A few well-placed words would no doubt reassure her, but—
“Oh my God… oh God. Mac!” Her terror-filled rasp wrung Wick out, twisting his insides into knots as Tania froze in the middle of the corridor. Her gaze glued to him, both feet rooted to the floor, she shook her head. “She’s dead, isn’t she? You… you… oh God, you—”
Wick growled, cutting her off mid-accusation. How typical. Tania thought he’d killed her fucking sister. Her reaction pissed him off, even though it shouldn’t have. The conclusion wasn’t a bad one considering his reputation and temperament. Toss in his propensity for violence, and…
Ah, hell. Her assumption made a certain amount of sense.
“She’s isn’t dead, female.”
Tania blinked. “But—”
“Motherfuck.” Mac growled, stepping out of the clinic behind his female. “Tania, I told you to stay put.”
“I can’t… I couldn’t,” she whispered. “Why isn’t she moving? Why does he have her? You promised… you said she was okay.”
“She is, honey. Your sister’s been injured. She’s exhausted… sleeping hard, that’s all.” Throwing him an apologetic look, Mac cupped her shoulders and tugged Tania into his arms. As her back met his chest, he wrapped her tight against him. “Wick saved J. J.’s life tonight. He’s taken good care of her. You owe him an—”
“Thank you,” she said, cutting off her mate mid-scold. Eyes still huge in her small face, she met his gaze, and Wick blinked. Wow, would you look at that? Tania had never looked at him before, never mind spoken to him. Both were huge firsts, and she didn’t stop there. “I’m sorry, Wick. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to… it’s just I’ve been so worried and…” Tears escaped, rolling down her cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing her home.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, reciprocating for once, giving Tania her due. It was only fair. Courage, after all, deserved acknowledgement. “She’s all right, Tania. A little banged up, but it’s nothing time won’t heal.”
A lie. Boldly told and beautifully delivered.
No one knew better than him that time didn’t heal all wounds. Jamison would heal from the physical trauma, no question. The healing energy he shared with her would see to that, but five years spent in prison damaged a person. Readjusting to being on the outside—to the real world and her newfound freedom—would take more than just time. Pile on surviving a vicious knife attack and witnessing a dragon battle on top of that and… yeah.
D-day. Detonation inevitable. Psychological scarring times ten.
Movement flashed in his periphery.
Glancing through the open door, he spotted Myst inside the clinic. Snapping her rubber gloves in place, B’s female tilted her head, inviting him inside. “I’m ready. Bring her in.”
With a nod, Wick crossed the threshold. Shitkickers rasping across the industrial-grade hospital floor, he eyed the examination table. Warrior-sized, the surface stretched beneath the bright overhead lights. Stainless steel cabinets rose beyond the setup, hugging the back wall, framing the female who now stood alongside the stretch of cabinetry. The scent of antiseptic soap added to the medical ambiance, making his nose twitch and his heart hammer.
Different night. Same story.
Except that wasn’t quite true.
The medical supplies laid out in tidy rows on the rollaway cart weren’t for him. Or one of his brothers. Not right now. Tonight, each plastic-wrapped package—all those metal tools along with the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff—belonged to Jamison. The thought bored a hole through his breastbone, piercing his heart. All of a sudden, Wick couldn’t breathe. Jesus. He didn’t want to put her down… or leave her here all by herself.
Totally ridiculous, considering who stood in the room.
Myst would take good care of her. Treat her with kid gloves and gentle hands, ensure Jamison received all she needed to heal. But as Wick stopped beside the table—seeing all the bandages and other packages up close—something snapped deep inside him. He felt the splintering shock wave. Heard the roar of denial along with the blood rush in his ears. The throb hammered his temples. Wick shook his head, fighting the buzzing surge of awareness, and waged an internal war. Logic told him to put her down. The territorial bastard inside him overrode the system, unleashing a torrent of possessiveness.
Shit. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t relinquish—
“Wick.”
The sharpness of Myst’s tone brought his chin up. She nailed him with serious violet eyes. “I need you to put her down.”
Holding onto Jamison like a greedy two-year-old, he shook his head.
“Trust me… I know what I’m doing.”
“I know,” he rasped, not doubting her skill for a moment. The female possessed a shitload of know-how. She sewed up the Nightfury warriors on a regular basis. Hell, Venom owed his life to Myst and her talent with a needle. But relinquishing Jamison wasn’t about that. It was about something more. Duty, maybe. Honor, certainly. A strange sense of entitlement too, ’cause… God. After caring for her the last couple of hours, abandoning her to another’s care seemed, well… wrong. “I’m just…”
“I get it. I really do, but I need to examine her. Make sure the hospital did their job, and she wasn’t reinjured on the way here.” Reaching out, she patted the top of the examination table. The sheet rustled, crinkling under the gentle pressure, ratcheting his tension up another notch. His dragon urged him to hold on. Myst wanted him to let go, and as Tania stopped at the head of the table, backing up her friend, denial rose on a violent wave. “One of us will come get you if she needs you. Deal?”
Wick hesitated. A big hand landed on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. Thank God. Venom. Trust his best friend to arrive in the nick of time. The male always helped him pull his head out of his ass.
Exhaling hard, he unlocked his muscles. The cage he made with his embrace opened, and just like that, it was done. His arms were empty. Jamison lay on the table: his leather jacket half covering her face, the blanket twisted around her hips, plaster cast sticking out to expose her bare toes. The sight tipped the balance. Pressure banded around his rib cage, making it hard to breathe. So fragile… too many bruises… beyond vulnerable without him to protect her.
Venom pumped his shoulder again.
He shrugged, throwing off the hold, and cleared his throat. “I’ll come back later.”
“Good. She’ll need you,” Myst said, somehow managing to reassure and praise him at the same time. How the hell she did that, Wick didn’t know, but he said a silent “thank you” anyway. Her no-nonsense tone eased his worry, smoothed down the ragged edges of concern. “We’ll put her in recovery room one.”
Wick nodded and, flexing his fist, cut the cord with a vicious mental swipe. As much as he yearned to stay, watching wasn’t an option. He’d go ape-shit crazy as her wounds were revealed. He didn’t need to see it to believe it… or understand the brutality of what had been done to her. So instead, he dragged his gaze away and pivoted toward the exit. A distraction. He needed one. Right now. Before he did something stupid, like turn into a first-class pansy and refuse to leave her side.
13
From his position at the back of the room, Wick watched the other Nightfury warriors file into the com-center. Heavy footfalls bounced off pale walls, making the room’s generous portions shrink and his head pound. The sting slid around to hammer the base of his skull. Rolling his shoulders, he resisted the urge to rub his temples. Fuck the pain. The frustration and confusion too. All he wanted was out. Out of a space filled with males who took up too much room. Away from the hustle ’n bustle and all the chitchat. Into the silence of his room and the comfort it brought him.