"Doona fight me."
With effort, she raised one hand to the bag to draw it away, but he stayed her arm. "No' yet."
"Why not?" Rain began to mist over them.
"You've had enough . . . frights for the night."
Exactly how hideous was he?
He started feeling her head through the silk bag. Checking for injuries? Finding none on her head, he gently swept his hands over her ankles, her calves, even up her thighs. She tensed but was too weak to resist him.
He hissed out a curse when he got to her left shoulder. Dislocated. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. Then, seeming to think better of it, he adjusted his grip to what felt like his thumb and forefinger. With just two fingers and the tiniest movement, he jerked down. She gritted her teeth as her shoulder popped back into place.
When the sharp pain receded to a dull ache, she exhaled in relief, her eyelids growing heavy. "Th-thank you." Was that her slurred voice? How much blood had she lost? Why couldn't she think?
"Brave," he rasped.
When he lifted the skirt of her gown, sodden with her blood, she couldn't fight him, had to believe he was only checking her injury anyway. It was deep, excruciating.
He shuddered against her. At the sight of it? She could only imagine what it must look like.
She thought he was drawing off his shirt. A rip sounded. After a second she realized he was securing his balled-up shirt against her wound with a sleeve tied tightly around her waist. Smart.
But was it too little, too late? Without a hospital and a transfusion . . . "You think I'm about to eat it? Be honest."
He froze. "What?"
The mist turned to pounding rain, soaking her. "Pretty sure . . . I'm bleeding out."
"Dying? Nay. Nay." Without warning, he cupped the back of her head with one massive hand and her bottom with the other. She tried to muster the strength to resist, but then this man began to rock with her-as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "I've got you," he grated. "You will no' die."
She might be wary of him; her body wasn't. It melted against his.
"That's it, my lass." He pulled her closer.
"You're s-so warm." Despite all her turmoil and all her fear, she knew she was about to black out in this stranger's embrace.
When he said, "Rest, Chloe, everything'll be all right," she was too exhausted to doubt him.
Blackness was clawing at her. "You'll keep me safe?"
The last thing she heard before she passed out: "No one will ever hurt you again."
Chapter Ten
Will had tried-he'd truly tried-to hate her just for who she was.
None doing. When his brother's SUV skidded to a stop just feet from him, Will was cradling the unconscious girl as if she were the most treasured thing in the universe.
She'd been so brave, barely whimpering when he'd forced her arm back into its socket. She'd thanked him.
And then she'd uttered the most chilling words he'd ever heard: I think I'm bleeding out.
"How bad is she?" Munro asked as he drove them away, speeding toward the city.
"Bluidy bad!" Will had stopped the blood flow, but she was pale and cold. He reached for the heater control, blasting warm air over her damp skin. "I had to get past a dozen centaurs and ten Cerunnos to seize her. They were no' exactly gentle with her!"
She'd been passed among the centaurs and then to the Cerunnos like a sodding rugby ball. Each time she'd changed hands, he'd experienced fear as never before.
He inhaled, still struggling to rein in his beast. He'd always heard that nothing made it rise up like a mate in peril.
If she woke and saw him like this, the mortal would probably stroke out before he could ever get her to a healer. Their immortal enemies cowered in the face of the beast. A young human might never recover from the sight.
He'd leave the bag on for now.
"And where the hell were you?" Will snapped at his brother. Right before Will had taken off after his mate, Munro had told him to meet in the woods if they got separated.
"Fighting my way out of a war to rescue you!" It was only then that Will noticed Munro was covered in blood and gore as well. "It's pandemonium back there. You were the spark on a powder keg. When the Vertas realized you were stealing the girl, they rose up and battled the Pravus back. Kind of like a real alliance-who knew we had it in us? By the by, remind me never to tangle with Malkom Slaine." He whistled low.
Chloe began shivering even harder. "We need to get to a witch healer. Drive to Andoain." Will couldn't believe that he was demanding his brother take them to Louisiana's infamous coven, the bloody H.O.W.
"We just cost them a serious loss of face. They'll hex us on sight."
They both shuddered.
"Besides, others will be waiting for us there. Brother, you ken this girl's the most valuable asset in the Lore right now? They're no' going to just forget about her."
Because she was Webb's daughter. The beast inside him didn't seem to give a fuck about that. Will's newly recovered Instinct didn't.
Munro asked, "What about a mortal hospital?"
"They'll be expecting us to go there. Besides, I doona trust mortal quacks. Sawbones, all of them."
"They've come a long way in the last century, Will."
"She might be past their reach. As much as I hate to say this, she needs mystical means. We head to Loa's." Loa was a voodoo priestess with a curiosity shop in the Quarter. "She sells witch potions. She might have a healing tonic."
Munro sighed. "Music to my ears." Loa was a comely one, with abundant curves and coffee-and-cream skin. She tended to show off both in revealing garments. He cast Will a sidelong glance. "You've had a change of heart about your mate?"
"When I realized who her father was, I imagined her to be like him, but I think she's . . . good. She talked about being a soccer player."
"Football, huh? Is that how your female got those scars?" She had surgical scars on one wrist, an ankle, and her right knee.
"Doona be looking at her legs!" Will yanked her frock down, accidentally ripping the lower half clean away, leaving her in only the top of her gown, the makeshift bandage, and her sleek black underwear. He took deep breaths to tamp down his beast. Inhale. Exhale. Precarious moments passed.
"Good man. You got control, heading back to normal. Well, relatively. I think you can risk taking her bag off. You must be dying to see what she looks like."
I'm going to behold my mate's face for the first time. He nervously clawed through the bag's tie.
With a shaking hand, he began to draw the material away . . . revealing her face.
While Will worked to catch his breath, Munro glanced over. "Ach, and there she is. You lucky sod."
Her damp hair was sun-streaked, cropped close to her head. Her lips were plump. She sported freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her cheekbones were prominent, like a model's might be, but with her pointed chin, bee-stung mouth, and short locks, she looked like a wee pixie.