Hit List - Laurell K. Hamilton [62]
Fields looked at Edward for a blink or two, and then went back to racing my skin up the cut. He had to tell me that he was finished. My arm was one mass of pain. It was on fire, or . . . I had no words for it. It fucking hurt from the start of the wound to the bottom, and past to my fingertips. I was nauseated with it all. I had only two goals: not to scream, and not to throw up.
Fields gave us some pills. “This should put her out for a little bit, let her body catch up with the damage.”
“How long?” Edward asked.
“An hour—two, if we’re lucky.”
“Thanks, doc,” he said. He took the pills, but I didn’t see what he did with them. The world had narrowed down to the piece of floor I was staring at. I was concentrating on my breathing, on just being and trying to ride the pain, or at least endure it.
“We’ll get a chair to take her to the door,” someone said.
I didn’t say I didn’t need one; I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d lose the food I hadn’t eaten today. When I didn’t argue, neither did Edward. So I left the hospital in a wheelchair, pushed by one of the many medical personnel who had watched my treatment. It turned out to be a male nurse who tried to be chatty, and turned out to have all sorts of questions about lycanthropy. I didn’t have any answers, not right then.
Edward made me take one of the pills before he put me in the SUV. I didn’t argue. I couldn’t remember what Dr. Fields had said the pills were, but whatever they were they were strong, because the last thing I heard before I fell asleep, or passed out, was the purr of the engine, and Edward at the wheel.
When I woke I was in a bed, in another generic hotel room with Edward handing me another pill and water. I started to protest, and he said, “Take it,” in that tone of voice that said I could take it voluntarily or he could make me take it. Of all the people I knew, I knew Edward would do exactly what he threatened, which would be undignified if I couldn’t stop him from force-feeding me a pill, so I took it without an argument and sleep rolled over me before I could really feel how much my arm hurt, which was probably a good thing.
I didn’t so much wake as become aware that there was a man wrapped around me. For a moment, I cuddled his arm closer around my waist, wrapping him around me like a favorite coat, and then the extra closeness let me know he was nude, and since the only man I knew in the room when I went to sleep was Edward, that was a problem. My eyes were suddenly wide open, and my whole body tensed.
The sleepy voice behind me mumbled, “You smell good.”
I didn’t recognize the voice. Good news, bad news; good news, Edward wasn’t naked in bed with me, so that awkward moment had passed, but bad news, I had a naked stranger in bed with me. What the hell?
I tried to scoot away, but the arm tightened, and he drew me into the bow of his body, his head bending over and nuzzling the top of my head. I propped myself up on my elbow, turning so I could see who was cuddling me. White-blond hair with a streak of deep, dark red, and then soft, gray eyes blinked up at me. As Ethan raised his face up, I could see more of the gray highlights in all that pale hair, and all of it was a mass of little curls in a sleepy disarray.
He kept his eyes rolled upward so he could watch my face as he kissed my back. It reminded me of the way you never let your gaze leave your opponent in the fight ring, because they’ll beat your ass if you do. He laid that well-shaped mouth, with its deep dimples above and below his lips, against my skin, and watched my face. It was as if he expected me to be angry at him.
I frowned. “Where’s Edward?”
“He’s off with the police.”
I tensed, and again his arm tightened around me. “Was there another killing?”
“He doesn’t discuss ongoing police investigations with civilians.”
“You’re quoting him,” I said.
He nodded, and again he laid a soft kiss on my bare back. He kept his eyes upward, as if he really were afraid I’d hurt him. “What did you do that you feel guilty