Possessing the Witch. Elle James
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and then pulling back. She still wanted him and—damn it—he was injured, practically a prisoner in her bed until he could get around on his own.
Selene sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to get a grip, go back in there and dress his wound. The sooner he was well, the sooner he’d be out of her bed, her apartment and her life.
As she filled the basin with fresh, clean water, mixed more of the magical poultice and grabbed another clean cloth, she squared her shoulders and called herself a fool for falling into bed with a stranger.
With her mental pep talk fresh on her mind, she entered her bedroom.
Gryph lay on the bed, the sheet covering all the right places but it was tented.
By the goddess.
Selene nearly dropped the basin. Her hands shook so badly and her body burned, craving to be beneath the sheet sporting the evidence of his desire.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“If I don’t, your wound will get infected and you could die.”
“So?” he said. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I owe you human kindness. I’d take care of anyone injured as badly as you.”
“Anyone,” he said softly. “Selene, what happened a moment ago—”
“Don’t.” She set the basin on the nightstand. “Let’s forget it ever did.”
“Problem is...I can’t.” He nodded toward the tented sheet.
“You can and will.” She refused to glance at his groin, focusing on the injured shoulder. “It should never have happened.”
“Because I’m different?”
“No, because I am.”
He frowned and opened his mouth to say something else, but the cell phone in the kitchen rang, saving Selene from further argument. She didn’t want to explain why she was different. How would any man like to know she could read his thoughts? What if she could project her thoughts? What if all of Gryph’s desire could be a manifestation of what Selene was feeling? Her gift was being able to connect to other’s minds. A telepathy of emotions and images.
She ran from the room and grabbed her cell phone.
“We need you at the hospital,” Deme said without preamble.
“Why?”
“The victim is awake and we don’t know for how long. Hurry.”
“I can’t leave right now.”
“Brigid is already on her way. She should be there to pick you up in less than two minutes.” Her sister sighed. “I don’t like you being alone in that apartment with that man.”
“I’m fine.” Selene’s gaze shifted to Gryph. “He’s not going to hurt me.”
“We’ll know more as soon as the woman can tell us. We need you here for that, in case she can’t speak.”
“But—”
“Come, or I’ll tell Brigid about your guest.”
Her hand clenched around the phone. Her sister wouldn’t understand Selene’s trust in a stranger. And for that matter, Brigid was more likely to throw a fireball first, ask questions later. With the threat of letting Brigid in on her rescue, Selene had no choice. “Fine. I’ll come.”
Selene clicked the phone off and scooted back to her bedroom, grabbing her jeans from the floor. “I have to go.”
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.” She jammed her legs into her jeans and pulled them up over her hips. Her hands hesitated on the robe. “You won’t go anywhere, will you? You’re not healed enough.”
His gaze met hers, the heat of those golden eyes warming her body all over again. He gave a brief nod. “I’ll stay until I’m better.”
Selene dropped the robe, without breaking visual contact.
His golden eyes flared, his lips tightened and a low, rumbling purr rose from his chest.
Then she pulled a T-shirt over her head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I don’t know why I had to come.” Selene couldn’t help worrying about the stranger she was forced to leave behind in the bed, back in her apartment. Alone, injured and sexy as hell.
“I’m sure Deme had good reason. Probably because you can read minds better than any of us.” Brigid parked her Harley in the visitors parking area outside the emergency room and kicked the stand down to hold up the big machine.
Selene climbed off, pulling the helmet over her head.
In her biker leathers and with her badass attitude, Brigid was hard enough to stand up against. To keep Brigid from asking questions or entering her apartment, Selene left without inviting her sister in, claiming they’d better hurry. Her Chicago police special detective sister didn’t need to know about the man. She’d go ballistic, possibly even fling a fireball or two, if she even knew Selene had him in her apartment.
In the dark hours just before dawn, Selene and Brigid slipped in through the emergency entrance to the hospital. They headed straight for the elevators and the ICU floor where the injured woman was being cared for.
As they rode up in the elevator, Selene let her guard down and stretched her thoughts out, gathering in emotions, thoughts and fears of the people in the hospital. Most were asleep, some dreaming, some having nightmares. Those who lay awake in their beds worried about their loved ones or whether they would live to see another day.
The overall feeling was one of worry and sadness, with one exception. A dark malevolence slithered through Selene’s thoughts, skimming at the edges, slipping in and out like a thief. One moment the darkness took shape, the next it pushed her away, making her head hurt with the pressure.
A hand on her elbow made her open her eyes.
Brigid stared at her, her brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”
Selene hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes. Nor had she realized the elevator door had opened onto the ICU floor. She blinked and forced a smile. “Yeah.” Then she stepped out onto the highly polished tiles, rolling the strain from her shoulders. Surely she’d imagined the darkness. “Let’s get this over with.” That way she could get out of this hospital and back to the man called Gryph, lying semiconscious in her bed.
As she rounded the corner of the elevator bank, Selene saw Deme and Cal, Deme’s fiancé, standing at the nurses’ station, consulting with a doctor.
Deme looked up, the strain in her face easing slightly when she recognized Selene and Brigid. “I’m glad you came.” She introduced them to the doctor, who immediately excused himself, leaving the four of them standing beside the nurses’ station. Deme tipped her head to the right. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk. I could use some coffee.” She led them back to the elevator and down to the cafeteria that remained open 24/7.
“Was the woman able to identify her attacker?” Brigid asked.
“The victim’s name is Amanda Grant,” Cal said.
Selene leaned forward, her breath lodged in her chest. “What did she say?”
Deme’s gaze connected with hers and she continued without looking away. “We had a sketch artist draw from her description. Show her what we got, Cal.”
Cal Black, the tall, handsome Chicago police officer, pulled a white page from the folder he held and handed it to Brigid.