Lover Unbound

Vishous woke up, and the first thing he saw was his surgeon in the chair across the room. Apparently even in his sleep, he'd been keeping track of her.



She was watching him, too.



"How are you?" Her voice was low and even. Professionally warm, he thought.



"I'm better." Although it was hard to imagine feeling worse than he had when he'd been throwing up.



"Are you in pain?"



"Yeah, but it doesn't bother me. More an ache, really."



Her eyes went over him, but again it was with professional purpose. "Your coloring is good."



He didn't know what to say to that. Because the longer he looked like shit, the longer she could stay. Health was so not his friend.



"Do you remember anything?" she asked. "About the shooting?"



"Not really."



Which was only a partial lie. All he had were flashes of the events, partial clippings of the articles instead of the full columns: He remembered the alley. A fight with a lesser. A gun going off. And after that ending up on her table and getting evac'd from the hospital by his brothers.



"Why did someone want to shoot you?" she asked.



"I'm hungry. Is there food around?"



"Are you a drug dealer? Or a pimp?"



He rubbed his face. "Why do you think I'm either?"



"You got shot in an alley off Trade. The paramedics said you had weapons on you."



"It didn't occur to you I could be undercover police?"



"Cops in Caldwell don't carry martial-arts daggers. And your kind wouldn't go that route."



V narrowed his eyes. "My kind?"



"Too much exposure, right? Besides, you wouldn't worry much about policing another race."



Man, he didn't have the energy to tackle the species discussion with her. Plus, there was a part of him that didn't want her to think of him as different.



"Food," he said, glancing over at a tray that was set on the bureau. "Can I have some?"



She stood up and planted her hands on her hips. He had a feeling she was going to say something along the lines of Get it yourself, you freak bastard.



Instead she walked across the room. "If you're hungry, you can eat. I didn't touch what Red Sox brought me, and there's no sense throwing it out."



He frowned. "I will not take food meant for you."



"I'm not going to eat it. Being kidnapped has killed my appetite."



V cursed under his breath, hating the position he'd put her in. "I'm sorry."



"Instead of doing the 'sorry' thing, how about you just let me go?"



"Not yet." Not ever, some crazy-ass voice muttered.



Oh, Christ, not more with the¡ª



Mine.



On the heels of the word, an all-powerful need to mark her lit him up. He wanted to get her naked and underneath him and covered with his scent as he pumped into her body. He saw it happening, saw them skin-to-skin on the bed, him on top of her with her legs split wide to accommodate his hips and his cock.



As she brought the tray of food over his temperature spiked, and what was doing between his legs throbbed like a bitch. Surreptitously he bunched the blankets up so that nothing showed.



She put the food down and lifted the silver lid off the plate.



"So how much better do you have to be for me to leave?" Her eyes went over his chest, all medical assessment, as if she were measuring what was under the bandages.



Ah, hell. He wanted her to look at him as a male. He wanted those eyes of hers going over his skin not to check a surgical wound, but because she was thinking about putting her hands on him and wondering where to start.



V closed his eyes and rolled away, grunting at the pain in his chest. He told himself the ache was from the surgery. Suspected it was more because of the surgeon.



"I'll pass on the food. Next time they come in I'll ask for some."



"You need this more than I do. And I'm worried about your fluid intake."



Actually, he was fine, because he'd fed. With enough blood vampires could survive a number of days without sustenance.



Which was great. Cut down on the trips to the bathroom.



"I want you to eat this," she said, staring down at him. "As your physician¡ª"



"I will not take from your plate." For God's sake, no male of worth would ever rob his female of food, not even if he was starved to the point of dizziness. Her needs always came first¡ª



V felt like putting his head in a car door and slamming it a couple of dozen times. Where the hell was this manual of mating behavior coming from? It was like someone had loaded new software into his brain.



"Okay," she said, turning away. "Fine."



Next thing he heard was banging. She was pounding on the door.



V sat upright. "What the hell are you doing?" Butch flew into the room, nearly knocking V's surgeon off her feet. "What's wrong?"



V cut into the drama with, "Nothing¡ª"



The surgeon spoke over them both, all calm authority. "He needs food, and he won't eat what's on that tray. Bring him something simple and easy to digest. Rice. Chicken. Water. Crackers."



"Okay." Butch leaned to the side and looked at V. There was a long pause. "How you doing?"



Fucked in the head, thanks. "Fine."



But at least there was one good thing going. The cop was back to normal, his eyes clear, his stance strong, his scent a combination of Marissa's ocean smell and his bonding mark. He'd obviously been getting busy.



Interesting. Usually when V thought about those two together, his chest felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire. Now? He was just glad his friend was healthy.



"You look great, Cop."



Butch smoothed his silk pin-striped shirt. "Gucci can turn anyone into a rock star."



"You know what I mean."



Those familiar hazels grew serious. "Yeah. Thanks... as always." In the awkward moment, words hovered in the air between them, things that couldn't be said with any kind of audience. "So... I'll be back with chow."



As the door shut Jane glanced over her shoulder. "How long have you been lovers?"



Her eyes met his, and there was no getting out of the question.



"We're not."



"You sure about that?"



"Trust me." For no particular reason he looked at her white coat. " 'Dr. Jane Whitcomb,'" he read. " 'Trauma.'" Made sense. She had that kind of confidence. "So I was in bad shape when I came in?"



"Yeah, but I saved your ass, didn't I."



A wave of awe came over him. She was his rhalman, his savior. They were bonded¡ª



Yeah, whatever. Right now and his savior was inching away from him, backing up until she hit the far wall. He closed his lids, knowing his eyes were glowing. The retreat, the horror in her face, stung like hell.



"Your eyes," she said in a thin voice.



"Don't worry about it."



"What the hell are you?" Her tone suggested freak could easily be the descriptor, and God, wasn't she right about that.



"What are you?" she repeated.



It was tempting to front, but there was no way she would buy it. Besides, lying to her made him feel dirty.



Leveling his stare on her, he said in a low voice, "You know what I am. You're smart enough to know."



Long silence. Then: "I can't believe it."



"You're too smart not to. Hell, you've already alluded to it."



"Vampires do not exist."



His temper flared even though she didn't deserve it. "We don't? Then explain why you're in my wonder-fucking-land."



Without taking a breath she shot back, "Tell me something¡ªdo civil rights mean anything to your kind?"



"Survival means more," he snapped. "But then, we've been hunted for generations."



"And the ends justify any means for you. How noble." Her voice was as sharp as his. "Do you always use this rationale to snatch humans?"



"No, I don't like them."



"Oh, except you need me, so you'll use me. Aren't I the lucky exception."



Well, shit. This was a turn-on. The more she met his aggression head-on, the harder his body got. Even in his weakened state, his arousal was a demanding throb between his thighs, and in his mind he was picturing her bent over the bed with nothing but that white coat on... and him driving into her from behind.



Maybe he should be grateful she was repulsed. Like he needed to get tangled with a female¡ª



All at once the night of his shooting tunneled into his brain with total clarity. He remembered his mother's happy little visit and her fabulous birthday present: the Primale. He'd been tapped to be the Primale.



V grimaced and clapped his hands over his face. "Oh... fuck."



In a grudging tone, she asked, "What's wrong?"



"My goddamn destiny."



"Oh, really? I'm locked up in this room. At least you're free to go where you choose."



"The hell I am."



She made a dismissive noise, and then neither of them said another word until Butch brought another tray in about a half hour later. The cop had the presence of mind not to say much and move quickly¡ªand also the foresight to keep the door locked the whole time as he made the delivery. Which was smart.



V's surgeon was planning on making a run for it. She tracked the cop like she was measuring a target and kept her right hand in the pocket of her coat.



She had some kind of weapon in there. Goddamn it.



V watched Jane closely as Butch put the tray on the bedside table, praying like hell she didn't do anything stupid. When he saw her body tense and her weight shift forward, he sat up, prepared to lunge because he didn't want anyone but himself handling her. Ever.



Nothing came of it, though. She caught his change in position from the corner of her eye, and the distraction was enough to get Butch out of the room and the door relocked.



V settled back against the pillows and measured the hard line of her chin. "Take off your coat."



"Excuse me?"



"Take it off."



"No."



"I want it off."



"Then I suggest you hold your breath. Won't affect me in the slightest, but at least the suffocation will help pass the time for you."



His arousal pounded. Oh, shit, he needed to teach her that disobedience carried a price, and what a session that would be. She'd fight him tooth and nail before she submitted. If she submitted at all.



Vishous's spine arched all on its own, his hips swiveling as his erection kicked beneath the sheets. Jesus... He was so totally and completely sexed he was on the verge of coming.



But he still had to disarm her. "I want you to feed me."



Her eyebrows popped. "You're perfectly capable of¡ª"



"Feed me. Please."



As she came over to the bed she was all business and bad mood. She unrolled the napkin and¡ª



V sprang into action. He took her by the arms and dragged her over his body, the element of surprise shocking her into a surrender he was damn sure was temporary¡ªso he worked fast. He stripped the coat off her, handling her as gently as he could while her body torqued to get free.



Shit, he couldn't help it, but the urge to subdue her took over. Suddenly he was touching her not to keep her hands from whatever was in that pocket, but because he wanted to pin her to the bed and let her feel his power and strength. He took both her wrists in one hand, stretched her arms over her head, and trapped her thighs with his hips.



"Let. Me. Go!" Her teeth were bared, fury iridescent in her dark green eyes.



Totally aroused, he arched into her and sucked in a breath... only to freeze. Her scent carried no sultry sweetness of a female who wanted sex. She was not attracted to him at all. She was pissed off.



V let her go immediately, rolling away, though making sure he had the coat with him. The instant she was free she shot off the bed like the mattress was on fire and faced off with him. Her hair was tangled at its blunt ends, her shirt wrenched around, one pant leg shoved up to her knee. She was breathing heavily from exertion and staring at her coat.



When he went through it, he found one of his straight-edged razors.



"I can't have you armed." He folded the coat up with care and put it at the foot of the bed, knowing she wouldn't come near him if she was paid to. "If you attacked me or one of my brothers with something like this, you could get hurt."



A curse left her on a hard exhale. Then she surprised him. "What tipped you off?"



"Your hand going to find it as Butch brought in the tray."



She put her arms around herself. "Shit. Thought I'd been more discreet."



"I have some experience with concealed weapons." He reached down and pulled opened the drawer to his bedside table. The razor made a dull thud as he dropped it inside. After he shut the thing in, he triggered a lock with his mind.



When he looked back up she was doing a quick sweep under her eyes. Like she was crying. With a quick twist, she turned away from him and faced into the corner, her shoulders curling in. She made no sound. Her body did not move. Her dignity remained intact.



He shifted his legs over and put his feet on the floor.



"If you come anywhere near me," she said hoarsely, "I will figure out some way to hurt you. Probably won't be much, but I'll take a hunk out of you one way or the other. We clear? Leave me the hell alone."



He propped his arms on the bed and hung his head. He was gutted as he listened to the nothing-at-all sound of her tears. Would rather have been beaten with a hammer.



He had caused her this.



All at once she wheeled around to him and took a deep breath. Except for the red rims around her eyes, he would never have guessed she'd been upset. "Okay. You eating on your own or do you really need help with the fork-and-knife stuff?"



V blinked.



I am in love, V thought as he looked at her. I have so fallen in love.



As class progressed, John felt like holy hell on the end of a shovel: Achy. Nauseous. Exhausted and restless. And his head hurt so badly he could have sworn his hair was on fire.



Squinting like he was facing headlights instead of a blackboard, he swallowed through a dry throat. He hadn't written anything down in his notebook for a while and wasn't sure what Phury was lecturing on. Was it still firearms?



"Yo, John?" Blay whispered. "You okay, my man?"



John nodded, because that was what you did when someone asked you a question.



"You want to go lie down?"



John shook his head, figuring it was another appropriate response, and he wanted to spice things up. No reason to get stuck in a nod rut.



God, what the hell was wrong with him. His brain was like cotton candy, a tangle that took up space but was mostly nothing.



Up front, Phury closed the textbook he'd been teaching from. "And now you get to try out some firearms for real. Zsadist is on deck for the shooting range tonight, and I'll see you tomorrow."



As talk sprang up like a gusty wind, John dragged his backpack onto the table. At least they weren't doing any physical training. As it was, getting his sorry ass out of this chair and down to the range was going to be enough of a production.



The shooting range was located behind the gym, and on the way there it was hard not to notice how Qhuinn and Blay flanked him tight as bodyguards. John's ego hated it, but the practical side of him was grateful. Every step of the way he could feel Lash's stare, and it was like having a lit stick of dynamite in your back pocket.



Zsadist was waiting at the range's steel door, and as he opened it he said, "Line up against the wall, ladies."



John followed the others in and settled back against the whitewashed concrete. The place was built along the lines of a shoe box, all long and thin, and had more than a dozen shooting booths facing outward. The targets were shaped like heads and torsos and hung from tracks stretching down the ceiling. From the master station each one could be manipulated remotely to vary distance or provide movement.



Lash was the last trainee in, and he marched to the end of the line with his head up high, like he knew he was going to kick ass with a pistol. He didn't look anyone in the eye. Except for John.



Zsadist shut the door, then frowned and went for the cell phone on his hip.



"Excuse me." He went over to a corner and talked on the RAZR then came back, seeming pale. "Change of instruction. Wrath is going to take over tonight."



A split second later, like the king had dematerialized to the door, Wrath came in.



He was bigger even than Zsadist and dressed in black leathers and a black shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. He and Z talked for a moment; then the king clasped the Brother's shoulder and squeezed like he was offering reassurance.



Bella, John thought. This had to be about Bella and the pregnancy. Shit, he hoped everything was okay.



Wrath shut the door after Z left, then stood in front of the class, crossing his tattooed forearms over his chest and spreading his stance. As he looked the eleven trainees over, he seemed as impenetrable as what John was leaning again it.



"Weapon tonight is the nine-millimeter autoloader. The term semiautomatic for these handguns is a misnomer. You will be using Glocks." He reached behind to the small of his back and took out a lethal piece of black metal. "Note that the safety on these weapons is on the trigger."



He reviewed the specs of the gun and the bullets as two doggen came forward rolling a cart the size of a hospital gurney. Eleven guns of the exact same make and model were laid out on top, and next to each was a clip.



"Tonight we work on stance and aim."



John stared at the guns. He was willing to bet he was going to suck at shooting, just like he sucked at every other aspect of training. Anger spiked, making his head pound even worse.



Just once he'd like to find something he was good at. Just. Once.