She twisted around. The man she'd knocked off the roof was lying on his back not far away. "Dunleavy left him as a guard on the roof. He okay?"
"He breathes. His heart beats."
She glanced at Michael. "Can you touch his thoughts."
He frowned. Energy buzzed around them, a sharper heat than that coming from the flames above them.
"I should be able to, but it feels like I'm fighting my way through molasses."
Because of the runes. At least she'd be able to tackle them again—given he was covered in dirt, he was definitely taking a bath. "Where's the man you rescued?"
In answer, he rose and offered her a hand. She placed her fingers in his, her skin trembling at the sheer warmth of his touch. He pulled her to her feet, but didn't move immediately, instead touching her bruised chin with his free hand.
"I know you," he said softly. "Love you."
Elation winged through her soul. The wall around his memories was breaking down—and though she wished it would happen a little faster, at least it was happening.
"And I you," she whispered, then added through the link, but when you remember my name, do not utter it out loud.
Why?
Again, despite the spell, he didn't seem to think it strange for them to be connecting this way—even though he'd tried to use telepathy moments ago and couldn't. But maybe that was because Dunleavy didn't actually know about the deeper connection between them. He'd blocked Michael's memories and, therefore, his path to the link, but as the memories seeped back, so did his access to the mind link.
Because Dunleavy thinks I am someone I'm not.
Seline.
Yes.
I knew that name didn't suit you.He brushed a kiss across her lips, and then he gently squeezed the hand he held before stepping away. "We need to take care of Dunleavy's victim. I think he's in shock."
As he would be, since he'd basically been left to bleed to death. "We'd better move the other man first.
Wouldn't want the building falling on him."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "You save him, and you're just saving another weapon Dunleavy can use against us."
"He's not helping willingly, and I'm not leaving him here to die."
Michael didn't look too enthusiastic about the task, but he hobbled over to the stranger and hauled him to an old water trough, dumping him inside. "The concrete will protect him from the heat," he commented. "That good enough?"
She nodded and glanced up as something exploded on the roof. Sparks flew high, blue and black shards that glittered like diamonds against the bright flames. The candles, perhaps. Black smoke curled upwards, oddly reminding her of the slug creature as it worked its way through the rapidly disappearing mist.
A chill ran through her. Was that thing still in the building? While she damn well hoped so, she very much suspected it wouldn't be so easy to kill.
She turned her back on the burning building and wondered why no one was coming to douse the flames.
Even Dunleavy couldn't want the outside interest such a fire might evoke.
"We're very remote," Michael said, his gaze skating across the building before meeting hers again. "And there's no one inside, other than the already dead."
"No strange slug creature?"
"No, unfortunately." He turned and limped across to the next building. A naked man was sprawled near the front of the building, his body bruised and bloody, his breathing rapid but shallow. Shock for sure.
"We'd better get him inside and get him warm," she commented.
Michael nodded, and with a grunt of effort, hauled the stranger up onto his shoulder. The surge of fresh blood down his thigh made her worry. The wound was worse than he'd led her to believe, though that was something she should be well used to. Even with his memory short-circuited, he was still playing the same old games and not telling her everything. She couldn't help the smile that teased her lips as she followed him down the street. Obviously, that was something that was never going to change.
Once they'd reached the house, they cleaned up the injured man's wounds and made him as comfortable as possible in the second bedroom. She found several extra blankets, shoving one under his feet to elevate them a little, and throwing the other over him to keep him warm.
"We're going to have to restrain him," Michael commented, coming into the room with rope.
"We can't. He's injured."
"He's also a threat. Dunleavy could take his mind at any moment, and while you might believe the fiend has no intention of killing us before tomorrow, I'm not so sure."
Her gaze skated down to his blood-soaked thigh, and she knew he was right. They couldn't risk serious injury. She took a rope, tying one of the stranger's arms to the bed while Michael tied the other.
"Now, your turn," she said, as she straightened.
Amusement flirted with his lips. "Woman, if you want your wicked way with me, all you have to do is ask. You don't need to tie me down."
She grinned. "Sometimes I wonder. Get into the bathroom and clean yourself up, while I go find something to bind up that wound of yours."
"The wound will heal—" "A lot damn faster if it's treated. Stop arguing and just go."
"Is this tendency to nag a new trait, or something I know about and put up with?" he muttered as he turned away.
She grinned as she followed him out the door. "Oh, it's something you know about." And it was a two-way street. He could nag her just as much as she nagged him.
She headed into the main room. A search through the cupboards uncovered a small medical kit. Inside were bandages and salve. She took both and walked into the bathroom.
He was standing naked in front of the basin, washing himself down with a cloth. She hesitated in the doorway, her gaze skating down the lean, familiar length of him. Even after all the months they'd been together, it seemed she could never get enough of simply looking at him. She loved watching the play of muscles under his pale skin as he moved. Loved running her hands all over him, feeling the restrained power beneath the gentleness of his caress…
Her gaze hit his thigh. The flesh was hanging in bloody chunks, and the wound bled freely, staining the back of his leg and pooling near his heel.
"Damn it, Michael, why didn't you bandage that wound right away?"
He raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder. "Because I'm a vampire, and the wound will not kill me."
"But loss of blood can weaken you, and you're losing buckets of the stuff." She knelt behind him and raised a hand. "Give me that cloth."
He did. She washed down the wound, then liberally applied the salve and bandaged it the best she could. After washing away the blood staining the back of his leg, she dropped a kiss on his butt, and rose before she was tempted to do anything else.
"You should go eat." Her gaze met his, and her heart crashed through her chest at the desire and the love she saw blazing there.
"Yes," he agreed softly, taking the cloth from her hand and dumping it in the sink behind him. "I should, shouldn't I?"
She placed a hand on his chest, even though all she really wanted to do was draw him close. "This is neither the time nor the place."
He caught her hand and pressed her back against the wall. "This from the woman who insisted on making love on a San Francisco bench while the rest of the world woke around us."
A smile teased her lips. "So you remember that?"
"I'm remembering lots of things. Like how much I enjoy making love to you in the afternoon."
His hand slid under her shirt and around her waist, his fingers almost molten against her back as he pressed her closer to his warm, hard body. Then his lips came down on hers, and for the longest time, there was no more talk, simply enjoyment.