy said, drawing back from him.
The man raised both his hands, showing her that he meant no harm.
“I’m Luke. Wyatt’s brother,” the man said, his voice calm and neutral.
Lucy looked him up and down. Now that he’d made the connection, she could see the resemblance between them. Luke was a bit brawnier than Wyatt, a thick tree trunk of a man, but it was easy to place them as brothers.
“Why am I here? Where’s Wyatt?” she asked, frowning when she felt an IV tugging at her left hand. As she moved, she felt bandages on her chest, and brought her free hand up to touch the gauze. She winced when she probed too deeply, but guessed that the wound was shallow and minor.
“Ah, I gather that you were attacked,” Luke said.
Lucy bit her lip, squinting as she thought back to the night before. The events came back in a rush, especially the part where she’d stared Kurt Hughes in the face, crying out when he struck her with a knife. She remembered Wyatt being there suddenly, and Kurt had tried to attack her again… but Wyatt had taken the blow, just before her memories ended.
“Oh god. Is Wyatt okay?” she cried, clutching at the bed rail.
“He’s fine,” Luke said, leaning back in his seat. “He scared the daylights out of the nurses and doctors though, from what I heard. He was bleeding all over the place, but he wouldn’t let anyone tend his cut until I got here. Wouldn’t leave your side, I heard.”
Lucy went red at the way Luke was looking at her, some mixture of curiosity and speculation.
“We’re friends,” she blurted out, then blushed even harder when Luke’s lips tipped upward.
“Okay,” he drawled. “That’s not really my business. I’m just here because your attacker is still on the loose somewhere. Wyatt couldn’t leave you unguarded while they sedated him and sewed him up, so…”
Luke stopped talking when Lucy started pulling at the tape on her IV, ready to get moving.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. I need to see Wyatt. It’s my fault he got stabbed,” Lucy said, biting her lip when a wave of dizziness hit. She removed her IV with ease, having done it on patients a thousand times, but when she tried to get out of bed things got a little harder.
“Whoa, there,” Luke said, reaching out to steady her even as he gently pushed her back onto the bed. “Can’t let you do that just yet. Wyatt threatened some pretty terrible things if I let any harm should come to you.”
Lucy settled back, confused. Why the hell did Wyatt care so much? He’d vanished after their date of doom, and though her heart sank, Lucy had accepted it. Then he came out of nowhere and took a knife for her, and he’d gone all Berserker on the nurses and doctors that tried to separate them.
“I don’t understand why he’s so invested in this,” Lucy admitted, looking up at Luke. “In me, I mean. My safety.”
“I thought you were friends,” Luke said, shrugging a shoulder.
“Well… I mean… I kind of wanted to be… more than that,” Lucy said, blushing and working the words out as she went, the drugs still heavy in her veins.
“I wish I could tell you more,” Luke said, looking a little remorseful. “You seem like a nice lady.”
“I guess I should be asking Wyatt, shouldn’t I? He’s one closemouthed son of a bitch, pardon me for saying,” Lucy said, heaving a sigh.
Luke reached out and gave her hand an awkward pat.
“It’s not personal. He comes from a big family full of busybodies, and he’s always been private. And there are other things… I don’t know how much to say,” Luke said, shaking his head. “He lost a mate once, or someone that could have been a mate, and now he’s not much for getting close to women. Or anyone else, I guess. Maybe, just… give him a little slack.”
Lucy gave a slow nod.
“He did mention that. The almost-mate,” she said.
Luke’s brows shot up.
“Did he? Interesting.”
“Yeah. I guess everyone has baggage, right?” she said, thinking aloud.
“Some more than most,” Luke intoned.
“I’m going to see him. Where’s his room?” Lucy asked, pushing herself up off the bed.
“Let me help you,” Luke said, offering her an elbow. Lucy stood up and took his arm and leaned on him as they walked out into the hall. Though someone with Lucy’s injury would normally be sent home, seeing as she hadn’t even gotten stitches, but she recognized that she was on the third floor rather than in one of the private ER rooms.
Wyatt was only a few doors down from Lucy’s room, and Luke escorted her inside. Wyatt was still and silent, his chest rising and falling as he slept.
“Just to the bed, I think,” Lucy said, and Wyatt helped her over.
“I’m going to give you a minute, but I’ll be right outside. Call if you need something,” Luke said, stepping outside and pulling the door until it was only open a few inches. Enough to give them privacy, but also enough for Lucy’s voice to be heard if she called out.
Wyatt lay on his side, facing her. His brow was smooth and untroubled, his whole body more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. He wore scrubs just like hers, and a light blanket was tucked around his waist. He looke
d peaceful like this, but also vulnerable. Something about that openness bothered Lucy; Wyatt was always so strong and fierce and capable. Seeing him like this, bandaged and sedated, was just wrong.
Lucy reached out and smoothed her hand over Wyatt’s arm, careful to avoid the bandage on his bicep. His skin was smooth and warm, and for a moment Lucy wanted nothing more than to touch him everywhere, pull up his shirt and run her fingertips over his chest.
The sedative pulled at her tired brain, but she didn’t want to leave Wyatt just yet. She didn’t want to leave him alone and unprotected, just as he had refused to leave her earlier. She stood and pulled back the blanket, then clumsily climbed into bed with him, tugging the blanket up over them both.
Sleep dragged her down immediately, but the warm, quiet presence of Wyatt beside her, the feeling of safety, stayed with her into her dreams.
113
Eleven
“I’m not taking any more pills,” Wyatt insisted, glaring at Lucy.
He was sitting in her bed, dressed in pajamas, laid up like an invalid, and he was sick and tired of her babying him. Lucy sat down the glass of water and the bottle of his pain meds, and put her hands on her hips.
“You are a terrible patient,” she scolded.
Wyatt tried his hardest not to ogle her body through her thin white tank top and clingy blue leggings, but his brain was desperate for stimulation after three days of Lucy’s aggressively boring schedule for his return to health.
“Hey,” she said, snapping her fingers and pointing to her face. “Up here. Pay attention.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes and tried for a facial expression that might suggest contrition.
“Not my fault you’ve had me locked up in here for half a week with nothing to do,” he grumbled.
“I brought you books,” Lucy pointed out.
