Natural Evil (Elder Races #4.5)(8)

“Quiet. Eat with us?”

“Sure, why not,” said Jackson.

They unlatched the dining table from the wall and lowered it. She gestured for Jackson to slide around the L-shaped couch to sit. Then she took the end, so she could get out easily if needed. The suppers were typical diner fare and substantial, two fried chicken dinners with mashed potatoes and corn, and a pot roast stew with potatoes and vegetables. Dinner rolls filled a separate bag. She popped open two bottles of beer and set one in front of Jackson, the other at her place.

“Can he have more pain medication now?” Claudia asked.

Jackson checked his wristwatch. “If you can get him to take it. Wrap it in some of the bread and dunk it in a little gravy. If he won’t eat it, I can give him a shot.”

She stuffed a pill in a piece of bread and sopped it with rich, dark gravy. Then she held it to the dog’s nose. “Come on, Precious,” she murmured. “Eat the nums-nums, or Himself has to have a nasty old shot.”

The dog’s bitter-chocolate eyes narrowed on her in such disgust she had to grin.

“That really how you talk to him?” Jackson bit into a chicken leg and said around a full mouth, “Can’t believe the dog hasn’t bitten you yet.”

“I know,” she said. “Can’t believe it myself. Isn’t he great? Think I might have to get him a rhinestone collar. He’d look good in pink.” The Wyr snorted softly, but he made no move to take the morsel from her hand.

Why wouldn’t he take the medicine? She tried to think of what she would do in his position. She said to him telepathically, It’s okay to take the meds. I’m Special Forces, retired, I’m armed and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe. You don’t have to be in pain, and you don’t need to stay alert tonight.

Holding her gaze, he gently took the morsel from her fingers. He had to struggle to swallow it past bruised throat muscles, but he got it down.

Inexplicably his act of trust hit her hard, and her eyes grew damp. She rubbed the corner of his ear and said in a husky voice, “Thank you.”

When she slid into her seat, his head was near her feet. With a near-silent grunt, he shifted so that he could rest his chin on the toe of her shoe. When she felt that slight weight come down on her foot, she held herself so stiffly, her muscles started to ache in protest.

She hated it when her eyes leaked. She would rather be shot than cry. She had been shot before, so she knew what she was talking about. And he had made her teary twice in one day.

Goddamn dog.

Chapter Three

Law

He knew he needed to make some decisions soon but he figured making one was enough for this shithole of a day. Deciding to let go, trust the woman, and take the pain medication was it. It wasn’t like he could actually do much until he healed more, and the woman had saved his life. And he didn’t think she was the type of grandstanding idiot to claim she’d been Special Forces if she hadn’t been. She owned a gun and she knew how to use it.

Not many women became Green Berets. Of course, not many men did either. He liked what that said about her. Said she was strong, unusual.

He liked her scent too. She didn’t wear any perfumes, and her clothes had been laundered with scent-free soap. He breathed in as deeply as he could. She had a clean, healthy fragrance that held a hint of gun oil.

Actually, that was kinda hot. Although “hot” was a fairly hypothetical subject at the moment. Still, serious though his wounds might be, he was only hurt; he wasn’t dead.

The medication kicked in. It didn’t take his pain away. It just put it at a distance and stuffed his head full of cotton so he didn’t care so much. He ran down a list of his injuries. His body was one big bruise, but soft tissue healed quicker than bone, and his raw, abraded skin would be closed over by morning. The deeper damage to his throat and the other muscles from the two bullet wounds would take a bit longer.

He didn’t know about the broken ribs. Without access to high-end Powerful healing, he guessed they would knit in three or four days. Since he was recovering from so many injuries at once, the breaks might take longer. More like a week, maybe ten days.

Normally a week wasn’t long. Normally that amount of time might seem miraculously quick, compared to the healing time needed by the much more fragile races, such as humans or faeries.

But he didn’t have a week to recover. He had about as long as it took for word to get out that he hadn’t died. Not long at all.

He tried to think through his options. Exhaustion and the stuffed cotton in his head kept interfering, plus the woman and the man started talking as they ate. He focused on their conversation. He liked the woman’s voice too. It was strong, clear and confident. It suited her. She seemed pure in a way that had nothing to do with all the puppies and flowers and shit that came with youthful innocence. Her purity was sharper, brighter, he thought. It had been forged in a tough fire and was tempered with experience.

“Your ticket, driver’s license and registration are still sitting on my kitchen counter,” the male said.

“Thanks. I’ll get them later.”

He struggled to remember their names. Ah, that’s right, the vet was Jackson. The woman had told him her name was Claudia.

Claudia. He loved that name. It suited her. There was no shortening it without turning it into something totally ridiculous and alien, yet it was feminine without being too frilly. It was strong, like the rest of her.