Black Magic (Alpha Pack #1.5)(9)

"A voice? What kind?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "Could've been my imagination."

"Going by the odds so far tonight? I'd guess it wasn't. Was it a male voice?"

"Yes, but I didn't recognize him," she said thoughtfully.

"What did he say?"

"He said the Sorcerer-you-wouldn't be able to hide from him for long."

His eyes widened. "Why the hell would he talk to you and not directly to me? I-shit, never mind," he spat. "I know why."

When no explanation seemed to be forthcoming, she waved a hand. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Later." At her scowl, he patted her leg. "I promise."

"Fine." She sighed, rolling her eyes. Squeezing information out of the CIA had to be easier than getting it from Kalen.

A few minutes later, they pulled up at the Wallace Motel, which the locals affectionately called the Wall-Banger. Reportedly for good reason, though she wouldn't know. She'd never had a desire or a good reason to stay at the aged motel, until now.

Kalen ran inside and got them a room, then returned to the car less than five minutes later with two card keys in hand. "Room 121, on the end."

They parked and hurried inside, eager to get out of sight. Kalen flipped on the light and then closed the door firmly behind them and engaged the locks. Without wasting one second, he moved to the center of the small room and closed his eyes, holding his arms out from his sides. He chanted a few words, and then dropped his arms.

"It's done. The wards are in place, so we should be safe until we can reach Nick or one of the team."

"Why don't we just use this phone?" She gestured to the one on the night stand.

"We can't risk using public phones to discuss our business," he said. "The lines aren't secure."

"Oh, right." She felt like a fool. "I should've known that."

"No big deal. You're used to patching us up, not being involved in the action." Stepping close, he squeezed her hand. "Let's go in the bathroom and see if we can't get your cuts cleaned out. Don't want them to get infected."

"Sure." The word emerged as a croak. Lord he was standing so close, smelled so freaking fantastic. She wanted to wallow in him, wrap him around her like a blanket.

Instead she settled for being nursed. Quite a change for a doctor, and she didn't hate the attention. He led her into the tiny bathroom, positioned her next to the sink, and unwrapped a complimentary bar of soap. Next, he grabbed a plain white wash cloth and turned the water on warm, wetting it.

"This place is shabby, but it's clean," he observed.

"Thank God. I'd hate to avoid being killed by whatever that beast was, only to be brought down by some weird bacteria I caught at the Wall-Banger."

For the first time, he laughed, and the timbre of the husky sound shot straight to her toes. And other places, too. She stared at him, transfixed by how his full-fledged smile transformed a tragically beautiful face into a stunning, drop-dead, cream her panties one.

"The Wall-Banger?" he repeated with another laugh.

She blinked, attempting to focus. "Um, yeah. That's what the locals call this dump. They rent rooms by the hour, thus the nickname."

"That's too funny. Here, let me see your hands."

Pulse racing, she held them out, palms up. They were abraded from her baseball player slide, the skin angry and raw.

"Not too much blood," he observed. "Mostly a lot of dirt."

Taking one wrist, he moved her hand under the water, letting the warm stream wash away the loose grime. Then he lathered the soap with his own hands and gently began to wash hers. She hissed at the sting and he murmured soothing words about how brave she was, both before and now. Coddled her. Nobody had done that for her since her dad when she was little.

But from Kalen, the action took on a whole different intimacy.

Whether he noticed how the tiny room seemed to close in she wasn't certain. He simply worked slowly and carefully, until her hands were clean and patted dry. They didn't look so bad now.

"The scratches will fade some by tomorrow, but . . ." He trailed off, frowning at the small wounds. Before she could ask what was wrong, he whispered another of his incantations.

To her amazement, the scratches faded until they were almost nothing. "Oh my God! How-you're a Healer?"

"No. I can do small patch-up jobs and take away some pain, but that's all. My healing talent is nowhere near Zander's level, not even in the same ball park. And I can't patch up myself," he said, gesturing to his own bruised face.

Zander Cole, one of the wolf shifters, was the team's Healer, and a highly valuable one at that. He was capable of healing extensive, life-threatening injuries-though at great personal cost to himself.

"But they don't hurt anymore," she enthused, wiggling her fingers. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "Let's see what we can do about the cut on your shoulder. Turn around for me." She did, and he sucked in a breath. "This is a bit uglier than your hands. I need for you to take off your shirt. Is that okay?"

She nodded. He might be the new guy on the team, but she trusted him with her life. Hell, he'd already saved her butt, so what did she have to lose? She grabbed the hem of her red tank top, but when she tried to lift her arms, her left shoulder screamed in protest.