Blood Trinity (Belador #1)(86)

Brutus ran over and jumped up on the sofa next to her, where they normally sat to listen to a television show.

Guilt started eating at her even though she’d laid a towel over this Vyan’s shoulder. Those lightning bolts had cut his shoulder and stabbed his chest. He was still bleeding.

If she didn’t stop the bleeding, he might die.

Then what would she do? How would she explain any of this to the police?

What about the rock? If the rock was full of magic, she could use it to heal him. She lifted the rock and said, “Fix this guy’s wounds.” Nothing happened. “Make him healthy.” Still nothing. “Make him go away?”

His body didn’t move an inch.

Dang, dang, dang! She’d have to do something about that bleeding herself or he was going to die.

She got up and eased over a little at a time until she was next to him, then dropped down on her knees with Brutus at her side. “I have no idea what to do with lightning bolt cuts. I need bandages and disinfectant.”

A first aid kit appeared on the other side of her. “Now you want to help?” she asked the rock, exasperated.

Inside the kit, she found everything clearly marked. Using a pair of scissors in shaking hands, she carefully cut away his T-shirt until she had the entire thing off his chest. Skin around the shoulder injury and on the side of his chest was red and swollen. She tried to be careful and not hurt him when she dressed the wounds.

By the time she was finished, sweat lined her brow, but her hands had stopped shaking. She cleaned up the mess and deposited everything in the kitchen, then went looking for a blanket to cover him with. Not that her old house was cold in the middle of August, but anyone who went through serious injuries would be chilled from a shock reaction.

Humans would be. Was this guy human?

Her faithful Brutus hung close the entire time, giving her a sense of protection. She kept the rock close, too, but when she reached the living room with the blanket hooked inside one arm she paused before putting the rock in her baggy pants pocket so she could have a clear look at this Vyan from standing above him.

The two braids running along the sides of his angular face gave him a dangerous rogue look. His nut brown skin, shoulder-length black hair and strange accent made her think Mediterranean, but the shape of his eyes and thick lashes hinted at Chinese ancestry somewhere in his background. He sure as heck wasn’t your everyday guy.

But that beautiful chest of his could belong to a fireman or a soldier or a guy who just enjoyed working out in the gym.

She’d never been so close to perfection in a male body, or to many men at all.

But this one carried a sword that looked older than time and fought lightning bolts.

Sliding the rock into her pocket, she shook out the blanket and covered him up to his neck. When she reached to pull a pillow off the couch, her gaze stumbled at the sword lying on the floor. She slipped the pillow under his head, then walked around the room, closing the curtains just in case anyone looked in.

The sword rested too close to him even if he was out cold.

She tiptoed over and reached down to see if she could lift the huge thing, and a sizzle of energy ran along the handle as if in warning.

Yanking her hand back, she scooted around his supine body and turned toward her bedroom, planning to blockade herself inside.

A sound from the floor stopped her.

She stood dead still, heart racing, then looked over her shoulder at her patient.

His chest moved with soft breaths, less pained than before she’d bandaged him. She must be tired to think he’d made that sound. He was too wiped out to move. “Come on, Brutus.”

Vyan stayed perfectly still until the young woman was out of the room. When a door down the hallway closed, he opened his eyes.

He had kept his eyes shut when he’d awakened at hearing her close by, telling her dog to be careful around him. He’d almost laughed when she’d tried to get the stone to heal him, though he would have appreciated being mended at the time, since the cuts in his body burned.

That was only until this angel had ignored her fear and put her gentle hands on him. He tried to remember the last time a woman had touched him with care. Something deep inside his chest was unleashed, a yearning for what he’d once had many years ago.

Why was that angel caught in this dangerous circle of trouble?

Lifting his head, he looked all around until he saw his sword lying a couple feet away. Close enough to reach.

He would protect his angel, and the best way to do that would be by getting that rock out of her hands.





TWENTY-SEVEN




By the time Trey’s house was in view a half block away, sweat gleamed across Evalle’s face and upper body, and not just from the heat still rolling through Atlanta at midnight. Her skin pebbled with a feverish chill.

The back of her leg was on fire. Muscles twitched and curled in her body.

She fought the urge to change into a beast. Every instinct was telling her she’d heal from the wound if she did, but making that mistake in view of the team would seal her fate with the Tribunal.

She kept hobbling along the sidewalk and chanced a quick look at Storm. He hadn’t said another word after she’d forbidden him from using any majik to help her. His long fingers were balled into fists.

He must have felt her eyes, because his gaze cut over to her. “You don’t have to be in this much pain. I could ease it before you get around the team.”