again, all blurry and soft around the edges. He was such a beautiful man. Why did he have to be such an ass? “You can be so sweet.”
“Thank you. You need to drink more.” He almost sounded like he was apologizing. He poured more water down her throat. She choked a little, but it was like ambrosia to her parched throat and lips. The cramp spasming her cheek eased.
“Why are you being so mean to me?” The thud of her heart filled her ears. Too slow. Her wolf thrashed frantically. Her heart was beating way too slow.
“I’m sorry. Emma said make sure you drink. We need to flush the toxins out and help your gift.” Another apology. God, he was so thick-headed.
“Water nice. I meant me. Why are you so mean to me? I asked you into my bed. I’ve begged you. You don’t want me.” Tears filled her eyes. Another symptom? Her heart stuttered. “Why don’t you want me?”
Silence resounded around her. Owen’s expression tensed, then softened. “Silly little wolf, you’re the only one I want. Now drink.”
Oh. Why did he…? She didn’t get to finish the thought. Her stomach rebelled and a low keening cut through the air. Her. She made that sound, right before she retched all over him.
He didn’t retreat, flinch, or even let her go.
The blackness swamped her vision and her gift burned inside her like a heater turned to full blast.
Not good .
The hours bled together as Owen kept watch over Gillian. He’d damn near come to blows with Hudson River wolves several times. They’d surged into the house, their desire to help admirable and, on some level, Owen understood. He still refused to let them near her. Brett kept invading his space—invading her space—he even brought in a phone.
Mason’s voice had been deadly cold and his order unmistakable. “Allow them to assist in taking care of her. Emma has instructions. Brett already filled me in.” His Alpha had to know Brett and his wolves could hear when he added, “If we lose her, Owen, we take the price back in blood.” His Alpha’s unflinching support and confidence calmed his wolf’s wild response.
After carrying her into a different suite, he’d watched with deadly intensity as one of Brett’s wolves, a medic, inserted an IV into her arm. Emma’s instructions played on a repeating loop inside his mind. Orders he understood, directions he could commit and execute.
“Gillian is a healer, Owen. You have to remember that. She has been fighting to consciousness. Her fever is indicative of her body’s response. Hydration is what we have to focus on, particularly because a healer’s gift will pull all her available resources.” Emma had paused, her composure admirable, but not even she could disguise the worry beneath her words. “Think of it this way…when we hunt, in the heat of battle, you lose focus for anything save what you must destroy and what you must protect, yes?”
His answer had been a single word. “Yes.” At that moment, Gillian needed his protection and, whomever had begun this attack on Hudson River? They needed to die.
“Good, you’re hearing me.” Kindness and empathy were wasted on him. In some distant part of his mind, he understood what she attempted and maybe someday he would even appreciate it, but until Gillian opened those beautiful topaz eyes of hers, a smile lit her face, and the sickly pallor leaching the color from her sweet caramel skin retreated…he wasn’t willing to respond.
“Tell me what I need to know, Emma.”
She sighed. “A healer’s gift works the same way. She is fighting to heal herself, to purge the poison, and to alleviate any physical damage—”
“She will live, won’t she?” No other outcome was acceptable.
“The next few hours are crucial. She vomited, and that’s a good sign. She may do that a few more times, another reason for the importance of the water. Keep her hydrated…keep her warm.” A moment of silence. “Owen?”
“Yes?”
“She needs pack right now.
“Thank you. You need to drink more.” He almost sounded like he was apologizing. He poured more water down her throat. She choked a little, but it was like ambrosia to her parched throat and lips. The cramp spasming her cheek eased.
“Why are you being so mean to me?” The thud of her heart filled her ears. Too slow. Her wolf thrashed frantically. Her heart was beating way too slow.
“I’m sorry. Emma said make sure you drink. We need to flush the toxins out and help your gift.” Another apology. God, he was so thick-headed.
“Water nice. I meant me. Why are you so mean to me? I asked you into my bed. I’ve begged you. You don’t want me.” Tears filled her eyes. Another symptom? Her heart stuttered. “Why don’t you want me?”
Silence resounded around her. Owen’s expression tensed, then softened. “Silly little wolf, you’re the only one I want. Now drink.”
Oh. Why did he…? She didn’t get to finish the thought. Her stomach rebelled and a low keening cut through the air. Her. She made that sound, right before she retched all over him.
He didn’t retreat, flinch, or even let her go.
The blackness swamped her vision and her gift burned inside her like a heater turned to full blast.
Not good .
The hours bled together as Owen kept watch over Gillian. He’d damn near come to blows with Hudson River wolves several times. They’d surged into the house, their desire to help admirable and, on some level, Owen understood. He still refused to let them near her. Brett kept invading his space—invading her space—he even brought in a phone.
Mason’s voice had been deadly cold and his order unmistakable. “Allow them to assist in taking care of her. Emma has instructions. Brett already filled me in.” His Alpha had to know Brett and his wolves could hear when he added, “If we lose her, Owen, we take the price back in blood.” His Alpha’s unflinching support and confidence calmed his wolf’s wild response.
After carrying her into a different suite, he’d watched with deadly intensity as one of Brett’s wolves, a medic, inserted an IV into her arm. Emma’s instructions played on a repeating loop inside his mind. Orders he understood, directions he could commit and execute.
“Gillian is a healer, Owen. You have to remember that. She has been fighting to consciousness. Her fever is indicative of her body’s response. Hydration is what we have to focus on, particularly because a healer’s gift will pull all her available resources.” Emma had paused, her composure admirable, but not even she could disguise the worry beneath her words. “Think of it this way…when we hunt, in the heat of battle, you lose focus for anything save what you must destroy and what you must protect, yes?”
His answer had been a single word. “Yes.” At that moment, Gillian needed his protection and, whomever had begun this attack on Hudson River? They needed to die.
“Good, you’re hearing me.” Kindness and empathy were wasted on him. In some distant part of his mind, he understood what she attempted and maybe someday he would even appreciate it, but until Gillian opened those beautiful topaz eyes of hers, a smile lit her face, and the sickly pallor leaching the color from her sweet caramel skin retreated…he wasn’t willing to respond.
“Tell me what I need to know, Emma.”
She sighed. “A healer’s gift works the same way. She is fighting to heal herself, to purge the poison, and to alleviate any physical damage—”
“She will live, won’t she?” No other outcome was acceptable.
“The next few hours are crucial. She vomited, and that’s a good sign. She may do that a few more times, another reason for the importance of the water. Keep her hydrated…keep her warm.” A moment of silence. “Owen?”
“Yes?”
“She needs pack right now.
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