Forged: The World of Nightwalkers (8 page)

“ ’Tis important tae
me
,” he said, that hard voice demanding she do away with the niceties and get right down to the truth.

“You keep”—she swallowed—“you keep trying to, um, fondle me.” She wasn’t going to point out that she’d been thoroughly fondled already. Perhaps he had a code of honor or something and learning that would upset him. She didn’t want to disturb him any more than he already was.

She thought that right up until the moment a wolfish smile streaked over his mouth and through his eyes. “Aye, I’ll bet I did.” He chuckled in a deep, rolling laugh. “You’re fine for what ye are. And tiny though you be, you’re more than a bit juicy at the breast.”

She gasped, horrified and insulted. Well, maybe not insulted … or maybe she was insulted. She was confused about how she should take all of this. Frankly, she was burning out from being at red alert for so long. Perhaps that’s why her temper took over.

“You arrogant, obnoxious ass!” she spat out at him, heedless of the fact that she was poking a bear. “You better keep your hands to yourself from now on, fever or no fever, or I’m going to stab them with whatever sharp instrument is lying handy nearby!”

“Oh well,” he said, his humor still high in his eyes, “I’ll be sure tae be more careful then.”

It was clear he was anything but intimidated by her. In fact, the swine was mocking her.

“Oh!” she huffed, turning hard and stomping out of the room. She wished she had the sharp wit necessary to put an arrogant SOB like him back in his place, but the truth was she simply wasn’t that clever. And she had always taken things much too seriously all around. It had made it hard for her to make friends at work. The staff would josh and kid one another, but when they got to her she’d always felt … ashamed. Insulted and
ashamed. She’d obsess about the flaws they obviously saw, big enough flaws that made them want to tease her about them. It had been just another source of stress in her daily life when, for others, such things would have been jovial and relaxing. And eventually they had stopped trying to get her to laugh at herself and had instead taken to whispering behind her back about how she couldn’t take a joke to save her life or how stupidly serious she was.

Careful, here comes the fun police
, someone would mutter as she’d approached the nurses’ station, thinking she couldn’t hear them. But she’d been cursed with abnormally sharp hearing, yet another painfully useless talent in her life, and she had heard every whispered comment or dry remark.

Now, as she marched off to cook his food, she tried not to cry, gulping back the urge as it burned in her eyes, nose, and throat.

Ahnvil could hear her banging violently around the kitchen and he tried hard not to chuckle, but the urge was too much to handle. As punishment his side burned with a fierce stabbing pain, reminding him of much more sober truths. Eventually he was frowning as he probed the angry red wound and the neat little stitches holding it all together.

Stitches? And she hadn’t just broken out the sewing box and made a haphazard job of it. It looked professional. No, better than professional. Professional and very precise. Very … thoughtful. Had he been human, under her care he could have expected very little in the way of a scar. As it was, her skill would help his already rapid healing abilities … provided the damn infection didn’t continue to retard the process. He was susceptible to everything a human was susceptible to. The difference being his odds of surviving those vulnerabilities were much, much higher.

Provided he could turn to his stone self. But this far out from his touchstone he didn’t dare. He was afraid that if he did, he’d never be able to turn back again. Even so, as he sat there in bed waiting for her, he felt a ripple of heavy pain race down one of his arms and suddenly his flesh shifted to stone. His heart slammed around in his chest and he held his breath, waiting, praying he would change back. It was the first time he could ever remember changing to stone involuntarily … save those times he had been caught unaware in the sunlight. Instances like that, however, were thankfully few and far between. To be caught unaware was to be risking the moment of death. Turning to stone should always be well prepared for and should always be done in safe quarters.

This place was not safe. There was the storm blotting out the sun, yes, but it would not last forever and he didn’t trust it to last as long as she had said. Weather was too unpredictable to put all his faith in a forecast. So the first thing out of his mouth when she returned was, “I need you tae close all the curtains. I canna have a bit of sun on me. I … I have a condition …” he said as vaguely as he could.

“Is that the condition that turns you to stone and back again?” she asked a bit dryly, letting him know that she was neither blind nor stupid and the rippling shift to stone had been happening even while he’d been unconscious.

“I … know it must seem strange tae you,” he hedged, his eyes falling on the food as a serious war between his appetite and his desire to explain himself brewed. “ ’Tis just … a medical condition. ’Tis no’ catching or anything,” he hastened to add, trying hard not to frighten her off. He was going to need her for a while yet. Just until he was strong enough to maneuver on his own. The storm might give him a reprieve, but the truth was he had enemies on his heels. Enemies who would not think twice about tearing through an innocent woman in their effort
to reacquire him as a prisoner. And as horrifying as the idea was of being locked up once again, the idea of her coming to a brutal end was even worse.

“Yeah, sure,” she said, her tone more than a little dry. “I’d believe that … if I weren’t in the medical field. And while I’ve heard of people slowly turning to stone over time as parts of themselves calcified, I’ve never heard of them turning back to flesh again.” She dusted a hand over the foot of the comforter on the bed, straightening the corner almost absently as she spoke. Then she suddenly turned dark, serious eyes on him. They were a pretty sort of red and brown, rather like the color of bourbon, he thought inanely in that brief moment. “Please don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

Ahnvil toyed with the fork that had come with his tray, but as hungry as he was and as good as the food smelled, he wanted to make himself clear with her.

“I’m sorry. Just trust me when I say the less truth you know abou’ me the better it is for you. I doona want you in any danger. That’s part of why ’tis important to make sure no one can see into this house and not even the smallest shaft of sunlight can penetrate.”

She stood a moment, absorbing what he had said, and then gave a little nod. “Eat. I’ll take care of it. I’m not interested in your secrets, only in seeing you make it through this injury in one piece.”

She moved away and went to the sliding glass doors that normally went out onto a deck with breathtaking views of the valley below. She picked up the jacket she had discarded earlier and shrugged into it hastily. Then she toed out of her slippers and stuck her feet back into her boots. The snow that had gotten into them during her previous excursion out in the weather had melted and was cold and wet against her feet, soaking right into her socks. Once she was laced up and buttoned up, she unlocked the deck doors.

“Wait, what are you doing?” he demanded of her. She looked back at him, her features drawn and serious.

“I’m doing what I said I would. And I would appreciate it if you would do the same,” she said, nodding toward the tray.

“But …”

She didn’t give him room to argue. She stepped out into the storm. It was like stepping out from heaven straight into hell. The safe, quiet warmth of the indoors was swept away with a brutal howl of wind and the bitterly cold scouring sensation of ice stinging into every last exposed pore on her face, neck, and hands. Normally she would have bundled up far better than this, but it was only going to take a minute to close the heavy outside storm shutters over the doors. She’d managed to do all of the windows, but had not had the opportunity to get the doors since she’d been summarily distracted. But it wasn’t as easy as she had hoped for. The shutters were heavy even under the best of conditions, but in the brutal conditions of the storm and with the already heavily accumulated snow lying up against the doors it was almost impossible. She was going to need a shovel, she realized. She would have to shovel out all the gathered snow around the door and shutters before she would be able to close them, protecting the glass and keeping the light off her sun-shy guest. She let go of the shutter she’d been struggling with and turned to head back inside for warmer clothes and a more thorough game plan. She ran face-first into a branded chest and wall of naked abdominal muscles. He grabbed hold of her with one arm, using himself as a windbreak, protecting her from the worst of the harsh winds, and with the other hand he grabbed the left shutter.

He simultaneously thrust her back inside the house and yanked the shutter closed in one powerful movement. But he clearly paid a price for it. He grunted and
leaned to one side. She shrugged off the grip he still had on her arm, figuring by his expression that had he been up to snuff he would never have allowed her to do so. She came back outside and grabbed the other shutter, determine to power it closed on her own, delighted when it obeyed only to look up and spy his hand on the shutter above her head. Resisting the urge to stamp her foot and pout, she turned on him.

“Get back inside! It’s too cold out here for you!” She eyed his naked body with purpose. Damn it, the man should at least have the decency to … umm … shrink from the cold like a normal man would.

“Likewise,” he replied, taking her arm once more and ushering her inside whether she liked it or not. But since she was freezing her ass off she didn’t argue or resist, however she did use her apparently miniscule strength to tug him in her wake. Once she was indoors, she locked the shutters down and slammed the deck doors shut.

“Get back in bed!” she commanded him, pointing for effect.
Yeah, that’s it. No nonsense. All business
. He’d have to take her serious in her well-practiced Nurse Ratchet voice. She’d gotten a lot of mileage from that voice, more than making up for her small stature with it.

The bastard chuckled at her, even as he put a pained hand to his side, making her realize he was seeping blood again. It was crimson against his fingers.

“You certainly are a wee pushy thing,” he drawled, his brogue rolling out of him in deep, sexy waves.

Wait! No! Not sexy. Don’t even think about sexy!
God only knew who he was. God only knew
what
he was. She had no business looking at him like he was somehow attractive to her. He was a powerful stranger, possibly not even a human stranger. Powerful enough to be on his feet even though he was paper white from blood loss.

If not human, then what?

At her glare he held up conciliatory hands and made his way back toward her bed. He was limping, hunched slightly into his wounded side, clearly suffering pain. She wished then that she could have come up with some clever way of getting pain medication for him, but she hadn’t been able to think that far. His infection was much more insistently at the top of the list of things that needed to be dealt with. She couldn’t even think about the rest of the list right then, either, or she would be overwhelmed by it. The list of things she ought to be doing after finding herself a nursemaid to a dangerous, questionably human being. Like, call for help … run for the hills … or take a valium … something like that. She made herself take even, steady breaths and adopted an all-business attitude.

“Be that as it may, I know best in this situation, and what I say goes. Especially because this is my house.”

He gave her a measuring look right before he halted his progress toward the bed, turning around to tower over her. His height and his obvious strength were incredibly intimidating and she heard herself swallow. No doubt he did, too.

“You’re a tiny, li’le thing,” he pointed out, his voice a low rumble. “But make no mistake. I’m a stranger in your house. Twice your size and a trained warrior. I do nothing I doona want tae do and you know nothing else abou’ me. For all you know I’m a serial killer, wee one. Dangerous and a risk I am. One that you, wee as you are, shouldna have taken on.”

She scoffed. “I didn’t have much choice and neither did you. You would have bled to death and, by now, been covered in snow until the spring thaw! So don’t you try and bully me when I’m just trying to help!”

“ ’Tis no’ bullying,” he said, his tone rough and seemingly a little angry. “ ’Tis a risk you shouldna have taken.”

He listed suddenly, a grunt of pain escaping him as he reach blindly for the nearest object sturdy enough to brace himself against. There was none. None but her, and when he tried to straighten rather than use her to lean on, she thrust herself under his arm and against his good side.

“Stop this,” she demanded of him, powering him toward the bed, realizing that he had weakened enough to where he didn’t have a choice but to obey. She got him to the bed by force of will alone and by the time they got there he was covered in a sheen of perspiration. He grunted as he hit the bed and she grabbed some 5-×-5s and pressed them hard against his wounds, once again disregarding universal precautions, even though a box of gloves was just across the room. She couldn’t afford the time it would take to glove up and neither could he. He had lost too much blood to risk losing much more.

“Eat your food if you still can,” she ordered him, nodding toward his neglected tray. “And try to keep it down. You need the nutrition.”

“Aye,” he said, but it was a weak reply compared to the powerful boom she knew his voice normally worked at. She would bet it bruised his virile male ego to have to depend on a woman, but that was just too bad.

He was stuck with her and she was going to be in charge, whether he liked it or not.