Chapter Two
Will a female be the death of me, after all?
Marco peeked at the woman a few paces away. Was she real or a figment of his imagination? She’d spoken and not run away at the sight of him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, hoping to block the pain that volleyed through his body like thousands of hot needles. The skin of his shoulder was aflame, and he couldn’t move his arm without sharp streaks shooting to his fingertips. He gasped for a deep breath of air, and strained to keep panic at bay.
One, two, three... Holding focus was nearly impossible.
The agony was unlike any he’d ever felt. If he could turn his head enough to see the wound, he was sure the hole was as large as a fist.
Getting shot had never entered his thoughts of how the battle would go. He’d only imagined a complete victory over the bears, having had the element of surprise. The gods had other plans.
The hot bullet slicing through his shoulder muscle had almost caused him to pass out, and perhaps he had since he didn’t remember hiding in the forest after it happened. How long had he been unconscious? Had he dragged himself all the way down the path or stumbled deeper into the forest? He couldn’t remember much beyond the woman shooting him and the agony that had replaced rational thought.
Why hadn’t she finished him off? She’d looked right at him as she shot, and he saw fear in her gaze. She had to know he wasn’t dead, and yet she let him go. The woman wasn’t a warrior.
And she was human. And now there was another woman, a bear, hovering over him.
“Go away,” he repeated. His throat, dry as dirt, closed on his words.
Exactly what were the bears up to, with humans and women fighting for them? Sure, the lions were aware that some of the human townspeople in Oakwood knew about the shifter community, but none had dared to venture into Deep Creek to fight. Maybe the spies hadn’t been doing a good enough job gathering intelligence for the lions. Something was up.
A flash of iced fire blazed through his shoulder and out his back. Gagging, he held back the urge to vomit.
“Let me help you.” Her voice, strong, yet sweet as fragrant summer blooms, floated in his consciousness.
Drifting...
“No.” He breathed through the pain, trying to control it at least enough to manage the moment. Four, five, six... His training hadn’t prepared him for the depth of pain he was capable of feeling. Perhaps he’d not tried hard enough. Seven, eight...
“You look like you need help.” The woman stood out of reach, poised for his attack, but holding no weapon that he could see. “And I’m going to help you.”
His lion paced inside, grunting and huffing at his inability to handle the situation. He couldn’t attack even if he wanted to, except with his raspy words. If he weren’t in so much pain, he’d be embarrassed.
He sensed how close she was, the cacophony of her emotions tumbling around him. He was enemy. She should kill him. Yet, something held her back. He stared.
Oh gods, a bear. He wasn’t imagining it. She was real.
“Well?” She spoke again. Hands on her hips, she didn’t appear to be much of a threat.
“Well, what?” he muttered. Maybe she pitied him. A low growl sounded from deep inside his throat. No pity. He wouldn’t tolerate it. Not by anyone, least of all a bear. Even a bear as pretty as this one.
He almost laughed at the irony, but broke into a cough that sent shards of pain through his chest and along his arm. Only he would be checking out a female while sitting on death’s doorstep. And it felt like he was about to die.
He peeked at the bear. Her brows raised, and her eyes widened, her lashes a thick frame around bottomless brown irises flecked with gold. A slight smattering of tiny freckles sprinkled across her nose, and her long red hair was pulled back. Not the red hair some of the wolves had, that brassy orange mess. No, this bear had locks almost the color of a deepening sunset, or the last embers of a campfire. Wavy and full, he wondered what it’d look like hanging down her slender, naked back.
“I’m fucking delirious,” he heard himself mumble.
“Relax.” Her scent had changed from fear and adrenaline to a mixture of obligation with a tinge of unease. And curiosity.
Her voice comforted him. If he were in her place, he’d have already killed the wounded animal lying on the ground. Would he have killed a woman?
Maybe.
Some lion warrior he was. To add insult to injury, she hadn’t run away, afraid. In fact, he didn’t sense fear in her at all anymore.
Am I hallucinating?
He blinked, and she was there, her hair flecked with prismatic golden highlights where the sun caressed it.
“Go away,” he managed again, with a bit more force.
She set her pack on the ground. “I’m not going away.”
Thank the gods Mason wasn’t around to see the situation.
The bear knelt beside him, her T-shirt clinging to substantial curves. When she turned, he saw that her long red hair hung in a thick ponytail. Her heart-shaped face framed full lips the color of strawberries.
Her lips moved and he watched every twitch, even the sheen of sweat on her upper lip. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it.
Is she speaking again? He shook his head as the vision in front of him wavered. Despite the excruciating pain in his shoulder, he looked her over.
The bear was damn fine. If she was real. And if she wasn’t, he should get points for having a great imagination while in so much discomfort.
“Wha—?” He tried to sit up but the pain in his shoulder shot straight through to his back, like he’d been run through with a hot sword. He winced and fell back, his head bumping the grassy ground with a thump and sending shockwaves through his body.
More words from her in the distance—either she spoke aloud or it was in his mind, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Maybe she had switched to speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. He always did have a thing for girls with an accent, but this was ridiculous.
He tried to turn over, but couldn’t.
A jumble of words and sounds from her again, but he couldn’t decipher them. A large bee zoomed around his face, bouncing on the air current, and she waved her hand to shoo it away.
He fought to not retch.
Two things were very clear. One, he wasn’t going anywhere under his own power any time soon. If the lions didn’t come, he’d likely die from lack of treatment unless the bear decided to finish him off. And two, vomiting all over the beautiful bear would not make a good first impression. Lying under a bush wounded and possibly dying wouldn’t either but he couldn’t change that.
“Are you talking to me?” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word. If she was going to vanish in a puff of imagination, he wished she’d disappear before he became any more enamored with her.
“Yes.” Her voice remained firm, and she flicked the rope of her ponytail over her shoulder. “Lie back, and let’s move you from under that bush so I can get a better look at the extent of the wound. Here’s hoping my medical training is enough.”
He’d understood her words, yet he wasn’t sure he believed she wanted to help, or even could. His shoulder was a sticky mess, and blood oozed from the bullet wound—he could tell by the way his shirt stuck to him. If she was a medic, she should be able to handle the injury.
He peered at her, eyes half-open, and she met his gaze. If he could shift and let his lion out, he’d scare her away in a heartbeat. But he’d lost that power with the injury. Normally, shifting came as easily as breathing but something was missing, and he couldn’t remember what he needed to do or how to fix it.
Bears were afraid of him and his brother, Mason, but she obviously didn’t know who he was. It’d be just like him to imagine his dream girl and have her not recognize him as heir to the lion pride.
“Come on, you need to help me help you. No reason to suffer, but I can’t move you on my own, and we need to get that wound bandaged and the bleeding stopped.”
“I’m tired.”
“I’m going to need your help unless you prefer to lay there and die.”
He blinked. Maybe she was real after all. No woman ever ordered him around in his fantasies. In his fantasies, he was already king of the pride. Always the boss.
As he should be.
“I...can’t move.” Wow, his voice was weak. “I don’t think I can help.”
He couldn’t help her so she’d better go before the lions came. They wouldn’t show her mercy, and though she was his enemy, he didn’t want her to be injured or killed.
“Well?” she asked. “You ready to cooperate or am I going to have to insist?”
Persistent. And pushy. He watched her without replying, not sure what to make of the female. Why didn’t she go on about her business and let him lie in the dirt waiting on his brother?
A brisk breeze blew through the forest, lifting her red ponytail and the tatters on her T-shirt. She smoothed stray hairs away from her forehead. He stared, unable to look away. Her milky complexion glistened in the sunlight, and he traced the contours of her lips with his gaze. She was too damn pretty to be angry with. But she needed to go while she still could.
Now.
“I’ll be okay. I don’t need your help.” Marco gritted his teeth. “The lions will come for me. You go. I’m sure there are bears that need you.”
“It’s my duty to help anyone who’s injured, and from the looks of it, you need my help. Let me patch you up.”
“Poison,” Marco grumbled. He definitely hadn’t had any nurse/patient fantasies. The situation no longer held appeal. Could this woman be real? He sniffed.
He could scent her. She smelled real. He scented a whiff of familiarity too, but he couldn’t place it. She had a lot of anger in her, yet she wasn’t showing it. But something else niggled at him.
She shook her head. “I’m not going to poison you. I don’t have any medicine with me other than antibacterial ointment. Out here, I’m prepared to triage, not hospitalize.”
“Good to know. This injury hurts like hell.”
“I’m obligated to treat your injuries, with your consent, of course. At least get you in better shape till your pride shows up.”
He smirked. If she only knew. He had no clue where Mason had gone or when he’d come looking.
“Something funny?” She unzipped her pack and pulled out her water bottle, about halfway empty. “Drink. I’m sure you’re dehydrated. It’s hot out here.”
Her voice was sweet as honey, even when giving orders. She thrust the bottle toward him and held it as he drank long from the warm liquid. Her hand held his head up, and her soft, full breasts brushed against his good arm. The water slid down his throat so smooth, and he focused on that sensation rather her nearness.
She gently laid his head down then screwed the lid on the water bottle. “Let’s get you fully out from under that bush so I can take a look at that injury.”
“Can’t move,” he whispered, keeping his eyes closed. “My shoulder...” Don’t want to move. Want to sleep.
“I’m going to try to pull you out. Help me if you can.” She lowered her voice as she worked to maneuver him carefully from under the bush. Her arms under his good arm, tugging.
Ouch. Dammit, that hurt.
He slid across sharp rocks and jagged pebbles, yet didn’t make a sound. Not aloud anyway. His one arm was completely limp, and the rest of his body felt like he’d been stomped on by an elephant. Moving wasn’t something he wanted to do.
Ever again.
Somewhere in the distance he heard her talking. Was she speaking to him or had more bears arrived? He tried to open his eyes, successful for a moment.
A large hawk glided overhead, above the trees, silhouetted against the blue sky. He heaved a yawn.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Her firm voice pushed into his consciousness. “You aren’t going to sleep until we remove the bullet.”
He heard a groan and realized it was his own.
Sleep.
He closed his eyes as the shroud of pain blanketed him. If she was going to kill him, then so be it.