“It’s nothing. I just need to crash for a bit. A little time and I’ll be fine.”
The man certainly had a way of triggering her temper. “Fine?” she snapped. He may have quick-healing abilities, but she couldn’t see that helping him in this instance. “For that to happen, you need a doctor!”
“No doctor.” Despite the pain he must be in, his tone was flat-out non-negotiable.
Men!They had to be difficult.
She cast a quick eye at her couch. No, the two-seater wouldn’t hold him—the man was just too large. Besides, her first-aid kit was in the bathroom upstairs. “Come on.” She slipped her arm around his waist again. “Let’s get you comfortable so I can at least tend to that wound.”
He leaned against her as she maneuvered him up the stairs to her room. The slippery wetness on his shirt had her fear growing. The moment his legs knocked against her bed, he slumped down on the mattress like a felled oak.
Darci struggled to remove his jacket. He winced, moved a little, and she managed to free his arms then wrestle the thing off of him and toss the gaudy garment to the floor. She found scissors in the bedside drawer and carefully cut open his t-shirt to reveal blood-smeared abs.
Oh, dear God! Burned skin surrounded the open wound like he’d been torched. It bled profusely, and must hurt like hell.
“Don’t worry about it, it’ll heal,” he mumbled, pulling her out of her distress.
Heal? Was he freakin’ kidding? This wasn’t a knife wound. No way would this heal anytime soon. She was done doing things his way. She grabbed the bedside phone.
Despite his closed eyes, with unerring accuracy, he grasped her hand. His grip gentle but unbreakable. “No.”
“God, Blaéz, you’re more stubborn than a damn redwood stump. That wound needs medical attention.Now!”
A weary sigh escaped him, like she was the one being difficult. “I’ll be okay, trust me. It takes more than this to end me.”
Damn his pig-headed bravery!
She dropped the receiver back in annoyance and hurried to the bathroom, snatched the first-aid kit, and filled a container with water. Back in the room, she set the things on her night table and began to clean the horrid crater-size lesion on his chest. But the wound continued to bleed.
“Blaéz—”
“Fine. Call Týr. Star three. My cell.”
Týr? What could he do? She didn’t see the giant blond as a doctor. She found Blaéz’s phone easily enough in his pants pocket and pressed star three.Please, please let him be able to help.
After a few rings, a masculine voice drawled, “Celt?”
“Týr? It’s Darci. Blaéz asked—”
“Your address?” The amusement in his tone fled.
Frowning, she gave it. “He’s hurt—”
“I know. I’ll be there soon.” He rang off.
How would he know that? She glanced back at the nasty lesion on Blaéz’s chest and really, really hoped Týr knew what to do. Setting the cell phone on the nightstand, she gently eased the ruined shirt off Blaéz and tossed it aside. Dampening the towel, she cleaned the blood from the cut on his brow and studied his face.
His skin appeared ashen beneath the light tan. Pain dug grooves into his brow. His strong jaw remained rigid, his sensual mouth compressed into a tight line. Even weakened and wounded, he didn’t give an inch, retaining that lethal aura. Yet seeing him lying there, something inside her protested painfully. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt and in such agony.
Blaéz’s cell rang again. Startled, she snatched the phone and answered. “Hel—”
“It’s Týr, I’m outside.”
How did he get here so fast? Then a rap sounded on her door.
Dropping the cell on the nightstand, Darci raced downstairs and threw open the front door. “Thank God, you’re here. He’s upstairs.”
Týr walked in, carrying a small package. Darci shut the door and led the way up to her bedroom.
