Connor
He groaned as the pain slapped him awake. Eyes crusted with sleep struggled to blink open. Even as they did, blinding white light reached out and took his tender head and shook it like a spray paint can, leaving him reeling in agony.
Connor decided the world could go to hell and he closed his eyes, content to rest for a little longer.
“Connor?” the concerned, quiet feminine voice sounded from near his ear.
He knew that voice! Inside, his bear came to life, insisting that he turn his head and open his eyes. It wanted, no needed, to see Maddy. The command was so powerful it overruled the pain that he felt as his eyes flicked open.
To his surprise and his relief, his neck didn’t protest as he turned to look at the most beautiful brown eyes he had seen in a long time. They hovered at his head height, the rest of her cut off by the bloodstained pillow he was lying on.
“Hi,” she said softly, flashing him a weak smile.
Connor felt a soft, tender hand take his. Though she didn’t grip hard, he instinctively knew that she wasn’t going to let go.
For some reason, he was okay with that. Connor felt the influence of his animal rise to the surface, and had to fight it down. He was in no condition to be attempting what his bear was suggesting. Nor was this the right time, or place, for such an action. There might never be one, he told himself. Maddy cared about him, but it was likely just a result of what they had been through together.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“You should see the other truck,” he bragged, twisting the normal statement to imply that he felt like he’d been hit by one. “How long?”
Maddy didn’t question him. She seemed to know what he was asking.
“You were out for about twelve hours,” she said quietly.
“Twelve hours?” he exclaimed, his hands moving in protest, breaking the grip between them. “That’s impossible.”
His bed was facing the door out of the room. He recognized the silvery metal walls, white-tiled floor, and medicinal cabinets lining the walls. This was Flint’s medical ward at another of the small nightclubs he owned. The clubs had proven to be wise investments. They allowed for all sorts of people to come and go over the course of a night without drawing attention. Connor put that thought from his mind as he focused on the clock above the door.
It was now fourteen hours since he had sent Maddy on her way. Two hours of escape, and twelve of unconsciousness. Something was wrong.
He relaxed into the bed, relief that she was okay just now flooding into him as his addled brain recognized that fact. Connor had worried about her, but the sudden easing of weight on his shoulders surprised him. Apparently he had been worrying more than he thought.
But twelve hours? Even the few times Connor had been hit with a tranquilizer gun he had never been out that long. Fourteen minutes? Sure. An hour? Perhaps. Something was very, very wrong. Even now he felt lethargic and felt weak.
“How do you feel now?” Maddy asked.
He looked into her eyes, yearning for the touch of her hand. She looked worried, her arms now nervously crossed in front of her. Whatever had happened to him had scared her, badly.
“Better now,” he whispered truthfully, slipping out of his professional role for just a moment, not breaking eye contact with her at all.
The pair continued to look at each other, neither moving nor speaking. Something passed between them then. Connor knew he might never understand what, but something did. A tear formed in her eye as her guard crumbled under his gaze.
“Hey, come here,” he said, reaching out and pulling her close. Pain twinged in his midsection, and he noticed that Maddy was very careful to use her hands to rest herself on either side of him as he pulled her in close.
But in the end, she allowed herself to be embraced by him.
“I thought you were going to die,” she whispered, looking up at him.
The single tear rolled down her cheek.
Connor reached out with a finger and gently brushed it away. Her eyes were filled, but no more fell, only that single, solitary droplet made its way down her face.
“I didn’t,” he told her, murmuring softly into her ear as he nuzzled his face against hers.
There was a pause. A tremble ran through her body.
“Good,” she replied.
He laughed, resting his forehead against hers. Their eyes locked onto each other.
What are you doing? You just met this woman! She is the mission, you are a soldier. You have your orders. Do not complicate things.
His bear roared in anger, fighting for supremacy, to be heard and obeyed. Connor had fought with his bear before, but he had never felt it so insistent, so demanding. He swallowed nervously as he realized that no matter what the voice inside of him was saying, this time around, the bear was going to win.
The animal growled triumphantly as he tilted his chin slightly, using his fingers to lift Maddy’s until they were level. He had kissed her outside of the safe house, but that had been a spur of the moment thing. This was far more deliberate, far more planned. His skin tingled with the knowledge that they were going to kiss. Butterflies danced in his stomach, pulling at what he now remembered was the knife wound from his earlier fight. Something about that tugged at his brain, but was brushed aside by vivid memories of the brief kiss they had shared earlier.
“Connor, I—”
He pressed his lips against hers, silencing whatever she was going to say. Connor had to act, then and there. If she chose to pull away, he would let her. But he knew, instinctively knew, that this was one of those moments where if he didn’t follow through, he would regret it for the rest of his life. So he brought his face close and kissed Maddy. One of his hands slid up her back, holding the back of her head, fingers running through her hair.
She tensed, and he prepared himself for the awkwardness of her pulling back, denying the kiss. But after a few tense heartbeats, Maddy allowed herself to fall into him, returning the passion in spades. Their lips moved frantically as they searched for confirmation that the other was alive. His brain knew it, but he needed more reassurance. He needed to feel it.
“Ahem.” A throat cleared in the doorway.
They split abruptly. Maddy pulled herself off of Connor and slid back into the chair at the bedside, studiously ignoring the man who had walked in. He glanced at her quickly, trying and only partially succeeding at hiding a grin at the sight of her reddening cheeks.
“Andre,” he said gruffly. He liked the other man, but he should have known better than to interrupt. The door did have a small window in it.
“Sorry,” the shifter replied, and to his credit, he sounded rather sincere. “But we need to talk.”
“Where’s Flint?”
Andre shrugged.
Connor frowned. That seemed unlike him. Flint should be the one here, talking to him about whatever bad news there was. And it was bad news; there was no mistaking that. Andre’s voice hadn’t given it away, but the tense stance he had adopted spoke volumes to Connor.
“Okay,” he said at last. “Lay it on me.”
“Look at your stomach,” Andre said instead.
He glanced down, pulling up the remnants of his blood-encrusted shirt. His right side was a mass of bruised flesh and a three-inch-long line that indicated where the blade had entered his body.
“What the hell?” he said, looking in shock at how visible it all was. He looked at Maddy. “I thought I was out for twelve hours?!”
“You were,” Andre said.
“Impossible. This would be long gone by now.”
The other shifter nodded. “And it should have been healed by the time you got here.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Should have?” He didn’t remember much of the last of his flight. The pain from his leg had been too much to handle as he forced himself to walk on the broken joint to get to the club.
“It was still bleeding when you walked in the front door,” Andre said, crossing his arms in front of him.
“Bullshit.”
“I can show you the damn bloodstains if you wish.” Andre didn’t back down from his statement.
“Why didn’t I heal?” Connor asked at last.
“I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure it was because of this.” He produced a plastic vial capped with a black lid. Inside was a bit of green sludge.
“I don’t get it.” Connor looked back up at Andre.
The big shifter went over to the table on the far side of Connor. Maddy had recovered now and was watching with interest as well. He dropped his hand off the bed behind him. Her fingers found his in seconds, intertwining where Andre couldn’t see. He’d caught them kissing, but he didn’t need to know that it was more than just a physical need between them.
At least, Connor thought it was more than just that.
“Hand,” Andre said.
Connor stuck out his hand. Andre swabbed a dirty rag into the back of his palm. A bit of green gunk was still on it, and it smeared slightly on the skin. Andre then grabbed a knife from his belt and used the tip to make a small incision an inch to the right of the smear. A cut appeared, welled blood, and disappeared almost as quickly as his shifter healing sealed it up immediately.
Then he moved the blade and mimicked the same cut where the green smear was. The wound welled blood and continued to bleed. Andre cleared the area with an alcohol pad, and the wound began to close. Slowly.
His jaw was hanging slack as he realized what Andre had just demonstrated.
“They found a way to stop us from healing.”
Maddy gasped behind him, her fingers tightening.