Chapter 1

 

There was something wrong with the car. He didn’t know enough about cars to be able to determine what and keep the car on the track while it hurtled around the corner at over one hundred miles an hour. He eased off the accelerator and tried to remember all the lessons he’d had before being allowed to drive the car himself.

Nothing came to mind that would save his life. The steering was getting heavier. He wasn’t going to make the next corner and it was coming up way too fast.

“Car’s not responding.” Finley Ryder said into the microphone in his helmet. It wasn’t there for his team to call out tips. It was there for the film crew to give him instructions and for him to spout any lines they needed said.

“What do you mean?”

What he meant was he was jelly in under ten seconds. “No steering.” He tapped the brake. Yeah that wasn’t good. “No brake.” He swore. “Make sure you get the accident you might need it for a later episode.”

When they would have to kill off his character.

He didn’t like his chances of walking out of this. Panicked voices were filling his headset. They were never going to let him do his own stunts again after this, no matter how qualified he was.

His heart beat fast, pumping fear into his body. This was not how he’d planned on dying—he hadn’t made those plans yet. He didn’t give a shit how expensive the gearbox was he tore his way down through the gears trying to slow the race car. There were sirens, emergency vehicles were already on the track. He didn’t take his eyes off the concrete wall to find out where they were. He knew what they were doing.

They were coming for him.

The car slowed but not enough.

He drew in a breath. This counted as dire situation, and he didn’t care who saw or what questions they asked. He drew the air around him into a shield. He’d tested his magical abilities before, but not like this. He wasn’t sure any Albah had.

He was making history.

With an exhale, he pushed every bit of will he had into cushioning himself, and the car from the impact. If he’d been able to access some skin under all the safety gear he’d have added blood into the mix.

His eyes closed as everything collapsed around him.

“Finley?” Someone was shining a light into his eyes. Fuck it was annoying.

He tried to move and his body didn’t respond. Panic flooded him it took several seconds and someone holding his hand before he settled.

“We have to cut you out of the car. How are you feeling? Do you know what day it is?”

“Wednesday.” He wasn’t sure the word came out right. It was Wednesday, wasn’t it? Yeah it was. It was Wednesday and he was alive. The medic was still holding his hand. “If you don’t let go you’re going to have to give me your number so I can call you in the morning.”

People laughed.

“Finley’s fine,” someone said.

Was he? He’d been going damn fast when he’d hit the wall. The wall didn’t look so good. He didn’t feel so good. He was starting to hurt and the harness was cutting into him in all the wrong places.

“You can have my number.” The medic smiled. “Let’s get you out of here first.”

Finley grimaced. Even though his left nut was getting squashed he was not asking for help.

Then the cutting started. If he hadn’t had a headache before, he did after the first five seconds of that racket.

Eventually he was eased out of the car and straight onto a stretcher. “I’m fine.” They hadn’t even takes his helmet off in case he had a neck injury, but at least he had someone to talk to. “What the hell was wrong with the car?”

“We don’t know. What did you do to it?”

“Nothing. She was fine until I got up to speed.” They liked him to do a few slow laps first, get a few shots and the lines done. Then they’d throw on a few other cars to get the race feel. As soap operas went Out of Control was fun to work on, mostly because it was about race cars and the rivalry between teams. This season he was supposed to be stealing the girlfriend of another driver, who was actually the ex-PR for his team, and his ex from two seasons ago and the reason his on-screen wife left him. It was all very dramatic.

And as he was pushed into the ambulance it all seemed rather petty.

The adrenaline was leaving in a rush that made him feel ill.

His new buddy the medic checked his pulse. “How are you doing?”

“Been better. You?”

“Not every day I get to rescue Finley Ryder.”

Finely laughed. “Let’s not make it a habit. You can have the suit when they cut me out of it.” Was he jelly inside? Is that why the hadn’t unzipped him?

Why wasn’t he in more pain?

“How bad is it?”

“Well you’re awake and talking.”

“My legs?”

“They don’t appear to be broken.”

So why was he feeling numb? “My back?”

“We’re taking you in for scans.”

He squeezed the medics hand hard enough that the man’s eyes widened. “Is my back fucking broken?”

Something jabbed him in the ankle. “Ow.”

“You felt that. It’s a good sign.” The ambulance lurched off, sirens going. “Relax and let me do my job. Next time let the stunt guys drive?”

“I am a qualified stunt driver.” And if a human had been in that car, they’d have died. He’d only survived because he’d been able to soften the impact with magic. He might have walked away from the Albah community and his family, but he hadn’t sworn off magic.

The medic was right. He did need to relax. He knew a little about healing—not as much as his half-brother, but enough that he might be able to give himself a head start before the doctors got hold of him.

Finley closed his eyes and sunk his thoughts into his body. There were cuts and bruising on his legs from being trapped in the car. There was bruising in most places. Nothing felt wrong or broken—he knew what broken bones felt like but he also knew how to get them healing fast. There was no chance of him getting hold of any silver in hospital to help his body out. He’d have to wait until he got home.

How long that would be was anyone’s guess.

The tabloids would have exaggerated tales of his injury—or even death—before he got home. Wonder if they’d write nice things about him?

Probably not. The headline would probably read: Out of Control playboy’s final joyride.

He’d survived the unsurvivable. Screw them all. He’d have fun proving them wrong once again. The ambulance stopped and he sighed. He hated hospitals.

* * * *

After three days Finley was bored. The bruising to his back and spine was going. According to the doctors he was healing very well. He’d slowed down the amount of magic he was using so that it didn’t look miraculous. He was up and walking and ever so glad that the car was a real race car complete with all the safety bits, a street car would’ve never survived. He’d already seen the news reports about his brush with death.

It had all been caught on camera, of course. However, it was very unsettling to see the car disintegrate around him on impact.

The accident had felt slower when it was happening. If he looked closely at the footage on the news, or the web as it was everywhere, he could make out the air shield. There was a slight ripple, and anyone who knew what they were looking for would see it.

He should’ve done a better job with the magic, then the car would’ve survived and he wouldn’t be here, although that would’ve raised some eyebrows. He stretched as he got of the bed. Why they made hospital beds so uncomfortable he didn’t know. But if he stayed in one position too long his back ached.

Must be time for another little walk—he wasn’t supposed to be overdoing it.

He shoved a cap onto hide his hair as he could do without being recognized. He didn’t really be wanting to be smiling at people when all he wanted to do was get released so he could finish recovering at home, and get back to filming next week. They’d be doing all the bits they could without him. He’d put money down that he wouldn’t be allowed to drive again.

What no one had given him yet was an answer on what had gone wrong with the car. Not that there was much car to analyze.

He shuffled toward the door of his room trying to find the usual spring to his step, but his hamstrings were still hurting. What he needed was a swim, a stretch and a massage. He needed to be moving not lying around.

Keep moving.

The cafeteria was three floors down and while he could’ve ordered anything he wanted to his room the whole point was to get up and get out of that little bland box. There was only so much TV he could watch.

A nurse smiled as he walked by. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just taking my morning stroll like the doctor ordered.” The doc had told him to slow down, but he didn’t know the difference between a human and an Albah so Finley wasn’t putting too much weight in his recommendation. He’d called his half-brother though. Julian had asked to see his charts and scans and then told him he was lucky, he wasn’t sure any amount of magic could fix a severed spinal cord. Good thing it wasn’t severed, just bruised. He was an expert in reducing swelling and bruising, but that was about as far as his healing skills went. Julian could heal burns and fix bones and bullet wounds too now. He was a real doctor.

Because he’d spoken to Julian he was sure that their father was now aware of the details of his injury. Finley hadn’t called his father yet. He wasn’t well enough for that. Some bruises he couldn’t heal.

Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. He felt a hundred. Not thirty-six.

Hopefully they wouldn’t kill his character off, although if they ever decided too he’d given them some excellent footage. The thought made him smile as he stabbed the elevator button.

Could he be bothered heading to the cafeteria?

He glanced back toward his room and his skin crawled at the idea of going back so soon. He’d made the effort to get up and get dressed and he was going to buy himself a coffee. His hand slid to his pocket. He hadn’t forgotten his wallet.

The doors opened and he got in. He leaned against the wall as the elevator made its way down to the next floor. A few of people got in. Two in scrubs, and a woman with bright red hair who was holding her arm across her body. Her gaze flicked over him finishing on his face. He should look away, but couldn’t, so he smiled.

Her lips turned up. “What are you in for?”

Truth or lie? “Car accident.”

She nodded. The elevator stopped and the two nurses got out. No one else got in. The elevator trundled its way toward the next floor and the cafeteria.

“You?” He asked mostly to be polite. She was pretty, but he was in no shape to be doing anything more than wash down painkillers. This walk to get coffee might’ve been ambitious.

“Broken arm…waiting to see the doctor this afternoon and then I get a cast.”

“So how come you are escaping?”

“I’m need of cake.” She said as if it were the most logical thing. Who he was he to judge?

“Coffee.” He sighed as the doors opened and he realized there was still a long walk to the cafeteria. “I should’ve ordered room service.”

She offered him her good arm. “Come on.”

He should go back to his room, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He gritted his teeth and smiled.

“I’m Alina.”

“Finely.” Now she’d know him. She didn’t break step. Maybe she didn’t know him. He relaxed a little. “So how did you break your arm?”

“Ice skating. Triple axel, missed the landing. Broke my arm to save my face.”

“Good trade.”

“I thought so until the doctor decided to fill my arm full of titanium plates and screws. Today’s the first day I felt like getting up, so I’m making the most of it. You don’t look injured.”

He gave a dark laugh. “Bruised my spine. Lucky to have walked away from it.” The weightlessness was with him for a moment. The spin. Now he could put it together with the footage he’d seen. It made him ill. If he hadn’t realized, or he hadn’t have forced everything he had into the magic. He drew in a sharp breath.

She glanced at him again.

This time he noticed the blue of her eyes. Blue with that tell-tale ring of silver. She was Albah. Had to be. While her hair was obviously dyed, it suited her, and she wouldn’t be the first Albah to hide their most obvious trait of pale blond hair. He glanced at her ears, but her ears were uncurled. She couldn’t be Albah. He knew humans could have blue eyes, but the silver…he looked away before she thought he was staring.

“Your accident wouldn’t happen to have been on the news, would it?” This time there was pointed curiosity in her tone.

His heart sank. He didn’t want people seeing him like this. His reputation would never recover if he was seen shuffling around the hospital like an old man. He considered lying but thought better of it, if she’d seen the footage then she’d also seen his picture and he wasn’t that well-disguised. “Yeah.”

“They made it sound like your injuries were severe and that you’d be in hospital for weeks and here you are sneaking out of your room for coffee.”

The bruising had been severe. He hadn’t been able to move his legs for the first twenty-four hours. If he hadn’t spent hours inside of himself working magic, he wouldn’t be up and about now. The effort of healing himself has left him exhausted, and with a rather deeper graze that it had been to start with. He’d needed blood for the spell and he’d have killed for some silver. He was so out of practice that even little things took more effort than they should.

“They got you on good painkillers?”

“Apparently not as good as yours.” She was acting like she wasn’t in pain at all. He knew how bad broken bones hurt.

She grinned. “Room 2014, I’ll hook you up.” She winked, but he wasn’t entirely sure she was joking. He wasn’t sure about her at all and yet he’d accepted her offered arm as though they were old friends.

Sitting down in the cafeteria was sweet relief. Alina ordered and then somehow managed to convince someone to bring it to the table. He didn’t know if he was up to carrying anything, and she certainly wasn’t. He was pretty much useless. Yet she sat with him anyway.

“So, you actually drive the car in the TV show?”

She wasn’t acting like a fan, but it was the last thing he wanted to talk about and the memory made the room turn and his stomach bounce. “Yeah.”

He wished he’d stayed in his room.