shampoo on her hair.
Greg and Des were out the door before the guards reached Fee and Lana.
“Lana?” Fianna got to her knees and leaned over her friend, terror knotted in her throat.
“Oww.” Lana flexed her arms and legs. “Nothing broken, but there’s going to be a bitch of a bruise on my hip. How about you?”
“You pushed me out of the way. I’m fine.” Fianna brushed a strand of hair out of her face and noticed that her hand came away shaking and smeared with blood. “Oh, hell. My hair and makeup are ruined.” Somehow that seemed worse than any pain.
Lana sat up, accepting help from a glowering Des while Greg assisted Fianna to her feet.
“She pushed you out of the way because she heals a lot faster than you do,” Greg said with a snarl. Fianna watched as he breathed deeply and his fangs and claws receded. Had he almost turned? Was he angry with her for almost getting his cousin killed? After a few deep breaths, his tone softened. “Let’s get you two inside and assess the damage.”
Fianna shook her head. “My bag—I dropped it in the street. I need it.” She felt herself tremble, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d been hurt more severely than this many times.
“I’ll get it.” The older of the two guards, a bald-headed man in his forties, walked out into the street. He retrieved Fianna’s purse and a small pink shopping bag, as well as Lana’s bigger shopping bag from beside the curb. “I got the license number, but it’s probably stolen.”
“Inside,” Greg growled at them all. He glared at the guards as he ushered Fianna into the doorway. “I thought you two were supposed to prevent this kind of thing.”
“Sorry,” said the older guard, who introduced himself as Jensen. “We were watching the property for vandalism, not for direct attacks on personnel. We’ll know better next time. You might want to think about personal bodyguards as well.”
They trooped down to Greg’s office. He sat Fianna down at his desk, while the younger guard, handsome and fair, eased a severely limping Lana into a chair.
Jensen set Fianna’s purse and sack on Greg’s desk.
“Let me see that leg.” Des glowered at Lana. “And the hands.”
“I am not taking my pants off so you can see my hip,” Lana snapped. She held out her scraped-up palms. “You could clean these, though, so the grit doesn’t heal inside.”
“There’s a first-aid kit in the bottom drawer of George’s desk,” Greg said. He gently touched Fianna’s cheek. “And someone go into the kitchen for a bowl of water and a couple towels.”
Des rooted around in the desk and came up with a white metal box stamped with a bold red cross while Jensen hurried out of the room. Meanwhile, Greg lifted Fianna’s hands to inspect them for damage.
“Ouch.” She winced when he probed at her wrist, which was swollen and turning purple. She blinked at it in confusion. How hadn’t she noticed until now that it hurt? Both of her palms had red, angry scrapes and her cheek had started to burn. The pain wasn’t what bothered her most. She stared down at her glossy acrylic nails, which were now jagged and gouged, a couple even ripped from her fingertips. “My nails. They’re ruined.” For no explicable reason, that was what made her burst into tears.
“Hey there, it’s okay.” Greg sat on the edge of the desk and pulled her into his arms. “It’s called an adrenaline crash, princess. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not much of a healer,” Desmond said as he bent over Lana’s hands, picking out bits of dirt and rubble. “But I can manage some, and Lana’s wounds are already closing. Is Fee’s wrist sprained or broken?”
Greg’s breath stirred her hair as he spoke. “Sprained. And her palms are pretty much hamburger.”
“I spent all day trying to look good to meet your grandparents,” she sniffled against his chest. “Now it’s all ruined.” Nothing had ever felt as good, as comforting as his big body
Greg and Des were out the door before the guards reached Fee and Lana.
“Lana?” Fianna got to her knees and leaned over her friend, terror knotted in her throat.
“Oww.” Lana flexed her arms and legs. “Nothing broken, but there’s going to be a bitch of a bruise on my hip. How about you?”
“You pushed me out of the way. I’m fine.” Fianna brushed a strand of hair out of her face and noticed that her hand came away shaking and smeared with blood. “Oh, hell. My hair and makeup are ruined.” Somehow that seemed worse than any pain.
Lana sat up, accepting help from a glowering Des while Greg assisted Fianna to her feet.
“She pushed you out of the way because she heals a lot faster than you do,” Greg said with a snarl. Fianna watched as he breathed deeply and his fangs and claws receded. Had he almost turned? Was he angry with her for almost getting his cousin killed? After a few deep breaths, his tone softened. “Let’s get you two inside and assess the damage.”
Fianna shook her head. “My bag—I dropped it in the street. I need it.” She felt herself tremble, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d been hurt more severely than this many times.
“I’ll get it.” The older of the two guards, a bald-headed man in his forties, walked out into the street. He retrieved Fianna’s purse and a small pink shopping bag, as well as Lana’s bigger shopping bag from beside the curb. “I got the license number, but it’s probably stolen.”
“Inside,” Greg growled at them all. He glared at the guards as he ushered Fianna into the doorway. “I thought you two were supposed to prevent this kind of thing.”
“Sorry,” said the older guard, who introduced himself as Jensen. “We were watching the property for vandalism, not for direct attacks on personnel. We’ll know better next time. You might want to think about personal bodyguards as well.”
They trooped down to Greg’s office. He sat Fianna down at his desk, while the younger guard, handsome and fair, eased a severely limping Lana into a chair.
Jensen set Fianna’s purse and sack on Greg’s desk.
“Let me see that leg.” Des glowered at Lana. “And the hands.”
“I am not taking my pants off so you can see my hip,” Lana snapped. She held out her scraped-up palms. “You could clean these, though, so the grit doesn’t heal inside.”
“There’s a first-aid kit in the bottom drawer of George’s desk,” Greg said. He gently touched Fianna’s cheek. “And someone go into the kitchen for a bowl of water and a couple towels.”
Des rooted around in the desk and came up with a white metal box stamped with a bold red cross while Jensen hurried out of the room. Meanwhile, Greg lifted Fianna’s hands to inspect them for damage.
“Ouch.” She winced when he probed at her wrist, which was swollen and turning purple. She blinked at it in confusion. How hadn’t she noticed until now that it hurt? Both of her palms had red, angry scrapes and her cheek had started to burn. The pain wasn’t what bothered her most. She stared down at her glossy acrylic nails, which were now jagged and gouged, a couple even ripped from her fingertips. “My nails. They’re ruined.” For no explicable reason, that was what made her burst into tears.
“Hey there, it’s okay.” Greg sat on the edge of the desk and pulled her into his arms. “It’s called an adrenaline crash, princess. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not much of a healer,” Desmond said as he bent over Lana’s hands, picking out bits of dirt and rubble. “But I can manage some, and Lana’s wounds are already closing. Is Fee’s wrist sprained or broken?”
Greg’s breath stirred her hair as he spoke. “Sprained. And her palms are pretty much hamburger.”
“I spent all day trying to look good to meet your grandparents,” she sniffled against his chest. “Now it’s all ruined.” Nothing had ever felt as good, as comforting as his big body
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