by I. T. Lucas
“I’m not leaving you here alone and defenseless, not unless I first finish these guys off. Except, even though they are too stupid to live, I don’t want to have it on my conscience.”
She wrapped her arms around his torso and lifted him to a standing position.
Michael winced, stifling a groan as the pain became overwhelming. Kri did not move, letting him catch his breath while supporting his weight. Damn, the woman was strong. Stronger than he’d given her credit for.
“You’ll have to lean on me and try to walk. If your injury wasn’t in your stomach, I would have carried you fireman style, but you are too tall and heavy for me to carry you in my arms.”
Michael nodded, letting Kri reposition him so he was leaning against her side, and she was propping him up at the hip. He was going to walk to that fucking car if it fucking killed him, and he was going to grit his teeth and pretend he wasn’t about to faint from the pain. Because if she changed her mind and decided to carry him princess style, he would rather drop dead.
“Okay, big guy. We are going to do it slow and easy. I need you to hold on only until we reach the front of the building. It’ll be relatively safe for you to wait on the street until I bring the Hummer around. It’s well illuminated, not like that dark alley, so even if one of the scumbags regains consciousness and goes looking for you, he won't dare do anything in plain sight of cars driving by…”
As Kri kept talking, he knew she was doing it to distract him from the pain and was grateful for it. His vision swam in and out and he almost blacked out a couple more times, but he made it to the front of the building without collapsing, which was a huge accomplishment considering how excruciating the effort had been.
She left him slumped against a window display that provided a narrow ledge he could sit on, and sprinted toward the parking lot of the club. He watched her long legs eat the distance—powerful and graceful at the same time.
God, he loved this woman.
Michael closed his eyes, letting his head drop against the cool glass behind him. He’d never told Kri how he felt about her. Not because he was unsure, and not because he was scared that she might not respond in kind. He knew Kri loved him.
In her own way.
Funny, how in real years he was less than half her age, and yet he felt as if it was the other way around. In her head, Kri thought of herself as a teenager, and any mention of long-term commitment scared the shit out of her. If he told her he loved her, she might bolt.
Which would be awkward since they lived together.
Not to mention devastating.
In his heart, Michael knew that he wanted to spend eternity with Kri, and if she would’ve had him, he would've proposed on the spot. But that was before he’d been proven useless. No wonder she’d been pressuring him to go to college. Kri must’ve known he wasn’t really Guardian material. She and the other Guardians must’ve been humoring him all this time.
Had they been laughing behind his back? Joking about the kid who thought he could be a Guardian?
He had nothing to offer Kri.
He’d better pretend that he wasn’t serious about their relationship either. It wouldn’t be a big stretch. No one expected a guy his age to make grand pronouncements of everlasting love and propose marriage.
Was he weird to want it so desperately?
Naive?
Maybe. But maybe not. He wasn’t too young to realize that there was no other woman like Kri. She was unique, and he found her perfect. So why wait or look elsewhere when he was so damn lucky to already have his one and only true love?
Chapter 5: Kri
Shifting in his seat, Michael groaned. “I’m sorry.”
Kri cast him a worried glance. His wound should have closed already. Instead, the blood oozing from it was pooling between his legs.
He was such a tough guy. Gritting his teeth and enduring the pain without passing out, which was astounding considering the amount he’d lost and was still losing. True, the bleeding was no longer as copious as it had been right after he’d been stabbed, but it was still worrisome.
“What are you sorry for?”
“The seat. I’m bleeding all over it.”
Silly guy. As if it was of any importance.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a car, and the seats are leather. I can clean it up no problem. What I’m worried about, though, is that your wound is not closing. You should’ve stopped bleeding already. When we get home, I’m taking you straight to Bridget. In fact, I’m going to call her and let her know we are coming. That way we will not have to wait for her. She can meet us down at her clinic.”
Michael shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. It will close any moment now.”
“I want Bridget to take a look. Maybe she needs to stitch it, or maybe there is damage to your internal organs that she needs to do something about. I’m not a doctor, but this is not a scratch you can slap a band-aid on.”
Shaking his head again, he gritted, “You don’t get it. I don’t want anyone to know.”
Aha, so that was his problem. But why? Kri furrowed her brows. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Even Guardians get injured from time to time and seek medical treatment. I don’t understand why you feel like you need to hide it.”
He didn’t answer her, but the mutinous expression on his face said it all.
Fates, why were men so stubborn and stupid?
Not wanting to upset him further, Kri pulled out her phone and texted with her left hand so Michael wouldn’t see what she was doing. Texting while driving was dangerous, not to mention stupid, and most of the time she refrained from doing it, but this was an emergency.
Lucky for her, Kri was ambidextrous—a pretty useful trait, and not only for texting with her left hand tucked against the driver-side door. She could deliver a knockout punch with either fist, and handle a weapon equally well with her left as with her right. Not that she was a great fan of weapons. Mixed martial arts was more her thing—she liked it up close and personal.
The wide boulevards of downtown Los Angeles were practically deserted at this time of night, and with Michael in no shape for a chitchat, there was nothing to distract her from noticing the occasional homeless vagabond. Watching the dirty bundles, sleeping on a bench or tucked inside a doorway, Kri felt the familiar pang of regret and a smidgen of guilt.
Something should be done about it. But what?
She was a Guardian and a good fighter, but that was about it. Since she was a little girl, this was all Kri ever wanted to be. She wasn't a social reformer, and she had no grand ideas for how to solve this problem. Donating a few dollars here and there was not going to help. It really sucked to watch a wrong and not being able to do shit about it.
Nearing the keep, she looked up at the imposing high rise. The place screamed of wealth and opulence—a sharp contrast to the squalor dotting the rich landscape of some of the city’s most expensive accommodations.
Driving down the keep’s underground parking, Kri reached the lowest level and waited for the heavy garage door to slide open before easing into her spot in the clan’s secure parking area. Good old Dr. Bridget was waiting for them, leaning against the wall with her medical bag dangling from the fingers of her hand.
Michael growled. “I told you not to call her.”
“I didn’t. I texted her. Don't worry, she is not going to tell anyone. She is a doctor. Don’t they swear some oath not to reveal patients’ information? The hypocritical oath?” She was mispronouncing it on purpose, trying to get a smile out of him. But Michael was either too pissed at her or in too much pain.
As Kri killed the engine, Bridget came over and opened Michael’s door. “Let’s see what we got here.” She lifted his hand off his wound and nodded approvingly. “You were smart to pull up your shirt before the blood crusted over and glued it to your skin. The bleeding stopped, but I need to see what’s going on the inside. Can you walk? I didn’t bring the gurney.”
“It’s ok
ay, I don’t need it.” He made a move to get out and winced.
“Hold on, let me help you.” Kri came over to his side and offered her arm. “Slow and easy. Put your hands on my shoulders and just slide out.” A stomach wound hurt like a bitch, not that she’d experienced it herself, but she’d heard the guys talking about it.
Leaning on her only slightly, Michael grunted and pushed himself out. She didn’t urge him to move, knowing that he needed a moment to collect himself as he breathed through the pain.
A few seconds later he lifted his head. “Dr. Bridget, is there a chance you can do your thing at our place? I don’t want anyone to know.”
Bridget chuckled. “Sorry, buddy, but I need to check your insides with the ultrasound machine. Unless you prefer I just cut you open again to take a look?” She cocked one red brow.
“Fuck!” Michael let his head drop on his neck.
Kri patted his shoulder. “I have an idea. How about we go home first and clean you up, put a new shirt on, and then go down to Bridget’s clinic. This way, if anyone sees you there, they will not know why you are visiting her.”
Michael cast Bridget a hopeful glance.
“Fine. A few more minutes will not make much of a difference. But don’t take too long, okay?”
“I’ll have him there in ten minutes tops.”
Bridget popped her bag open and pulled out a white packet. “For the pain.” She handed it to Kri.
“Thank you.” Kri stuffed it in her pocket.
“It’s not so bad. I don’t need painkillers,” Michael said as soon as they were alone in the elevator.
Idiot.
As if she couldn’t see him fisting the hand he wasn’t holding over his stomach, protecting it even though it was no longer necessary. The wound had stopped bleeding.
Kri rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, and you’re going to take them. Suffering needlessly is not a sign of bravery.”
His eyes, usually so warm and affectionate, were stone-cold as he pinned her with a hard stare. “Stop babying me, Kri. You’re my girlfriend, not my mother.”
Shit.
He looked and sounded pissed.
It must’ve been the pain talking.
Michael had never spoken to her like that before. In fact, she loved that he was a positive kind of guy, not grumpy or demanding like Kian.
Fates, she couldn’t believe she’d ever had a forbidden crush on her uncle. Now that she had Michael, Kri realized that he was a much better fit for her, and it had nothing to do with the taboo against mating within the clan. Kian, or any other man with his sort of personality, would have been the worst match for her. Easygoing, friendly, and upbeat was what she needed.
Michael was so young, though. Had she been really babying him?
Kri cringed. Yeah, she probably had.
First, it had been about the deodorant. But that was still in the realm of what a girlfriend would insist on. After all, a woman had to have a say in how her guy smelled. And anyway, what was the point of showering each morning but then forgoing the antiperspirant and stinking a couple of hours later? Right?
Then there was all that talk about going back to college. But again, a caring person wanted what was best for their partner, and the same was true about not letting him suffer needlessly.
None of these issues were the exclusive domain of mothers.
Besides, according to Syssi, and even Amanda—who no one could accuse of motherly inclinations—men needed their women to save them from making dumb macho decisions.
Except, Michael wasn’t stupid, or too full of himself not to realize that she only wanted what was best for him.
Damn, this was probably about their age difference.
As it turned out, Kri was only two years younger than Michael’s mother. Apparently, even though the subject had never come up, it bothered him. It didn’t matter that Kri didn’t look a day over twenty, or that for an immortal she was considered very young.
Evidently, somewhere in the back of Michael’s mind this was an issue.
Chapter 6: Michael
“I’m going to the gym.” Michael wiped his mouth with a paper towel and took his plate to the sink, rinsed it out, and put it in the dishwasher. The least he could do in this relationship was not to become a burden. Kri shouldn't have been washing his dishes, or doing his laundry. In fact, he was furious at himself for letting her do all those things for him before.
So yeah, he’d been in charge of cleaning the bathroom and vacuuming, but considering she worked full time and he didn’t, he should've been doing all of the household chores, not just a portion of them.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Yeah, I am. I’ll see you later.” He waved before walking out, closing the door quickly to avoid seeing the hurt look on Kri’s pretty face.
He hadn’t kissed her goodbye.
This was the third morning since the incident, and Michael was going crazy from doing nothing but watching the dumb tube all day.
Enough was enough.
He had to get out of the apartment or he was bound to start smashing things. Things that didn’t belong to him…
It had taken him two long days before he had felt like his old self again. Well, almost. According to Dr. Bridget, his internal organs had healed perfectly and no medical intervention had been needed.
Physically, he was back to normal; emotionally, he was a mess.
Problem was, his efforts to hide it and put up a front weren’t fooling Kri for a moment. She kept nagging him to talk to her, tell her what was wrong, but he couldn't. How could he admit to her that his confidence had gone down the shitter? Or that all his plans for the future had puffed out of existence like the illusion they’d been?
Watching Kri in action had been a nasty wake-up call. It had become poignantly apparent to him that he didn't have what it took to become a Guardian. He would never be as good.
Well, perhaps never was too strong of a word. If he trained like a motherfucker, day and night for years, he might pass the entry exam.
Damn, he’d been deluding himself that he could join the force in a few months, when in fact he would be lucky if he could accomplish it in decades.
The only upside, as far as he was concerned, was that over those long years he wouldn't have to worry about his body aging. Physiologically, he would remain as young and as healthy as he was now.
Except, there was the issue of earning an income while training. Kian had authorized a pretty generous monthly allowance for him, and living with Kri he had no big expenses, but that had been okay as a temporary arrangement, only until he entered the force and started earning a Guardian’s salary. Hell, even a minimum wage as a Guardian’s apprentice would have been great. Receiving an allowance for doing absolutely nothing was demeaning.
It would have been different if he’d been born into the clan. Every member was getting a share of the clan’s profits. Except, even this seemed like mooching to him.
He wanted to contribute.
The elevator descended, and as Michael watched the floor numbers scroll down an idea popped into his head. Maybe he should listen to Kri and go back to college, but switch majors from economics to accounting.
Damn, he couldn't believe he was actually considering it. But as his father had said, accounting may not be the most glamorous or interesting of professions, but there was always work for accountants. It wasn’t difficult, Michael was good with numbers and even had some work experience. His father had insisted on him spending the summers working in his office and had taught him the basics. It had been boring, no doubt about it, but it hadn’t been all bad. Michael would never admit it to his dad, for fear that his old man would never let it go, but there was something strangely satisfying about closing a file with the numbers neatly balanced and everything in order.
In its core, accounting was a lot like arithmetic—it wasn’t open to interpretations. Things either balanced or they did not. It wasn’t a matter of opinion. Which w
as kind of cool.
Hell, what was he doing? Channeling his inner nerd?
Glancing at the mirror, Michael couldn’t help a snort. He was a tall guy, with shoulders that were wide and heavily muscled from years of playing football. He would look funny sitting behind a desk and crunching numbers.
Like his dad.
His old man had been the star of his high school football team, but he hadn’t been good enough to pursue it any further. He was a damn good accountant though, and his uninspiring, cluttered office had provided well for his family.
Still did.
The elevator doors swooshed open and Michael exited, heading for one of the new training rooms instead of the main gym.
Brundar should be teaching a class in one of those.
As it turned out, Brundar had been right about the importance of endless repetitions, learning the defense moves and training the body until muscle memory set in and the responses became automatic instead of thought through. Michael had learned it the hard way. If he’d followed Brundar’s advice and kept training with those four basic moves, he would’ve been able to block that knife attack.
He was going to ask the guy to resume his training. There was no one better than Brundar, and God knew Michael needed the best help he could get.
Problem was, Brundar had been busy lately, but Michael was willing to beg if necessary.
He wasn’t going to tell the guy why he was so desperate to train under him. Brundar was the silent brooding type who hardly ever said anything at all, but in this case Michael had no doubt he would hear the dreaded I-told-you-so.
More than the training, though, Michael needed reassurance. He wanted Brundar to tell him that he could make it one day, even if that day was in the distant future. Or conversely, tell him to forget it and set his eyes on something more achievable.
Like accounting.
The other Guardians were too nice. Michael didn’t trust them to tell him the truth. Brundar, on the other hand, didn't give a shit about people’s feelings. Michael knew that the guy wouldn’t lie to him just to spare him. If Brundar didn’t believe in him, he would tell it to his face without sugarcoating it.
