The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1) (24 page)

"Yessir."

Then they were gone. Clover walked out the door like she'd been free to do so all along.  They were both silent as Elliot guided her through the building, which was crowded with workers. It was a week day already? How long had she been there? Workers in the hallway, human and werewolf alike, parted for them as they walked by. Clover didn’t meet any eyes, but she knew she must look at least as bad as she felt—whispers trailed them as they moved down halls that seemed longer than she remembered them.

Several times, Clover's feet went numb and tangled under her body, but Elliot's hand on her arm stayed firm and kept her up. She was happy for the wall to lean on once they were inside the elevator.

"Are you alright?" Elliot asked again, not turning to look at her, probably to keep up appearances for the camera Clover assumed was there now.

"Do I look alright?" Any other time, the retort might have seemed biting, but her voice was hoarse and weak.

"You look awful." He stole a quick glance at her, and Clover recognized the concern in his voice. It was the kind of concern she remembered hearing from Aunt Sandra.

"Well, I feel at least as bad as I look." It was hard for Clover to understand why she was playing this game of tough words. Less than an hour ago she'd been a sobbing, pathetic lump of a person. Why was she so determined to keep Elliot, one of the only people she had on her side at the moment, from seeing her that way?

Elliot was still and quiet. He licked his lips a few times, as though preparing to say something, but he never followed through. Finally, just before the doors opened, as he was gripping her arm again to help her off the wall, he whispered to her. "Sorry I can't help more. I figured you'd be embarrassed if I carried you."

A swell of affection that Clover couldn't rename any more pulled her lips into a pained smile. "Thank you."

She really did see his light. Not because he could help her people, but because he understood her—maybe in a way that even her pack-mates didn't. He understood her pride, her need to be strong in front of her enemies, and he didn't chastise her for it. He supported it. The last leg of the walk to the front doors seemed a bit easier knowing that he was helping her make her statement; she might be limping away like a wounded animal, but she was doing it on her own two feet.

Clover was jostled awake by the sudden stop of the taxi Elliot had flagged down outside the Bureau. She'd never been in a car before, but the novelty of it was lost on her. Her chin had dropped to her chest before they'd turned off the main street outside the massive building, her neck muscles unable to support the weight of her head any more. They were parked outside the narrow row of houses as she came to, and before Clover realized he'd even gotten out of the car, Elliot was opening her door, his hands guiding her out of her seat.

A pressure formed behind her eyes as Clover was led up the walk toward the stained glass door. She wondered when she'd started seeing this building as someplace safe and someplace to be missed, but as Elliot unlocked the door, releasing the familiar smells of polished wood and cologne, she realized it didn't matter why.

Her body jerked when Elliot’s bag hit the floor and for a second she thought the siren was about to sound. Before she could feel embarrassed about it, Elliot had lifted her off her feet. It was strange—being carried by the man who used to be her prisoner, who she used to fantasize about killing—but now she wondered why she'd not let him carry her from the start. Besides, she was too tired to worry about fighting him.

"God, you're freezing." Elliot's voice had lost the steady composure she'd heard inside the Bureau and in the taxi.

She tried to think of something witty to say, but as he laid her onto his bed she realized it wasn't worth the effort.

"I'm going to get the first aid kit." He was pulling the blankets up around her, not bothering to remove even her shoes.

Clover watched him make a pit stop at the thermostat, and heard the heater kick on, then he disappeared into the bathroom. She felt her mouth curve ever so slightly into the shadow of a smile. He was fussing over her. It was startling to think how much she liked that idea.

She thought she'd just blinked, but was startled when Elliot's hand tilted her head to the side. She'd not heard him approach at all.

"Shhh. I'm just looking at your ear." He used his free hand to press her shoulder back into the mattress again. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Clover realized she hurt everywhere. Even parts of her that couldn't be hurt
physically
were in pain.

"He broke two of my fingers." She unburied her hand from the blankets to show him.

Her middle and ring finger were swollen, dark bands of bruising wrapped around the longest parts of them. She also noticed a strange angle where the bone normally ran straight between her two knuckles.

Elliot didn't say anything as he took her hand to get a better look at the injured fingers. Finally, in a soft tone he said, "We should have a doctor look at this."

"No." Clover said immediately, pulling her hand away from him. "I don't want to risk anyone else going through my files. I'll be fine. We heal fast."

"It doesn't matter how fast you heal if the bones aren't lined up right. These
have
to be set."

"No." This time Clover put some force behind the word, tucking her hand back under the blankets. "I'll be fine. I just need to sleep."

Elliot watched her a second, as though trying to decide if he should press the issue or not. Then he sighed and nodded. "Okay. Turn on your side so I can at least clean your ear."

Clover started the motion, but found it difficult to follow through until Elliot's hand on her back helped to ease her over. As he used his fingers to comb dirty hair away from her injury, Clover took a steadying breath. She hadn't been able to see her injury yet, but knew it was bad when Elliot hissed under his breath. She could feel where he was pulling hair out of dried patches of blood.

"How is it?" Her voice warbled and she sucked her lips between her teeth to silence the quivering.

"The whole lobe is gone."

Clover nodded, unable to speak. His whisper had sounded strangled. The sensation of cold metal being drawn along her skin surged in her stomach and she pulled the pillow into her face, hoping she could smother the hysteria she felt lapping against the bulwark of her stability. As she steadied her breathing, she realized that Elliot's hand was still in her hair, but not to draw the strands away from her injury any more. He was soothing her, petting her hair back from her face over and over. She wanted to swat it away, the gentleness in his fingers making it harder to keep her armor from falling down around her.

Instead of slapping the offending hand, she was lulled deeper into the softness of the bed—into the smell of the pillow. She'd be able to refuse his pity better once she'd slept.

- 24 -

Clover was in the interrogation room again, her hands bound to the top of the table. The surface felt cold enough to burn her skin, and her lungs struggled to breathe around the pounding of her heart. It wasn't right—she'd escaped.

The sound of the door scraping the concrete floor froze everything as her interrogator stepped into the steadily shrinking room. All the weight in her body sunk to her gut as Elliot approached the table, blood shining down the front of his uniform, his hair combed straight back from his face the way his brother wore his.

Clover's mouth opened like a gasping fish, but not a single sound or breath escaped her. She knew he wasn't there to question her—he was there to hurt her—and as he raised the hammer he'd carried in with him, she felt a spear of betrayal pin her to the chair. Her hand shattered under the weight of her traitor's weapon.

Clover woke up to pain tearing through her arm in spasms. Elliot was at her bedside, but he had her wrist clamped between his bicep and ribcage, his free hand wrapped tight around her broken finger.

"I'm sorry," he shouted over her screaming and kicking. "Just one more and they'll be set."

Using her good hand she pushed at his face, trying to wrench her other arm out of his grasp. He closed an eye against the threat of fingernails, and with one more yank, she felt a crunching, popping sensation, followed by another jolt of pain. This time, when she screamed, he released her hand. He must have expected her to retaliate, because he caught her good arm before she could land a single hit. He took hold of her bad arm too, obviously not convinced she
wouldn't
use it as a weapon. 

"I'm sorry, Clover. I'm sorry, but it had to be done."

"Let go of me," she wailed around the tears that had started before she'd even woken up.

"Shh."

Clover realized that he wasn't trying to ward her off. He was pulling her in. She struggled against him for a moment, but as his arms closed around the back of her shoulders she felt the anger seep out of her. She was still breathing hard, the renewed pain pounding all the way to her shoulder.

"You asshole." She spoke into his shirt—one of the regular tees he wore at home.

"I know." His voice was quiet, but not in the overly patient way she normally heard from him. "I'm sorry. But they're set now, so they should start to heal soon."

With one arm stationed across her back, Elliot's other hand moved to her hair again, petting the tangles away from her face, his thumb and fingertips trailing over her forehead and temple.

"You're really strong," he murmured. "You'll heal in no time. Everything will be fine."

Clover felt her armor shudder in response to the soothing tone she’d never noticed in his voice.

"You’ll be okay."

These words were familiar. She'd heard them muttered to members of her pack who had lost loved ones. She knew they were just part of a script you followed to comfort those who were grieving. But, somehow, hummed into her ear in the even cadence Elliot had, the words felt more powerful. She felt like he meant them and that, just by saying them out loud, he was making them true.

In the face of that gentleness, and as Clover realized he was rocking her just slightly, she knew she couldn't preserve her armor any more, and that she didn't want to. She could feel his breath against her good ear as he shushed her when the first sob wrung itself from her body. Then there was no going back.

It was hard to tease out what she was crying for. She was crying because of her ear and because of her fingers. She was crying in relief that she was safe and in response to the impossible depth her fear had reached. But she was also crying because it had just been so long since she'd cried for herself, for her situation, and she was tired of keeping up her pretense of strength.

Even when her sobbing had eased, and her body had stopped shaking, Elliot's arms had remained steady around her. But once the tears were out of her system, embarrassment moved in to take up the empty space they'd left. She could feel the wet cotton of his shirt under her cheek and sneaked her good hand between them to wipe her nose.

"So, do you actually know how to set broken bones? Or were you just tugging and making it up?" She sounded congested, and hated to think about the state her face was in. She felt Elliot's shoulders shake a little as a laugh rumbled against her cheek.

"We can't
both
be the type to just make stuff up as we go. I learned it during my Evaluator's training."

She thought she should feel offended, but if anyone deserved the right to call a spade a spade, it was him—even if it did still annoy her.

"I'm hungry," she said instead of getting angry.

Elliot seemed to recognize her lax response, and she felt a puff of air form his nose that she thought might have been a more private laugh, then his arms began to loosen. Despite his teasing—which somehow still felt gentle—he pointedly averted his eyes as he released her, giving her the privacy to wipe her eyes and nose on her already dirty sleeve.

"Alright." He pulled the blankets that had been kicked away during their struggle back over her legs. "You rest while I make something."

Clover mumbled an answer as she settled obediently into the bed again. Now that she'd said it out loud, she realized that she was starving. As she tried to remember what the last thing she'd eaten was, she nestled deeper into the blankets, wondering why she'd let Elliot sleep in such a luxurious bed while she took a pile of blankets on the floor. It would be harder to kick him out of his own bed now that he’d saved her though. Turning into the pillow, she thought she’d have to figure something out.

Crying had made her heart feel lighter, but her body felt heavier, and, despite her hunger, she was asleep again before Elliot got back.

It was hard for Clover to guess how much time she spent slipping in and out of sleep, but every time she woke up, Elliot was there. If she was hungry, he fed her. If she was thirsty, he all but held the glass to her mouth for her. He wanted her to bathe, but the idea of standing in the shower, or keeping her head above water in the tub seemed too difficult. Instead, she agreed to change into clean clothes. He gave her long pants, and a long sleeved shirt that was lined with something fuzzy and warm. They were too big, but she didn't care. The extra folds of fabric made them feel like blankets, and the smell of them was comforting. After the struggle of changing clothes, she realized that Elliot had changed the sheets which had been sullied with dirt and blood, and probably more body odor than she wanted to admit.