Alyx

I was dead on my feet after pulling another double. A sixteen-hour shift would be hard enough as it was, but the constant release of healing energy was especially draining. Caffeine and adrenaline only went so far, and then I was forced to function on sheer willpower.

My stomach rumbled painfully, reminding me that I hadn’t taken the time to eat in a while, either. None of that mattered. What mattered was that I had been able to pull Dylan back not once, but three times.

The latest test results weren’t good, but I wasn’t giving up. At this point, keeping the tumors from spreading, encroaching around his heart, his lungs, his brain, and pretty much every major organ in his little body, was enough for now. The boy had shown more courage and had more faith than anyone I had ever met. He didn’t deserve this. Not that any kid deserved cancer ever, but Dylan was special to me.

Just like Christos. Dylan even looked like him a little, with that dark, golden hair and those big brown eyes.

Not a day went by when I didn’t think of my younger brother. I hadn’t been able to heal him, but I had grown into my powers since then.

I still had a long way to go. Sometimes, no matter how much energy I expended, it wasn’t enough.

Now that I was back  at the loft, I let the mask slip and collapsed onto the sofa bed. Hot tears coursed down my face unchecked. It just wasn’t right. For the hundredth time, I wondered why I had been given a gift that didn’t always work. Why I could help some and not others.

Gram often said everything happened for a reason, but if there was any rhyme or reason to this, it was beyond my comprehension.

It wasn’t all bad, I reminded myself. My gift did have a purpose. I was able to help some, if not all. There were at least half a dozen people who were going to be in better shape today than they had been yesterday because of me.

That was what I had to focus on—the things I could change, not the things I couldn’t.

I had to be careful, though. A subtle nudge here, an acceleration there. I couldn’t heal people outright, not without drawing attention to myself. That might sound terribly selfish, but there were those who wanted to exploit my gift for their own personal gain. Men like Roger Chamberlain, who would go to any lengths to get what they wanted.

Discretion was necessary. The need to keep my secret had been drilled into me since I was a kid and my ability to heal had first manifested. But these feelings of suspicion and fear, they hadn’t become such a huge part of my life until much more recently.

Special abilities might be unusual in the general population, but not in my family. My grandmother had a gift for sensing love matches. My mother had been able to touch an object and see into its past.

My father’s ancestry included some secrets of its own, and each of my siblings had their own special abilities, too. We had a long history of gifted bloodlines, and as such, a long history of persecution, so we’d grown up understanding the importance of keeping our talents hidden. Those lessons had been drilled home in the most brutal way when our parents died.

While we couldn’t prove the fire that had taken their lives had been deliberately set, we suspected that was what had happened. My sister, who was very sensitive to negative and positive energies, said the area where the fire had started reeked of malicious intent. We couldn’t tell the fire investigators that, though.

The bottom line was, we kept our secrets and pretended to be just like everyone else. We learned to control our affinities and use them within socially acceptable parameters.

By the time I started my senior year of high school, I had already been offered a fully paid scholarship to Penn. It included a co-op program that allowed me to work with some of the greatest scientific minds in the biomedical industry on cancer research. I’d jumped on the chance.

My gift had its limits—I couldn’t personally help everyone—but science ... science could reach far more.

I wasn’t sure exactly how my gift worked, but I suspected that whatever happened, happened at the cellular level.

Real progress was frustratingly slow, though, and one day, I decided to move things along. I stayed late at the lab one night, and after everyone else had left, I tried manipulating some of the test cultures using my healing abilities. I hadn’t been sure it would work, but it had.

No one else was supposed to have seen those results, not until I had an actual plan. Unfortunately, things hadn’t worked out that way. Someone noticed that a few of the lab mice that had been injected with the latest treatments showed marked improvement.

I denied having anything to do with it, of course, but not before garnering the attention of Roger Chamberlain himself. Bad news travelled fast, but a potential breakthrough in cancer research moved like lightning.

In a bizarre turn of events, one thing led to another and soon Roger Chamberlain and I were dating. I had been too star-struck at the time to question it.

At twenty-nine, Roger was brilliant, good-looking, and charming, not to mention extremely wealthy. He said all the right things, did all the right things, and I soaked it up like a dry sponge.

Looking back now, I don’t think Roger had ever bought my feigned ignorance about the trials. While he’d wined and dined me, he’d also had me under constant surveillance, both on and off the job. During that time, I can only surmise that he had somehow put two and two together. I didn’t flaunt my gift, but if I found myself in a situation where I could help someone discreetly, I did.

As I prepared to return to school after that last rotation, Roger had grown increasingly possessive. He had even gone as far as to propose. That had been enough to put a crack in those rose-colored glasses I was wearing and realize things weren’t what they had seemed. We had gotten along well enough, but not enough to warrant a proposal after six weeks. We just never had that kind of instant chemistry. When we were together, my heart hadn’t beat fast, and my body hadn’t heated up or responded in a dozen different ways.

Not like when I was around Reid MacIntyre.

I shut those thoughts down immediately. They were unwelcome and unhelpful and totally inappropriate.

Needless to say, Roger hadn’t taken my rejection well. He became obsessed. Calling me all the time. Showing up all hours of the day and night. The situation had gotten so bad I put in my resignation, gave up my scholarship, even moved away and changed my major to nursing.

It hadn’t helped. If anything, Roger became even more determined. He would give me a few months, make me think he’d moved on, and then suddenly appear again. Each time was more desperate than the last. I figured I had another month, maybe two, before I had to leave again.

For now, I was safe.

I forced myself into the shower. For a few minutes, the scalding water helped. I would have to go back to the hospital again in a few hours and needed to get myself together. I supposed I could have just stayed there and saved myself the trip, made use of the hospital’s locker room and crashed in the lounge instead, but I needed this time in my own space, away from everyone else. I needed the quiet of my little sanctuary to let my guard down and recharge.

I managed a few hours, but not nearly enough. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows as the brunt of the storm bore down upon us. Ideally, I would have stayed in my loft, snuggled down deeply in a nest of down comforters until my next shift, but my churning mind and rumbling stomach wouldn’t allow it.

Finally, I just gave up, figuring it was better to weather the storm in the warmth of Gram’s kitchen. At least I would get some food in me, and that was equally important to replenishing my depleted energy reserves.

It was a short walk, but by the time I got there, I was covered in snow, my lashes coated in ice crystals.

Together, we fixed a hearty stew and baked fresh bread. The sheer normality of it was soothing. I took great comfort in my grandmother and was eternally grateful she seemed to understand when I needed time.

Several hours later, Gram asked me to take some of the stew and bread over to Reid, who had been using the plow on his truck on the long driveway all day, trying to keep up with the blizzard. She laughed about how boys never changed, except for getting bigger toys.

I wanted to say no, but I didn’t. Reid had been a huge help. Because he had been out there, taking care of things, I had been able to stay inside, warm and dry. An offering of food was the least I could do. If I were truly honest with myself, I would also have to admit that I kind of wanted to see him again. I couldn’t explain it, but there was something oddly soothing about being around him.

Reid MacIntyre made me feel safe. Maybe it was because he seemed so strong and capable. Maybe it was because he’d shown no interest in me whatsoever. I suspected it was a bit of both.

“Hi,” I greeted when he opened the door in response to my knocking. Not exactly brilliant or original banter, but even that one word had taken some effort.

His hair hung loose and wet around his face, his tawny skin flushed and smelling like some kind of manly soap. A white tee-shirt strained across the muscles of his chest, and the gray sweats he wore did amazing things for his powerful legs. But it was his warm smile and sparkling eyes that had my heart doing funny little flips.

“I come bearing gifts,” I finally managed, holding out the basket of food Gram had prepared.

He stepped aside and invited me in. “Isn’t there some kind of saying to be wary of Greeks bearing gifts?” he teased.

“You know I am half-Greek?” I asked in surprise.

“Grace might have mentioned it.”

Oh. Well, I supposed that made sense. Roger had made me both suspicious and paranoid, and I hated him for that.

Reid took the basket from me and began to lay items out on the table. “It smells wonderful. Did you make this?”

“I helped. Gram is the culinary genius. I just do what she tells me.”

“Hmph.” It was a quiet sound, but decidedly male.

“What?”

“Why do I have a hard time believing you do anything people tell you to?”

I stared at him for a moment, saw the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and felt my own lips twitching. “You are very perceptive, Mr. MacIntyre.”

“Reid,” he corrected. “And yes, I am.”

“Modest, too.”

“Are you mocking me, Miss Laskaris?”

“Not at all,” I replied, opting for the little white lie. “And if you insist on me calling you Reid, then you must call me Alyx.”

He smiled, and heavens, I felt it all the way down to my toes. “Will you share this with me, Alyx?”

“I already ate, but thank you. I really should get back to Gram.”

His amusement seemed to increase. “Needs watching, does she?”

“You have no idea,” I said on a laugh. I remained at the door, shifting my weight, wondering why I couldn’t seem to force my feet back over the threshold and outside. “Besides, I should try to get some more rest before I have to get back to the hospital.”

Reid’s eyes darkened from a beautiful, mossy green to a stunning emerald. “The roads are closed.”

“Hospitals don’t shut down because of the weather,” I told him. “If I can’t make it in on my own, the National Guard will send someone out for me. I already called. They’ll be here at six.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched as if that thought did not sit well with him. Whatever he was thinking, he wisely kept it to himself.

“Suit yourself, then. Give me a moment, then you can take this basket back with you.”

As Reid reached for something in the cupboard, my eyes were drawn to his right leg. Dark stains were seeping through, stains that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. “Are you bleeding?”

“It’s nothing.” Avoiding my eyes, he turned away and began to unload the sealed containers from the basket.

“The hell it is. Sit down and let me have a look.”

His entire body stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Hello?” I said, taking off my hat and scarf and tossing them in a pile alongside the door. “Nurse, remember?”

“It’s nothing,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “And didn’t you just say you needed to be going?”

* * *

Reid

Hands on those curvy hips, she narrowed her eyes and glared at me. She was sexy as hell when she was fired up. “Sit. Down.”

With the exception of my CO, I wasn’t used to people ordering me around, especially not gorgeous goddesses with eyes that haunted my soul.

I crossed my arms over my chest and fixed her with a look that had sent grown men running for cover. Instead of running, though, Alyx’s eyes turned all liquid and hypnotic, and she stepped toward me instead of away.

She put a hand on my arm. It was just a light touch, but it sent currents of electricity straight through my chest and right into my balls.

“Please?”

How the hell was I supposed to resist that?

Before I could stop myself, I was sitting, and she was on her knees before me, gently lifting my sweats up to my knee. Every time her fingers brushed my leg, it felt like a stroke to my cock.

“I thought you worked with kids,” I tried, my voice more growly than usual as my wolf fought for control. Having her on her knees in front of me was just a little too close to one of the many fantasies I’d had in the last twenty-four hours.

“Some bigger than others,” she said with a smirk. “Take them off.”

I glared at her. Was she kidding? She had no idea who she was dealing with, or how close she was to being licked, bitten, and fucked into bliss.

“This extends up your whole leg.”

“I am quite aware of the extent of my injuries.” My voice was a low, warning growl. Hopefully, she would take more heed of that than she had of my glare, which seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

“Then you know how important it is to treat them properly.”

So much for that. Perhaps reason would work.

“Alyx, you do realize you are alone in a man’s kitchen, a man you don’t know, I might add, in the middle of a blizzard, asking him to remove his pants.”

At least that got a reaction.

As her face flushed a vivid shade of red, I ran with it.

“A man who is a whole lot bigger and stronger than you. Do you not have an ounce of self-preservation instinct?”

Her eyes dropped submissively. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. I could practically hear her arguing with herself, her desire to help warring with her common sense.

“You won’t hurt me, Reid,” she finally said. Her voice was quiet as she rested her fingers on my knee, her head tilted up at me, those haunting eyes playing havoc with my common sense. It was as if she could see right down into my fucking soul.

“You know that, do you?” I let just enough darkness seep into the words to get my point across. I wanted her to run, almost as much as I wanted her to stay.

“Yes,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I know that.”

Her eyes were unwavering. Her trust, humbling. And incredibly stupid. And absolutely right. Shit.

Against my better judgment, I eased down the sweatpants from my injured leg only, grateful I had not gone commando. Then I hastily bunched the material in my lap to hide my stiff cock. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t notice.

Her brow furrowed as she concentrated on my injured leg. “Looks like you reopened some recent wounds.” Her hands were warm and gentle, and felt far too good on my bare skin.

I clenched my jaw tight enough to snap a few molars, had I been human. All I could think about was how glad I was that she worked with children, because the thought of her touching another man like this was enough to send my wolf completely over the edge. He, and I, were barely hanging on as it was.

“I have some butterfly tape in my apartment.”

Oh no, we weren’t extending this any longer than necessary.

“There’s a medical kit over there,” I told her, lifting my chin toward the huge metal box next to the door that led out to the garage. It stood about five feet high and had multiple pull-out drawers, like those commonly found in an auto repair shop. “Second drawer from the top.”

* * *