Oh baby. That felt unbelievable. Nourishing. Gentle. Hot as hell.
And he wanted more. Just a little bit more, but…
Hmm, yum. So good. She was so damned good.
Wick swayed on his feet and, forcing his eyes open, stared at the pale wall over her head. Huh. Not home. Not in a club. He frowned, swimming through the river of heat to find the truth. He should be doing something… shouldn’t he? The question helped his brain kick over. Yeah. Right. No question. He needed to be somewhere doing something for someone.
Giving his head a shake, he uncurled his hands from her upper arms. The current downgraded, moving from ball-busting intense to soft and smooth. She grumbled in protest. The urge to reconnect and strengthen the flow poked at him. He ignored the need and inhaled long and deep. The scent of blood reached him. Concern shoved the load of feel-good aside.
Jesus help him. She was hurt.
The realization propelled him into action. Looking for the wound, Wick’s gaze skimmed over her. He found the cut in under a second flat. The IV needle had torn her arm open, leaving a gash just above her wrist. Grabbing the blanket edge, he applied pressure to the injury and conjured some medical supplies, only to realize she wasn’t bleeding anymore. The plasma had clotted and—
Wow. Would you look at that? The cut was closing too, healing much faster than he would’ve expected for a human.
Dumping the roll of tape and sterile gauze on the bed beside her, he examined the wound more closely.
She flinched. “Ouch.”
“Sorry, baby,” he murmured, keeping his tone soft. Holding her steady, he ripped the package of gauze open. With a quick twist, he wrapped the thick bandage over her wound, then reached for the roll of tape. “Almost done.”
“Baby?” Dark lashes flickered. A slow up and down before she opened her eyes. Under the influence of the Meridian, magic went to work on the drugs in her system. As he watched, the empty-eyed expression she wore started to dissipate, helping mental acuity along. “No one ever calls me that.”
“No?” Surprising, really. The endearment suited her.
She shook her head. “Get called Injin a lot though.”
“Who calls you that?”
“Asshole Griggs.”
“Sounds like asshole Griggs needs his head ripped off.”
“Been saying that for years,” she said, her words slurring a little.
A half smile on her face, she gazed up at him. Wick’s heart flip-flopped, doing a somersault behind his breastbone. Jesus, she was pretty. Even with her split lip, busted leg, and all the bruises, she was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Which made him think he’d lost his mind. The fact he wanted to call her “baby” confirmed it. He was officially upside down and backward, waist deep in a stink hole and sinking fast. But even as he told himself to get a grip, the urge to return her smile snaked through him. He retreated instead, playing it safe, putting distance between them as he smoothed tape over the bandage.
She made a face, protesting the pressure of his hands. “That hurts. I hurt… all over.”
“I know,” he said, feeling the need to apologize again.
Christ help him, without meaning to, he kept adding to her pain. Wick swallowed past the knot in his throat. Perfect, wasn’t it? She needed gentle. He gave her rough. The truth slapped him in the face. He wasn’t equipped to care for her, never mind provide comfort. Duh… made total sense. Kindness had never been part of his makeup. He didn’t have a big heart or a gentle nature. Violence and cruelty, however? Wick knew both well. But as she held his gaze, something crazy happened. He saw the trust in her eyes—the kind of acceptance he’d never experienced—and wanted to be different. The idea sparked another, providing guidance, laying the groundwork for know-how and…
All of a sudden, he knew how to handle her.
Her eyes slid closed again.
“Jamison, look at me.” A crinkle puckered her brows, but she gave him what he asked for and opened her eyes. Nodding his approval, he murmured to her, adopting Venom’s method. By all accounts, females liked soothing tones. His friend employed the technique all the time, using the sound of his voice to bring comfort and pleasure. Not something Wick ever indulged in, but… hell, why not? No harm in trying, so he got with the program and talked to her. “I’m going to pick you up… carry you out, all right? It’s going to hurt, but I need to—”
“You know my name.”
“Yeah.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I guess that means it’s official.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” One tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. The urge to brush the moisture away gripped him. He hesitated a moment, then lifted his hand and gave in to the compulsion. And why not? With her clinging to him, his no-touching rule was already history. No sense freaking out about it. “I know it’s your job, but I’m not ready. I don’t want to die.”
His lips twitched. Amazing, but even overloaded by the Meridian, she was astute. Him and killing, after all, went hand and hand. “I’m not here to kill you.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head.
“But you and the other angel were—”
Wick snorted. Angel. Now that was a stretch. “I’m here to help. Tania sent me.”
She blinked again. Another slow up and down. “Wow, that was fast. I only just sent the text message.”
The whispered words wound him tight. “You called Tania?”
“Nurse’s cell phone.”
“Shit.”
“Is that bad?” Injury and exhaustion made her lean on him. Wick shifted toward her instead of away, catching her forward slump. The electrostatic prickle connecting them intensified, making him wince. “Sorry, but I couldn’t wait. Asshole Griggs is here, remember? He’s mean, and I need a lawyer.”
“It’s all right,” he said, reacting to her fear even as he fought what she made him feel. Intense, raw, beyond normal, she made him feel far too much. Dangerous things. Wholly unfamiliar things. Things that could never be taken back. And as she turned him inside out, snuggling in, putting them skin-to-skin again, Wick wanted to be anywhere but here, holding her, caring for her… frickin’ feeding her. “We gotta move, vanzäla.”
“Vanzäla… that’s pretty,” she said, holding in a yawn. “What does it mean?”
Wick cursed under his breath. Nice going, hot shot. The last thing he needed was to give her a pet name in Dragonese. “Nothing.”
“Tania and I have a rule.”
“Really.”
“Yup.” Fading fast, she stopped fighting it and yawned. “No lying allowed.”
Sucky rule. Particularly since lying would be easier. More expedient too, but… whatever. If she wanted honesty, he’d give it to her. What could it possibly hurt? Not much. Half baked by the drugs, deep in the energy stream, she wouldn’t remember anything he said anyway.
Shrugging out of his jacket, he settled the leather around her shoulders. “Vanzäla means ‘songbird’ in my native tongue.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she whispered, her eyes half-closed. “I like you. You’re nice.”
Nice? Wick stifled a snort. Sure, he was. “And you’re completely shitfaced.”
“Drugs will do that to a girl.”
“No doubt.”
With a tug, he pulled the coat lapels closed, cocooning her in the lingering warmth left by his body. It was cold outside. He didn’t want her getting a chill when he stepped into the alleyway, a few strides away from the extraction point. And speaking of which? Time to find that door. Wick glanced down the corridor. A quick shift, and he gathered her up. Less than a second later, he was on the move, the exit into the stairwell in his sights.