He felt like an idiot talking to the beast as if he were his roommate, but after Ned passed the place seemed too damned quiet without a bit of conversation now and then. Even if it was one-sided most of the time.
Sam yawned, then shook his head in a motion that sent his droopy ears and loose jowls flapping, then he loped behind as Asher dropped the truck’s keys on the kitchen table and carried the Breedmate further inside.
Options for where to keep her for the night were as few as the accommodations were meager. There was the couch in the living room, but the relic was made of old, nubby fabric embellished by two long pieces of electrical tape that ran the length of the worn-out cushion. He knew from experience the thing was far from comfortable, and besides, half the time Sam had commandeered it for his bed.
The guest rooms, while plentiful between the two down the hall and the pair of long, roomy bunkhouses in a connected wing out back were empty but for some half-completed furniture projects Ned had given up on years before he lost his eyesight and assorted junk the old man had been hanging on to and Asher hadn’t yet gotten around to purging.
Which meant the only viable place to offer was the master bedroom, his room since Ned had been gone.
No need to flick on the lamp switch. His vision was even more acute in the dark, and a blast of incandescent light might only cause more pain for the brain-injured woman in his care. He placed her on top of the thin blanket, making sure her head came down gently on the pillow.
Her contented sigh as she settled back onto the bed tugged at something rusty and unused deep inside him. Empathy and compassion had never been his strong suits, given his background. Spending a few years around Ned and the animals at the ranch had loosened him up a bit, but he was still a piss-poor choice when it came to looking after someone.
Too bad for this female, because for the time being—until he had arrangements in place for her safety and protection somewhere else—he was all she had.
His gaze strayed to the Breedmate mark under her chin. No wonder he’d missed it earlier. The darkening, fist-shaped bruise that rode her jaw line all but concealed the small birthmark now. He’d been murderous enough when he spotted the three big men beating a defenseless victim. To understand now that the intended was a Breedmate? Asher’s rage rocketed through him as fresh as ever, and all-consuming.
As much as he wanted to assure himself that none of what happened tonight concerned him, there was a part of him that twitched with the urge to find the bastard who’d called for her death and deliver justice the way only someone like him could. He’d gone easy on the three gangsters. When he found their boss, he’d rip his fucking head off and make it into a hood ornament for Ned’s old Chevy.
He had a feeling he would actually take pleasure in that killing. And he’d do it bare-handed, skin-on-skin, because he was sure that man’s terror and agony would be a memory he’d relish reliving over and over.
Heavy mouth-breathing behind him clued him in that Sam was parked inside the bedroom. He turned toward the dog and found Sam’s large head tilted in curiosity at the woman in Asher’s bed. His brown eyes seemed to hold a note of surprise as much as they seemed to question.
Asher’s mouth quirked in an unwilling smile. “If that’s meant to be a commentary on how long it’s been since we’ve had female company at the house, I’m well aware of the answer. Never.”
Sam whined in response, high-pitched and pleading.
Asher grunted. “Yeah, she’s pretty, but don’t get attached. She’s not staying.”
Whether he was talking to the hound or to himself, he wasn’t sure. Either way, after seeing to it that she was comfortable and well enough to make it through the night, his first priority would be getting on the phone to arrange for a new, better place for her to recuperate. Preferably as far away from Vegas—and him—as possible.
Rounding up the dog, the two of them headed out of the room. After letting Sam out to the yard to do his business, Asher hit Ned’s old medicine cabinet in the hallway bathroom and riffled through the stale contents. A box of over-the-counter pain relievers hadn’t been opened since the time of Ned’s passing. They expired a month ago, but they were better than nothing.
Armed with the pills, a glass of water, and a compress he filled with ice from the kitchen, he returned to the bedroom.
As he suspected, she was still out cold. Her face was pale around her cheeks and mouth. So pale that for a moment he wondered if he’d underestimated the seriousness of her injuries. He’d only witnessed the tail end of her ordeal at the hands of her assailants. The large knot on her head was a big concern, but she could be suffering from broken bones or worse for all he knew.
Scowling, he set the glass and other items on the nightstand, then took a seat on the edge of mattress to take a closer look at her. She had so many scrapes and contusions, it was hard to decide where to start.
He resisted the urge to feel her bare forehead and check for fever, focusing instead on her breathing. It was soft and slow, but unlabored. As gently as possible, he laid the cold compress against her bruised cheek and temple, using a spare pillow to keep it in place while he let his gaze travel the length of her clothed body.
The only way to know if she had wounds he wasn’t seeing was to touch her.
He was fairly certain based on how determinedly she’d run earlier that her body was largely unharmed, but adrenaline was a tricky thing. He’d seen pain in her eyes at various points tonight and he wanted to be sure the tough little scrapper wasn’t in worse shape than he already feared.
Starting at her ankles, he slid his hands gently over her denim-clad legs, moving slowly upward and concentrating on the lines of the bones as he went. She was small, but leanly muscled and athletic. He’d expected her to be scrawny based on her petite frame, but as his hands and fingers moved over her hips and other hidden curves concealed beneath her clothing, he was tormented with a barrage of mental imaginings of what she might actually look like without the oversized garments intended to disguise the woman inside.
Bad idea, letting his mind take the wheel down that road.
But he was already picturing her in his head. Already wondering how soft her impossibly perfect skin would feel under his fingertips, under his mouth . . . under his naked and thrusting body.
Fuck.
He gritted his teeth and forced the fantasy out of his mind. Best he forgo the rest of his examination of her. If she had broken bones or other problems, he’d just have to wait until she was conscious and could tell him what was wrong. Right now, all he needed was for her to open those warm sherry eyes and sit up to take the pain medicine he brought for her.
“Zoe, can you hear me?” She moaned quietly in response, her brows pinching in a frown. “Open your eyes for me. It’s time to wake up.”
When her head started to thrash on the pillow, he reached for the dislodged compress. At the same moment her face swiveled toward him again, landing her cheek against his open palm.
