Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Regan directed McCoy’s van through the darkening streets, flicking her attention continuously from the road to Declan beside her and back to the road.
He’d fallen into a fitful sleep on the outskirts of Sydney, sweat wetting his skin, trembles shaking his body, and while she knew he needed rest, his silence scared the shit out of her.
She wanted to wake him, but didn’t. At least he wasn’t arguing with her to turn around and head north.
Guiding the van through the traffic, she chewed on her bottom lip.
The whole journey back into the city, she’d expected McCoy to somehow jump onto the moving vehicle, climb into the cab and finish what he’d begun.
When she wasn’t staring hard at the road, or shooting Declan worrying glances, she watched the rearview and side mirrors, positive she’d see an enormous wolf sprinting after her in the stretching dusk shadows, red-gold eyes burning with depraved promise and evil hunger.
But here they were, seconds from Rick’s practice, and not a wolf in sight. Well, with the exception of the one beside her, although Declan still existed in his human form. For the moment.
She sucked in a slow breath, scanning the street for a parking spot outside the vet clinic, hoping Rick was already inside waiting for her.
Manly was not the suburb to drag a semi-unconscious, half-naked bleeding man along the footpath, especially at this time of the evening when people descended on the suburb to eat, drink and party the night away.
Too many tourists, too many curious eyes, too many waggling tongues.
If Epoc did have plants everywhere, they’d learn very quickly where she was.
Where Declan was. She needed to get him behind closed doors as quickly as possible.
Spotting an empty space not more than a few yards from Rick’s practice, she swung the van in, bumping the front wheel to the curb with a clumsy jolt.
Declan moaned softly, already-closed eyes closing tighter as pain etched his features anew.
“Sorry, Paddy,” she murmured, jumping from the driver’s seat.
She hurried around to the curb, studying the area around her with quick glances before opening the passenger door.
She didn’t know what she expected, but every fiber of her being told her to be on edge. Alert.
“Need help?”
She spun around, eyes wide, muscles coiled. “Rick,” she gasped, slumping against the van’s side, glaring at the tall man with light brown hair frowning at her on the sidewalk. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Rick’s eyebrows shot up, fudge-brown eyes immediately concerned. “You really are in trouble, aren’t you?”
Regan scrubbed at her face with her hands.
“You could say that,” she answered into her palms. Pushing herself from the van, she stared long and hard at Rick.
How the hell did she explain the last seventeen hours to him?
She suppressed a sigh, reaching for the passenger’s side door handle. “No questions, okay?”
Before he could answer, she opened the door.
Declan slumped in the seat, sweat-slicked face white, slight shudders wracking his body, blood—both old and new—staining his pale, clammy flesh.
“What the fuck?” Rick gasped beside Regan.
Declan rolled his head to the side, glassy-eyed gaze slipping from Regan to the man beside her. “Ná bain di, tuilí.”
“It’s okay, Declan,” she said softly, leaning across his body to unclip the seatbelt holding him upright.
Blazing heat radiated from him in waves.
Sick, insidious heat she knew all too well accompanied sick, insidious pain.
Regan’s stomach clenched and she quickened her pace, not wanting to send any jolting movements into his fevered limbs but knowing she raced the clock. “I’m here.”
Delirious, grey eyes slid to her. “Run. Get away. I’m sorry. I never meant…” His eyelids fluttered closed and a grimace scrunched up his face. “Scaoil í.”
“Jesus, Regan.” Rick jumped forward, helping her remove Declan from the van. He wrapped one strong arm around his back, hefting him from the seat to the sidewalk. “What the fuck is…”
Declan stiffened, a suddenly lucid stare locking onto Rick. “Bain di agus réabfaidh mé do scornach.”
“I’ve no fucking idea what you’re saying, mate,” Rick muttered, hitching Declan further up his side with the gentle skill of a person used to moving large creatures in agony. “But I hope it’s thank you.”
A sharp groan burst from Declan’s dry lips, his eyes squeezed shut and he slumped forward again. Another wave a violent shudders took possession of his body, the short length of chain attached to the shackle on his wrist rattling with each.
Rick looked at Regan, his level stare speaking volumes—I want answers—before he turned and walked slowly toward the open door of his clinic, carrying most of Declan’s weight with him.
Regan slammed the van’s door shut and followed, worry eating at her like a cancer. What if she was too late? Declan’s condition had deteriorated so quickly over the last thirty minutes. What if—
“Stop it, Woman!” she hissed to herself. Now was not the time.
Stopping at the clinic’s door, she hurriedly studied the street.
It was almost empty, Rick’s practice situated as it was, two blocks from the main strip.
Several people wandered around, mostly heading for the restaurant drag, but no one had bothered with them.
Not even to cast a curious sideward glance.
She breathed a sigh of relief and the sudden black lights swirling across her vision made her realize she’d been holding her breath.
The sting of disinfectant, ammonia and animal urine assaulted her nose as she stepped into the clinic’s waiting room.
The smell normally calmed her. It was a smell she associated with her uni days, made her think of recovery and care for those in need, but tonight it made her nerves string taut.
In the back rooms, dogs locked in cages overnight awaiting surgery the following day barked and whined, the sound sad and somehow lonely.
A lone cockatoo called for an owner not there, obviously disturbed from its sleep by the unexpected interruption.
“Mavis,” it called repeatedly. “The lights are on! Mavis, the lights are on!”
The low nightlight on the front counter cast the area in looming shadows, the sinking sun adding its own through the louvered blinds on the windows and door. Anyone could be hiding, waiting in those shadows. Anyone…A chill rippled up her spine and she scowled.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. McCoy is not here. Wake up, Woman.
She crossed the foyer, heading toward Rick’s main operating room. Brilliant white light streamed through the thin cracks around the door, telling her the vet had wasted no time. He never did.
Declan lay stretched on his back on the stainless steel table when she entered the room, turbulent, grey eyes closed.
A tube poked from between his lips, held in place by two strips of sticking plaster.
The tattered remains of his black shirt were gone, now nothing but a crumple of blood-soaked material on the floor at Rick’s feet.
She ran a stunned gaze over his lean form, throat clamping shut at the hideous lesions and gashes crisscrossing his rib cage and chest. Jesus, it looked as though he’d been attacked by a pack of wild animals.
Which is exactly the case, isn’t it? Two werewolves on one. Declan chained, the others free. Thanks to you.
Guilt consumed her and she bit back a moan.
“It’ll take about five minutes for him to go under completely.” Rick adjusted the controls on a large canister positioned at Declan’s head, feeding a steady stream of anesthetic into his lungs. “That’s five minutes of answers I want before I begin.”
Regan stopped on the other side of the table, wanting to thread her fingers through Declan’s, to make sure he was still warm. Still alive. “I can’t, Rick.”
Two very angry, very worried brown eyes snapped to her face. “I saw you on the six o’clock news, Reg. The report stated you were abducted by a dangerous criminal!”
Regan hissed in a breath. Bloody hell, what would her parents be thinking? They’d be going out of their minds.
“Is this the criminal?” Rick continued, anger making his words deep and hard. “This bloke I’m just about to cut open? Has he hurt you? Are you okay?”
Regan gave him a small smile. “I’m fine. Really. You know me, Rick. You think I can’t take care of myself?”
Rick shook his head, refusing to let her gaze go.
“I know you can, Reg, but you’ve a lump on your head the size of a tennis ball, scratches on your arms and neck that look like they’re from an animal of some sort and your eyes look like you’ve been to hell and back.
And whoever this bloke is, he looks about twenty minutes away from death, babbles on in a language I don’t understand and seems to have a bullet wound in his side.
” He rounded the table, smoothing his palms up her arms and staring hard into her eyes.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he said, voice soft with worry.
“But I don’t believe you. I want answers.
I want to know what the hell is going on. ”
“Something you’d never hope to understand, pup.”
Declan’s low growl spun both their heads around, and Regan gasped, watching the man sit up and swing his legs around, plant his bare feet on the floor and stand up, his eyes cold with deadly rage, the plastic tube only moments ago in his throat now crushed in his clenched fist.
“Declan!” Regan began.
“Hey!” Rick shouted, stumbling backward a step. “You can’t do that!”
“Watch me,” Declan snarled, glaring at the stunned vet. Muscles coiled, he took one step. Another. Another.
And then his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the cold, tile floor. Still.
Rick raised his eyebrows. “Guess I was right,” he murmured.