Clasping the plant to her breast, she squealed and ran around him.His arms closed on air, and she made a triumphant path for the door and?—
Stepped on something oddly shaped and sharp.She yelped.Her ankle twisted.She fell, arms pinwheeling wildly.One wrist hit the tub.She reached for the floor with the other, and the heel of her hand met hard wood.Then the rest of her did.No time to scream.A step, a twist, a fall, air knocked out of her lungs, then she lay there still and silent, stunned, breathless for an eternity as the world slowed to a stop.
It sped up again as she finally dragged a breath into her lungs.
Hands were on her, lifting her up, holding her—strong yet gentle.“Good God.Good God, Sybil.What happened?I’m sorry.I’m so sorry.Where does it hurt?”
She rolled over, found herself cradled in Apollo’s arms, held fast against his naked, still wet body.And the pain almost didn’t matter.She almost didn’t notice the screeching in her wrist, the jarring of her body, and the throbbing in her ankle.But her foot made his hard muscle and warm, soft skin insignificant.Because it felt wet and cold and very, very wrong.
12
FRIENDS
She was bleeding.Sybil was bleeding and bruised and Apollo’s heart had turned into a wolf, howling and snarling with nowhere to run.
“I’m fine.”She laid a hand on his chest, but his wolf heart would not be still.
“You’re not.God, there’s blood all over the floor.”
She winced.“My foot hurts.”She twisted, trying to see the wound.
“A doctor.We need a doctor.”He carried her for the door.
“You’re naked!”
“Right.”He set her gently on the bed, unable to look at her foot, unable to look at her.He’d been playing a game, not listening to his damned brain, chasing after what he wanted—her.No matter the consequences.He dressed as quickly as he could, though his clothes strained at the seams.He likely looked indecent.Needed a waistcoat, a jacket.No time.
Sybil’s legs were drawn up and her skirts pooled around her hips on the bed as she inspected her ankle, the deep gash on her foot.She’d removed the useless shoe, and he brushed it aside, sitting beside her.His weight pulled her toward him, but he barely noticed the touch of her shoulder against his arm.
He was pulling off her stocking.He’d dreamt of doing this slowly, enjoying every inch of revealed skin.He didn’t enjoy a bit of this, not a single creamy inch.All he saw was the blood, stark against her skin.He wrapped the stocking around her foot, tied it tight, then lifted her in his arms.
“I might need stitches,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He nodded, his jaw too tight to speak.She was so damn pale.
Running down the stairs, he yelled for a doctor.A maid gave him directions as he stormed toward the exit, then he sped out the door.It wasn’t raining anymore, thank God.
“Slow down,” she said, her breath hot against his ear.“I’m not dying.I would probably limp along with your help.I can use you as a crutch.”
Not dignifying that with a response.
He found the doctor just where the maid had said he would, in a little cottage near the edge of town.Apollo saw him through an open window as they approached.
“Out now,” Apollo said, all but kicking down the door.
“Who are you?”the doctor demanded.He was tall and gray haired with a grizzled gray beard.He was treating a little girl whose nose seemed to be made entirely of snot and the little girl’s mother, whose mouth was shaped by a yawn.The front parlor had been fashioned into a surgery of some sort—a big table at the center, cabinets along one wall, various potted plants near the window, and tools hanging from the low beams that crossed the ceiling.
The doctor bristled, his hair sticking straight up.“You cannot barge in here like—oh.She is bleeding an awful lot.”He waved mother and child out the door.“Give Sally some tea and lots of rest, and if she’s not well in a week, come back.Now you, sir”—he turned to Apollo and gestured to a table—“put the lady here.”Apollo set her down and began pacing the space beside her.
“Sit,” she said.“Do sit, Apollo.You’re making me nervous.”
He did not sit.
He watched the doctor take Sybil’s foot and turn it about.She hissed and bit her lip and he thrust his hand atop hers where it rested on the table.
“Here,” he said, “Squeeze it if you need to.”
She took it with a shy, grateful smile in her too-pale face.“Thank yo-OW!”She squeezed hard.
