The pig appeared. It snorted out a satisfied plume of smoke that curled around its head and then drifted toward theceiling.
Next to the pig, stood Bathin. Bathin did not look happy. As a matter of fact, he looked a littleshaken.
I did not care. Because Bathin had his shoulder propped under Ryder’s arm, his hand holding him firmly around thewaist.
“You sent the dragon after me?” Bathin asked. “Thedragon? Do you know how much noise it makes in the…you know what? Never mind. If you ever do that again, Delaney Reed, I will make youpay.”
“I’ve already paid. Myra’s paid too. Hold up your end of the bargain next time,Bathin.”
I wasn’t listening to his threatsanyway.
Ryder was unconscious. “Bring him to the bedroom.” I rushed over and touched Ryder’s face. Cold. Touched his neck, pressed for apulse.
There. Strong and steady. Some of the fear in my stomach unclenched. I could breathe again, could think again. “Move it, Bathin. Now. Thatway.”
Bathin rolled his eyes but didn’targue.
In the distance I was aware of Myra talking to Jean, was aware of Spud barking like crazy and rubbing on the dragon while the dragon stared at the demon like he was something it would enjoyeating.
In the distance I could hear someone singing about silver bells. But everything in me was tuned into Ryder, all my senses, all myfocus.
He wasalive.
Unconscious. Blood, sticky and thick, streaked from the hairline above his left eyebrow down hischeek.
He was bundled in snow gear: heavy coat and gloves, layered shirts beneath, snow pants and heavyboots.
His clothes were damp, either from when he’d been lying out in the snow when we were on the phone, or maybe before that, when he helped the mom andkids.
Bathin laid him on the bed, gently enough it surprisedme.
“He’s too cold,” the demon said almost as if he were talking to himself. “Has a lump on the side of his head, but that wound’s not serious. Get him warm and he’ll befine.”
“You get a medical certificate from Hells R Us?” I pushed at his shoulder so I could move around him and get in the bed to take care of Ryder. It was like pushing a steel building. He was built like a concretemixer.
He’d once told me he could take any form he wanted. It only made sense he’d chosen more muscles than a barbarian under that white button-downshirt.
“I’ve seen a lot of people on death’s doorstep,” he said. “I do my best wheeling and dealing in their time of desperation and need. When they have nothing left tolose.”
He stood back, crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s not going todie.”
I was listening, but working fast to get Ryder’s boots unlaced, pulled off. His socks were dry–that was good. I took them off anyway, then his snow pants and the thermals he wore beneaththem.
I rubbed my palms over his thighs, warm, muscular and strong with a long bruise spreading down his left hip. Then I stroked down his legs to his thick, firm calves, ankles, and checked his toes, cupping my hands over thembriefly.
No frostbite. No breaks. Nowounds.
He started shivering, which was a good sign. I dragged all the blankets and the down comforter over him, then scrambled off the bed to dig out two more blankets from the top shelf of hiscloset.
Myra was suddenly next to the bed, a warm washcloth in her hand and a First Aid kit open on the bedsidetable.
She gave me the cloth and I cleaned the blood off his face, felt for the bump Bathin had told me about. Left side, but the bleeding hadstopped.
Taking off his coat and shirts revealed more of his skin, and it took everything I had not to just strip and curl up besidehim.
I wanted to be close to his heartbeat, drown in the scent of him, be captured in hisheat.
I wanted to touch him, wrap around him, make him understand he was undeniablymine.
