In a big fucking hurry.
Gathering his magic, Wick rolled to his feet. Jamison moaned. He adjusted his hold, gentling his touch, and conjured a cloaking spell. Leading the pack, a security guard entered the corridor with two nurses hot on his heels. Power snapped. Invisibility rippled, hiding Wick and Jamison behind a wall of no-can-see.
As they disappeared into thin air, the guard stopped short. “Good God, did you see that?”
“See what?” one of the nurses asked.
Cradling Jamison close, Wick took a big step backward. His shoulder blades collided with the corridor wall. Excellent plan. The best on every front, ’cause… yeah. Getting out of the way—giving the human trio plenty of room to walk past—seemed like a good idea.
“I thought I saw…” The human shook his head. His gaze swept the length of the hall, narrowing on the spot where Wick had disappeared. The guard opened his mouth, then closed it again. “It’s nothing, I just thought—”
“Holy cow.” Nurse number two stepped around the guard. A perplexed look on her face, she hustled toward the balled-up wheelchair. “Would you look at this?”
“What?” Boots squeaking, the guard strode past Wick to rendezvous with the nurse.
“Someone wrecked a wheelchair… like in a trash compactor or something.”
“Jesus.” The guard unclipped the walkie-talkie from his utility belt. “I gotta call this in.”
Wick snorted. Good luck with that. All hospital authorities would get was a load of crumpled steel and no explanation. Which meant they’d stay clueless. Perfect. Just the way he liked humans, well… at least, most of the time. Jamison, however? He needed to clue her in fast, not to mention get her help. She was bleeding from the cut on her arm, shivering against him…
Hurting. In shock. In need of serious care.
Or something.
Wick couldn’t be sure. Injured females weren’t his specialty. Glancing down at her, he grimaced. God, she was pale, her lips nearly bloodless, eyelashes nothing but dark smudges against her cheeks, and…
Ah hell, who was he kidding? He wasn’t equipped for this. Didn’t know what to do or how to help her. Females, as a rule, belonged anywhere but near him. Venom always dealt with the touchy-feely stuff. It worked better that way, considering his propensity for violence and the phobia he carried around like baggage. But as he scanned her face, Wick refused to cop out. Not tonight. Her care fell to him, at least in the interim. Time to dig in, grow a pair, and get it done.
Inhaling long and smooth, Wick cradled her closer and put himself in gear. Striding past the gaggle of humans still extolling over the wheelchair, he paused at an intersection. Empty in both directions, two options existed: turn right or go left. Recall flared, providing the layout of Swedish Medical. Wick turned right. As he walked toward the stairwell exit, he scanned the hallway for a place to check her wounds. An empty room. A chair pushed up against a wall. Hell, a broom closet would do, just as long as he found a place to put her down and—
Bingo. An empty gurney.
Parked against the wall, the hospital bed was just what the doctor ordered. Solid. Soft. Comfortable. Exactly what Jamison required and he needed for a minute or two.
Wielding his power, Wick enclosed the bed in the cloaking spell. Privacy ensured, he sat her down on the cotton sheet. Eyes still closed, her brows puckered. The plaster cast on her foot bumped the inside of his leg, making her list sideways. Instinct made him reach for her. The sleeves of her hospital gown brushed the back of his hand as he grasped her biceps. Upon contact, her bio-energy flared, zapping him with—
Jesus Christ. Holy God. Not even close to good, never mind advisable.
Wick sucked in a quick breath as a channel opened inside him. Oh fuck, the Meridian. The electrostatic current was… it was… reversing course, tying him to the female he touched, making it impossible for him to let go. Locked against her, he felt her connect, then link in, becoming one with the energy stream that fed his kind. Except…
He wasn’t the one doing the feeding.
She was—blocking his ability to fight, drawing heat from his core, rendering him powerless in the face of her need. Wick gritted his teeth. He never should have touched her. Should’ve known better than to make contact with her bare skin. Jamison was high energy, and his dragon half way too responsive. Despite his aversion—and objections—the beast wanted to feed her. Now the fucker was providing something Wick never had before… healing energy. In a gushing torrent, forcing him into serious sensory overload.
His stomach pitched. He flexed his fingers, willing intellect to override instinct. He must let her go… right now… take his hands from her skin before—
His dragon snarled. Well, so much for that. The idea was a total no-go. The territorial beast inside him refused to back down, robbing him of recourse. No way out. No backtracking either. He was headed into dangerous territory, the kind Wick knew he might not come back from as the energy stream intensified.
The strain put him in lockdown.
He fought the imprisonment along with the rumble of body tremors. All to no avail. Jamison possessed the power, and until she pushed him away, he was stuck. Trapped. Tied to her in irrevocable ways and unable to stop the awful rush of energy moving from him into her. And judging by the look on her face? Not something that was likely to happen anytime soon. Relaxed against him, she took everything he gave, clinging to her connection and the Meridian’s power.
With a hum, she nestled in, pressed her cheek to his heart.
“Fucking hell,” he rasped, still fighting her hold on him. “Jamison… let go. You’ve got to—”
“No.” Eyes closed, voice slurred, she shook her head. The slight movement caressed his chest, cranking him a notch tighter. “Feels too good. You… stay… with me.”
Frozen in place, Wick prayed for mercy. She didn’t give him any. Pressing closer, she sighed and wiggled to the edge of the mattress. A second later, she grew bolder, wrapping both of her legs around one of his thighs. The heat of her body snug against his, she murmured in contentment. He cursed and tried one more time to back away. With a grumble, she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him close.
Hugged him, for Christ’s sake. Him. A male who hated to be touched, and yet…
Wick frowned. He didn’t feel threatened. Or the need to throw up either. Which didn’t jive. Not by a long shot.
He always panicked when near a female. But not with Jamison. Strange, but for some reason, she didn’t push him into flee-like-a-motherfucker mode. Wick snorted. All right, so that wasn’t quite true. He didn’t like it—wasn’t sure he wanted to keep touching her—but at least the closeness wasn’t freaking him out. And like it or not, that begged a question.
How far could he push it?
An interesting concept. One that made him want to explore a little.
Swallowing past his sudden case of dry mouth, Wick forced his muscles to unlock. As his tension ebbed, the current increased. A prickle rushed over the tops of his shoulders, then slid upward on a mesmerizing glide to stroke the base of his skull. His senses tunneled, attuning him to the female in his arms. He focused on the top of her head. Legs and arms around him, she surrounded him, blurring his vision with flaming energy. His dragon rose to meet her, giving what she demanded, feeding her from the flow. Wick’s lids grew heavy. He blinked—once, twice, a third time—struggling to combat the sudden haze of mind-fog.