Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CHARLI
Ihate hospitals. Actually, hate isn’t strong enough.
I loathe hospitals. The sterile walls, antiseptic smell, cold tile floors.
The cheap vinyl that sticks to your skin when you sit.
I wrap my arms around my knees and squeeze them tightly.
MacKenzie’s analyzing Andros’ blood to find out what Martin pumped into him so she can create an antidote for it.
My blood might have saved him, but the poison racing through his veins won’t let him fully heal.
I pluck at my sleeve, wondering if I should donate more blood in case he needs it.
Susan sets a coffee in front of me. Within minutes of us arriving at the hospital, she was here. Handling the paperwork, taking care of me, and stalking MacKenzie for updates.
“Charli, why don’t you let me take you home? Or at least let me get you something to eat?”
Flashes of Martin and what he wanted to do tumble through my head until all I want to do is tear my clothes off and stand under a scalding hot shower. Four others wanted the same. Every time I close my eyes, I see the twisted expression in their bright eyes. I shudder. If it hadn’t been for Andros…
I’m here. Hang on, sweetheart.
Teague?
Macklin comes striding in first. He pulls me up and holds me close, murmuring how fucking sorry he was they weren’t here to save me.
I grip his shirt in my fists and cling to him, needing his big body wrapped around mine.
A wall against the world. His warmth seeps into my bones, chasing away the cold that I’ve embraced since the attack.
Searing guilt and the bitter taste of regret flood my mind through our connection. Teague. I lift my head to stare at my mate standing beside us.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
“It’s not,” he adamantly insists in a low tone.
All the blue in his eyes is gone, leaving only turbulent grey in its place.
I reach out a hand and place it on his cheek, needing to know he’s real.
His eyes briefly close as a fine tremor courses through his body.
I can’t imagine him listening to the attack on the phone and being helpless to do anything.
When he opens his eyes, I can barely feel the maelstrom of emotions swirling in him. My brow furrows, wondering why he doesn’t want me to know.
Susan walks up to us. “Andros is still fighting, but until MacKenzie has a working antidote, he’s not going anywhere. I tried to take Charli home, but she wouldn’t leave. I’ll stay here. Why don’t you three go home for a bit?”
Macklin’s arms loosen, but I shake my head, unwilling to give up my safe haven. He shifts until he can pick me up. “Thanks, Susan. I’ll return to relieve you.”
Teague brushes a light hand down my back and takes the lead, getting all three of us back to their place. Macklin sets me on Teague’s bed, but I immediately stand.
“I need a shower.”
“It’s two a.m. You need sleep,” Macklin gently protests. “At least an hour or two.”
Tears slip from the corners of my eyes as I glance away and rub my palms up and down my legs, attempting to erase the feel of Martin’s dirty hands on them. “He…I need a shower.”
Macklin growls, and I cautiously look up and see his deep blue eyes glowing with fury. I flinch. He sucks in a sharp breath and pivots away from me. Not wanting him to think it’s him, I place a hand on his back.
“It’s not… Their eyes glowed. Not the same as yours, but like they could see in the dark,” I rasp, unable to get their bright yellow eyes out of my head.
His big body shakes, and his fists clench and unclench. “I need a minute.” He stalks from the room, keeping his gaze away from mine.
Teague raises his hands to cup my face, his expression carefully neutral. “Charli. Sweetheart. Did Martin…did he force himself on you?” His throat moves as he swallows hard.
I shake my head, and his eyes slide closed for a brief second as his breath expels from his body.
“But he did touch you.” Teague’s rage and sorrow slip through for a brief moment before it abruptly cuts off.
In halting words, I tell him what he did. How close he came. I fist my hands in his shirt. “Shower.”
Teague picks me up and carries me into his bathroom. “Everything you need is in there. I’ll grab some clothes.” He turns on the water, then leaves.
Stripping down, I throw everything into the corner and step inside, twisting the handle until the water is scalding hot. Then I grab Teague’s soap and scrub every inch of my body, returning to my thighs again and again until they’re bright pink. Finally, I move on to my hair.
“I found a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. Or I can go down the hall and get you a pair of your pajamas, if you prefer.”
“I…I didn’t do laundry,” I murmur, and the thought of not having any pajamas to wear the next week breaks the control I’ve been holding onto by the tips of my fingers. Sobs rip from my throat as I fall to my knees.
Teague slides in behind me, clothes and all, and pulls me into his arms. “I’ve got you.” He carefully steps out, wraps a towel around my body, then dries me off and drops a T-shirt over my head. Covered to my knees, he pulls off the towel and helps me into a pair of cotton boxers.
A single tear slides out of the corner of his eye, then another. Throat aching at the sight of them, I lean forward and press my lips against his.
He stiffens, and I suddenly feel stupid.
“Sorry, I thought…” I say, as I pull away.
I probe the connection, trying to understand, and run into a brick wall. That’s why it cut off earlier. He’s blocking his feelings. Vulnerable, I stare at him, wondering why but afraid to ask. I try to step back, but his hands gently wrap around my shoulders.
“Charli,” he begins, his voice hoarse. “I want to kiss you more than I want to breathe. But not when your entire body is shaking with fear and exhaustion and the memory of tonight. Or when I’m so full of rage I could level a mountain.”
He sweeps my wet hair over my shoulder. “Tonight is about comforting you and making you feel safe.” He takes a ragged breath. “I’m sorry I failed you. I should have made it clear to this whole fucking town you were mine.”
His jaw firms. “No more space. Not a fucking inch. That ends now. You’re moving in with us. Where you belong. If you want your own room, Macklin will knock down a wall and build one.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the last three days have sucked. And that was before tonight’s attack. With a sigh of surrender, I crawl into his lap and wrap my arms around him.
He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes me tight. “I thought I was going to lose you tonight, and it almost broke me. I need to hold you. Feel you breathing.” He stands and carries me into the bedroom, where he sets me on my feet. “We both do.”
I turn and see Macklin, wearing a sleeveless shirt, cut muscles on display, lying in bed, waiting for us. His deep blue eyes scan my face, then lift to have a silent conversation with Teague.
Teague strips down to a pair of black boxer briefs and motions to the bed. “You’re sleeping in the middle.”
Swallowing hard at the sight of him in almost nothing, I slip beneath the covers and scoot closer to Macklin, who turns to face me.
Teague turns off the light, but thankfully, there’s a soft glow coming from the nightlight plugged into the wall beside the bed.
I don’t remember that being in here the last time I stayed, but maybe I missed it with the TV on.
Teague slides into bed and pulls me into his arms. Macklin moves closer until his front is pressing against me. Safe and warm, I give in to the exhaustion tearing me down and sink into a deep sleep.
Bright sun filters through the curtain, letting in the morning light.
My eyes are gritty, full of spent tears and bad dreams filled with Martin’s face and hands.
Every time I woke, Teague and Macklin would soothe me, then press their bodies against mine in a cocoon of safety until I fell back to sleep.
Hair tickles my cheek, and I pry my eyes open to find my head on Macklin’s barrel chest and his hand at my waist. My bare waist. Panicking, I shove my shirt down, dislodging his hand and moving my head back to my pillow.
He opens his eyes and a tiny line appears between his dark brows. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
There’s a gruff note of hurt in his voice that has me scrambling to explain. “It’s not you. It’s me.” Well, that’s stupid. I blow out a breath. “I’ve got scars. On my back.”
He’s silent for a long moment, then he eases out of bed. Reaching back, he grabs the neck of his shirt and pulls it off. Transfixed by the two massive scars, running from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, I rise to my knees and move closer.
Four inches wide with jagged edges, they don’t look like any wound I’ve ever seen. And given the amount of time I spent in the hospital and physical therapy, that’s saying a lot.
He turns and studies me, assessing my reaction. “You can touch them.” Turning back around, he presses his fists against his outer thighs as if he’s bracing himself.
Reaching out, I glide my finger down the middle of the one on the right and hear his breath rush out.
Puckered on the sides, the middle is smooth.
Flattening my palms over his shoulder blades, I lightly run my hands down each side until I reach the end, then glide them back up.
He grunts as his muscles contract. I want to ask him what happened, but I can tell how hard it was for him to show me.
I inch closer. Those aren’t the only scars on his back. There are a myriad of others crisscrossing his skin. A couple of them appear to be gunshot wounds. But it’s the four close together that have me puzzled. I lightly trace over them.
He turns to face me. “Shifter claws.”
I blink, and suddenly I’m back in last night’s battle, watching the wolf and Andros roll across the asphalt. “I saw them. On the wolf that ran away.”
“There was another wolf?” Macklin asks in a hard voice. “Name?” I try to recall if I heard anyone’s name and shake my head. “Did you see their faces? Before they shifted.” I nod. “Will you draw them for me, or is that asking too much? If not, I can wait until Andros is up to it.”
My fingers twitch with the need to capture them on paper. “I want to. Sketch them. Reduce them to lines on paper instead of the monsters in my nightmares.”
Macklin’s face softens. “I’ll get your sketchbook, then start breakfast. I’d like to take it with me this morning.”
“Are you going to the hospital? I’ll come with you.”
Teague stirs beside me. “Why don’t we let Macklin go to the hospital and check on Andros first. You need to rest some more.”
“Because you think he’ll be angry?” I ask, with a derisive laugh. “He’s pissed. Asked me why I didn’t let him die.”
Teague grunts. “He asked me the same thing seven hundred years ago. Andros only thinks he wants to die. Yet every time he is close, he fights to survive. He thinks there is nothing of consequence left for him, but I think if he opens himself up to the possibilities, he could find a reason to never leave this earth.”
Macklin shrugs. “Honestly, keep pushing him.”
I lift my head and stare at them. “Won’t that make everything worse?”
Macklin snorts. “Before you came to Greystone, Andros rarely displayed emotion. He locked it all behind that iron control of his. Which shattered the first week you were here. Not a bad thing. It’s about damn time he rejoined this world.”
I twist my fingers together. “What if he loses it again?” My voice trembles when I ask the one thing that terrifies me.
Teague twines his fingers with mine and squeezes.
“Ronan told us that once Andros drank his mate’s blood—your blood—it would become a moot point.
Said he would stab his own heart with a blunt wooden stake before harming a hair on your head.
” He clears his throat. “Although, we’re going to make damn sure that’s the case before you’re alone with him. ”