Chapter Eight
MINA
Pain pulsed through my head. My skull seemed to have shrunk, squeezing my brain like a vise. My left eye screamed. Everything was blurry, and the only movement I could muster was a weak scratching motion over a rug. Was I sprawled over the carpet?
Voices erupted above me, every word a sledgehammer to my ears.
“Dammit, Roux!” someone yelled.
I winced.
“Crap.” His voice wavered. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, you did. You hit her.”
“Fucking Henrik,” someone else growled. “It’s your fault.”
“How the hell is this my fault?”
Boys, boys, I wanted to chide. My head is already exploding. Do you have to add to the agony?
But my lips didn’t move, except to croak out a groan.
When someone stepped in briskly, I jerked an arm over my face. Would I be trampled next?
Someone leaned down, touching my forehead softly. Then he growled, and I felt two thick arms slide under me.
I tried to flail, but my arms wouldn’t obey. I did not want to be touched. I did not want to be lifted.
Get away from me, I wanted to yell.
“Hang in there, Mina,” I heard Bene say. Was he the one lifting me, or was he a few steps away?
Up I went, and the movement made my head swim. I groaned.
“Watch it,” someone warned my valiant protector. Was that Roux? Marius?
My limp arm banged against a hard surface. The edge of the table?
“I said, watch it,” someone hissed.
I can’t watch anything, I wanted to yell. My eyes were too thick and heavy, and a piercing sound filled my head, like a fire alarm that rang and rang.
Put me down, I wanted to plead. Leave me alone. Go away. Please.
My limbs flopped around as I was lifted, and while I couldn’t identify which way was up, I was way, way off-balance. My body shifted in Mystery Man’s arms, and a moment later, I found myself cradled snugly against his chest.
And, oh. Just like that, the noise and pain ebbed away.
I sighed. Much better.
Inhaling his pleasant, earth-after-rain scent, I gave in to my fate.
“Fucking morons,” Mystery Man growled, pacing away.
The movement was smooth and gentle, suggesting Mystery Man was one of the cats — Roux or Bene. Then again, Henrik and Marius moved with the same powerful, confident grace.
Please, please don’t let it be Henrik, I prayed.
Not Henrik, I decided. I would know, because it wouldn’t feel right.
Then again, nothing about this was right. Nothing but the hard, strong body I was snuggled against. I tried to count steps, but it was too much. Darkness crept over all my senses, then stole me away.
* * *
The next time I came to, someone was fussing over me as I lay in bed. A blanket fell over my shoulders, and gentle hands tucked it into place. Close to my ear, a murmur promised I would be all right.
My pounding head said otherwise. I cracked an eye open, but everything was dark and blurry.
Mystery Man stepped away, and I whimpered, suddenly afraid. What if my brain was hemorrhaging? What if Henrik seized his chance to attack? What if—
Mystery Man wavered, then returned to my bedside. The mattress dipped behind me, and every muscle in my body tensed.
Oh God. I was incapacitated, defenseless. Totally vulnerable.
His movements were slow and cautious, his voice reassuring as he spooned behind me. All an act, I was sure. Any minute now, I would be groped, abused…maybe even raped.
But the arm he looped over my side stayed safely away from the front of my body, and his hand curled in the neutral territory of the sheets. And that was it, other than the caress of his warm, steady breaths.
So, huh. Mystery Man seemed to be more valiant knight than marauding Viking.
I exhaled and slowly relaxed into the mattress. Maybe he would protect me. Maybe I wouldn’t die. Maybe he would keep Henrik away.
Maybe Mystery Man, whoever he was, had a good heart.
That, or I was truly up shit creek.
I drifted away again, falling into a fitful sleep.
* * *
Sometime in the night, I sensed my valiant knight stir, then back away.
No, I nearly protested, reaching for his hand.
But it was too late. The warm, hard body that had guarded my back disappeared, and the blanket he tucked into that space was a poor substitute.
Please, don’t go, I wanted to plead. But all that came out was a meek whimper.
He circled the bed, hesitated, then crouched down in front of me. I only caught a vague impression of wide shoulders before my eye slid firmly shut, like the hurt one. A hazy impression stuck, though — that of a big, burly angel backlit by pale dawn light.
Soft lips grazed my brow, and I sighed, settling back into the sheets. Maybe everything would be okay after all.
Light steps sounded, then faded away.
* * *
The next time I opened my eye — singular — sunlight spilled around the edges of the curtains, and birds chirped. Morning, it seemed.
I rolled carefully to my back, groaning, then lay limp, taking a mental inventory. Right eye okay. Left eye gooey and thick. Every heartbeat echoed through my head, but the pounding was down to a more manageable pulse.
I felt around, tracing fabric all the way from my chest to my legs. So, whew. Mystery Man hadn’t overstepped the boundaries there either.
I lay quietly for a minute or two, then rolled ever so slowly and eased my legs over the side of my bed.
Sitting up made my head swim, but eventually, my limited view stabilized.
Standing, I took one unsteady step, then another, toward the bathroom.
There, I declared a time-out and hunched on the throne for a long, long time.
Finally, I forced myself to stand and wash my hands. Only then did I look in the mirror—
—and gasped at the monster staring back at me.
I looked like I’d been in a train wreck. One eye was swollen grotesquely shut, and a bruise crept over the left side of my face.
I gulped, then forced myself to dab at my eye with cold water. Even the slightest motion hurt.
The digits on the clock beside the sink flipped, catching my attention. Cursing, I hurried to fix my hair, then rushed for the door. Seven o’clock. Breakfast. Clients waiting. Big-paying clients I couldn’t afford to lose.
If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have realized how ridiculous that was. But I wasn’t, so I rushed downstairs and into the kitchen, where I froze.
Bene stood over the stove, wearing one of Madame Picard’s frilly aprons while cooking eggs, sunny-side up. The coffee machine percolated, and a bowl of sliced fruit stood beside the door to the dining room.
“Oh, hello. Didn’t expect to see you up so soon,” Bene said. He leaned in for a closer look at my eye, then winced. “Wow.”
Moving quickly had made my blood pump, and now that I’d stopped, it all drained away from my head. I sank into a chair.
“I don’t feel very wow.”
When my head stopped spinning, I moved toward the refrigerator to set out milk and juice.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Bene blocked the way.
I studied him a moment too long, because he tilted his head. “What?”
I was too embarrassed to ask, Were you the one who put me to bed and held me so sweetly? but I did wonder.
Just then, Roux came in through the dining room door. He froze, gaping at my face.
“Merde. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His shoulders sagged, and his features fell.
“It’s not so bad,” I tried, fearing he might drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.
“Liar.” Bene snorted, then shooed me away. “Go sit. And you…” He pointed to Roux. “Get her some ice.”
“Really, it’s—” I protested, but Bene pointed with the spatula.
“My kitchen today. Out. Both of you.”
I glanced around. “Wait. Where’s Claudette?”
Bene shrugged. “No idea. She didn’t show. Now, go sit.”
My aching head got the better of me, and I obeyed. I made it to the plush chair in the corner of the dining room and sank down there. Roux kneeled by my feet.
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I tried waving him away.
“It’s not, and I’m really, really sorry.”
“Henrik’s fault,” Bene muttered, carrying in a platter of steaming eggs.
Henrik growled from beside the fireplace, startling me. “You expect me to stand there and take his punch?”
“Better you than her, asshole,” Bene said cheerfully.
Henrik’s scowl said he didn’t agree.
My eyes drifted to Roux’s hands, then Bene’s, and even Henrik’s, looking for a match to the pair that had held me so tenderly.
But my vision had been so hazy, I couldn’t be sure, except for eliminating Henrik.
Other than the obvious — not a tender bone in his body — his hands were more manicured than the others’, and manicured definitely didn’t fit.
Then I snorted to myself. None of these guys had a tender bone in his body. I’d probably imagined the whole thing.
“I’m really sorry,” Roux repeated, sounding truly miserable.
“It’s fine.”
Henrik pointed to my face. “That’s not fine.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
“I think you look great,” Bene declared as he set out plates. Then he caught my incredulous look. “Okay, maybe not. But it’s what’s inside that counts, right?”
Leave it to Bene to see the bright side of things.
I glanced around. “Where’s Marius?”
“Yes. Where is Marius?” Bene echoed with a heavy subtext.
Everyone went quiet, and their eyes avoided mine. I looked from one to the other. Something had gone over my head. But what?
Roux shot Bene a look, then reached for the phone he’d left on the table. Henrik lunged forward, slapping a hand over it.
“Who are you calling?” the vampire demanded.
“Gordon, like I said,” Roux retorted.
“No, you’re not.” Henrik pulled the phone away.
“Yes, I am.” Roux raised his voice.
I covered my ears and leaned away. “Stop! Please. No more.”
They glared at each other like a couple of gorillas, then finally stepped apart.
“Why call Gordon?” I asked.
Roux glared at Henrik. “To tell him we’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” I bolted upright, then slumped as a wave of nausea hit me.
“Leaving,” Roux said firmly.
“Yeah, now that Catman here fucked up,” Henrik snarled.
“You’re the one who ducked,” Roux growled back.
I stuck up a hand. “Stop. Just stop.”