Chapter 11 #2
Lifting her gaze from the sight of Declan laying motionless on the bed and covered only by a thin cotton sheet, Regan studied her surroundings.
Rick used the spare room in his apartment as an office-cum-storage room.
Stacks of thick veterinarian journals covered the small desk under the only window in the room—as well as the floor and side tables—surrounded by folders of paperwork, cardboard boxes, a neat pile of unironed laundry and a weight bench complete with cobwebs.
She shook her head, a wry smile playing over her lips. Rick to a tee. Solid, dependable and a touch messy. Organized to the outside world, organized disorder within.
Returning her attention to Declan, she chewed on her bottom lip.
The Irishman on the other hand, was the embodiment of chaos, in little under a day turning her life upside down and inside out, turning it into a roller coaster of emotions and events she’d never forget or recover from.
So different to Rick it made her head ache.
She gently brushed a few strands of black hair from Declan’s forehead, noting his temperature seemed back to normal.
Normal? What is normal for a werewolf?
Regan pulled a face. She didn’t have a bloody clue. Not yet. But she would. Eventually.
She let her gaze move down his bare torso, forcing herself to focus, not on the lean perfection of his body, but on the freshly dressed wounds scattered over his frame and the stitched incision on his side.
It had taken Rick about fifteen minutes to find the bullet embedded in Declan.
Another twenty-five to remove it and clean up the lacerated mess it had left.
The x-ray he’d taken of Declan’s mid-section before the operation had bleached his face of color and his normally laughing, brown eyes had turned almost cold.
For a moment Regan thought he wasn’t going to help her, especially when she refused to explain what Rick most obviously saw—a skeletal and muscular structure not entirely human—but after a long look both regretful and irritated, he’d begun slicing into Declan’s flesh with steady hands.
Doing what he did best—tending to an animal needing his care.
Regan released a sigh. Was it enough?
Rick wouldn’t tell her. But he’d agreed to take Declan back to his apartment after the surgery, depositing him on the clean, spare bed with gentle care.
He’d said nothing to her before he left, just gave her another long sad look as he’d closed the door behind him, leaving her and the still-sedated Declan alone.
Regan sighed again, threading her fingers through Declan’s limp ones.
What next?
Ring Pete? Her parents?
If she did, was she putting them in danger too? Was her brother already in danger? What would she do if Declan didn’t survive? How would her heart handle it?
She closed her eyes. Too many questions and not enough answers.
A dry snort escaped her and she shook her head slightly. At least she now knew how Rick—
Declan’s fingers clamped down on hers and she snapped open her eyes. “Where’s my sister, you flea-ridden fucker?” he snarled, staring up at her with wild and glassy eyes.
“Declan.” She tried to remove her hand from his crushing grip, keeping her voice calm and her actions smooth. Her heart thumped. Bloody hell, he looked savage. And lost. “It’s Regan. You’re going to be okay.”
“Where’s Maggie?” he roared, body arcing as he tried to lunge upward. “What have you done with—”
He slumped backward abruptly, lids fluttering closed, body limp once again.
Regan sucked in a sharp breath, staring, waiting, her fingers free of Declan’s grip, her throat tight. Dear God. What should she do now?
Peter slammed his cell to his ear, his heart leaping into frantic flight. “Thomas.”
He studied Yolanda from the corner of his eye.
She sat silent in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the passing traffic, gnawing on her bottom lip as if the troubles of the whole world weighed down on her.
Silence had stretched between them since they’d left the crash.
She hadn’t uttered a sound. Hadn’t even looked at him.
“Peter?”
A familiar, male voice sounded down the phone. A worried, familiar, male voice.
Peter frowned, steering his car one-handed as he pressed his cell harder to his ear. “Rick? Is that you?”
“She’s here, mate,” the man on the other end almost whispered, thick worry rolling through each word. Peter’s blood ran cold. “At my apartment. Get your arse here. Now.”
“Is she okay?” Peter demanded, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Yolanda shift in her seat, twisting to face him.
“Just get here as soon as you can,” Reggie’s long-time friend muttered, low and harried. “And bring your gun.”
The disconnect tone drilled into Peter’s ear, loud and cold. He lowered the phone and turned to Yolanda, pulse pounding, chest heavy. “I know where Reggie is.”
Yolanda stared at him, every muscle in her body tense, her fingers curling tighter around her own cell phone, eyes sharp. Eager. “Tell me.”
His mouth felt dry. Like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Opening his eyes slowly, he peered into the darkness around him. He was in a room and on a bed. Better than the last time he’d regained consciousness, at least. No prickly straw scratching at his neck this time.
He shifted his wrists slightly, waiting for the sound of chains. None came and he smiled.
“Rick offered to cage you.” Regan’s husky voice caressed his ear and he turned his head, finding her standing beside by the bed. “But I said no.”
“Gee, thanks.” He rose up into a sitting position and studied her, frustrated at the shadows of the room hiding the expression on her face.
Was she angry? Worried? He couldn’t sense anything.
He pulled a quick breath and her soft, delicate scent filled his being like ambrosia.
His heartbeat tripled and he swallowed. Had he thought his mouth dry before? “Are you okay, love?”
She placed a gentle hand on his jaw and leant forward, her green eyes hidden in the darkness. “Haven’t I already told you not to call me love?” she whispered, before brushing her lips over his.
Electricity surged through him. Cut through his body like a charge.
He reached up and tangled his hands in her hair, holding her to the kiss.
Praise Mary, he was never going to let her go.
He flicked at her lips with his tongue and she opened to him willingly, her mouth a sweet, warm well that gave him life.
A life so much more now she was in it.
He broke the kiss, pulling away from her a little to stare into her eyes. “God forgive me, Regan. I never meant for you…for McCoy…” He stumbled over the name, chest clenching, jaw bunched.
Regan gave him a small, warm smile. “I know.” She kissed him again, her lips velvet-soft. Forgiving. “Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”
“Never.” He smoothed his hands from her hair to cup her face, holding her gaze with his. “Which is why you have to stay here when I leave.”
She cocked an eyebrow, her smile turning sardonic. “You going somewhere?”
“Yes. Nathan Epoc’s private residence.”
She rolled her eyes, stepping backward. “Not this again.”
Pulling the sheet free of his limbs, Declan swung his legs around and placed his feet on the floor, ignoring the slight stab in his side.
He’d find out what the vet did to him later.
After he got this sorted out once and for all.
“Yes, this again. Do you really think I’m going to let you come with me after what happened? ”
She folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. “And do you really think I’m going to let you out of my sight after working so hard to keep you alive?”
He stood up, wrapping his fingers around her arms, holding her still.
Her heat seeped into his hands, up his arms into his body and he dragged in a deep breath.
“Don’t you get it?” he growled. “I couldn’t survive if something happened to you, something I could have prevented.
Losing you would mean losing myself. Losing who I am, who I’ve become because of you.
It would mean the death of my human soul and if that happened I’d become the monster Hollywood so loves to portray—an ancient creature more savage and wild and deadly than any on this earth.
I can’t risk that. I can’t risk you. Not after losing Maggie. I can’t.”
Regan regarded him silently for a still moment, her eyes unreadable in the dark room, before the corners of her lips curled gently. “What was I doing when we first met? I mean, as wolf and human?”
Declan frowned. “Trying to save the animals in Epoc’s lab. Why?”
“You were one of those animals, Paddy. I wanted to save you—help you—then and I want to help you now.”
His frown deepened. “It’s not the same, love. Breaking into science labs is a bit different to storming a psychotic werewolf’s personal territory. And if I remember rightly, your rescue mission went belly-up.”
Her smile stretched wider. Grew almost predatory. “There are five things I know about you, Declan O’Connell. You’re Irish. You’re a werewolf. Your sister was murdered, you hate Nathan Epoc and you’re ruled by your emotions.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head, cutting him short.
“Let me finish. There are three things you should know about me. I’m stubborn, I hate being cornered and in just under a day I’ve fallen irretrievably, madly and completely in love with you.
And if you think I’m going to let you face Epoc and his mongrel alone, that I’m going to risk losing you, you really are monumentally stupid! ”
Declan gazed at her, mouth open, heart hammering. Did she say what he thought she said? Did she just say…
“Yes. I did. Now shut up and kiss me. I’ve been sitting here watching you recover for almost half an hour. I think it’s time the attention was reversed after everything you’ve put me through.”