Raven swallowed hard. He was too big for her to carry. Dragging him would be her only option.
She hooked her hands under his arms and heaved, gritting her teeth as she tried to pull him up the incline. Deadweight. He was ridiculously heavy, and she barely managed to move him a few inches before her legs trembled from the effort.
“Leave me. You should not be here.”
“Well, I am.”
“Go. It’s not safe.” His deep voice rolled through her like thunder. A warning.
She looked around in alarm, wondered if maybe whoever had done this to him was still around waiting to finish the job. She pulled harder. “Come on, dammit,” she ordered him to move, to help her. She adjusted her grip and tried again.
“Leave me.” As if speaking those two words had taken the last of his strength, he lost consciousness again.
“Great. Boss me around and then pass out.” Dragging a half-conscious, six-foot-something man to her Land Rover was not something Raven had ever trained for. “Jesus, you’re heavy.”
It took her full body weight to leverage him off the ground. His arm hooked around her shoulder. His head dipped forward; breath hot against her skin. She ignored the way it made her shiver.
The wind howled through the cliffs, whipping past them like a warning. She ignored it. Focused on the impossible task in front of her. Inch by inch, she dragged him away from the cliff’s edge, her muscles screaming with effort.
Focus.
One step at a time.
By the time she reached the vehicle, her lungs burned, and her hands were raw from gripping his jacket. She yanked openthe back door, maneuvered him as best she could, and—through sheer, adrenaline-fueled desperation—shoved the seat back as far as it would go and hauled him inside.
His head lolled, his chest rising and falling too slowly. A gust of wind slammed into her, forcing her to grab the car door for balance. Raven glanced back toward the cliffs, something cold curling in her chest.
The aurora had shifted again, its colors pulsing brighter, almost like they were watching.
She shuddered, jumped into the driver’s seat, and threw the car into gear.
She needed to get to the hospital near Durness.
Now.
A fresh wave of unease crawled over her skin. Something wasn’t right.
She shook it off and gripped the wheel.Of course something wasn’t right. She was dragging a dying man into her nice, clean car.
The tires kicked up dust and gravel as she took the winding road down from the cliffs at dangerous speeds. If she hurried, she could make it there in less than thirty minutes.Fuck. Will he bleed out before then?
He shifted in the seat, a quiet sound leaving him—half groan, half breath.
Her fingers tightened around the wheel. He was dying. Based on the amount of blood covering every part of his gorgeous, naked body, the slashes and cuts on his back and shoulder, the grievous wounds on hisneck…He should be dead already. Why wasn’t he dead? He had to be one tough as nails, hardcore son-of-a-bitch. That’s how.
She’d met guys like that before, too. Didn’t want anything to do with any of them ever again. No matter how sexy he was. How unbelievably strong the pull she felt to care for him. Protect him.
Save him. She had to save him.Maybe, if she saved his life, she could stop feeling guilty about Billy. Forgive herself, and him. And maybe she just had a knack for being in the wrong damn place at the wrong damn time.
God had a fucking mean sense of humor.
Her passenger groaned—moaned—something, and it sounded like pure, raw agony.
“It’s okay,” she said, unsure why she was trying to comfort him. “Just hang on, all right? You’re gonna be fine. I’ve got you. I’m taking you to the hospital. You’ll be okay, just stay with me.”
A harsh groan left him, so soft she almost thought she imagined it. Until he spoke, his voice a deep, somber rumble that should be narrating an erotic audiobook. “You should have left me.”
Her stomach clenched. He was probably right. “Yeah, well, lucky for you, I have a bad habit of helping bad people.”
