Fierce (8 page)

“Shh …” I say, and I put my finger to my
lips. “They can’t know we’re here.”

Hunter never takes his eyes off me as they
saunter past the forest, seemingly still capable of walking. I hear them swear
and yell, while my heart thumps in my throat.

“Motherfucker! You’ll pay for this!” one of
them screams. “See you in the arena.”

I wait until they pass before breathing
again. “We have to get out of here. Fast.”

Mending
the Broken

I don’t know for the life of me how I
managed to haul him all the way back to campus and to the dorm, but I made it.
I’m tired as hell, but I won’t give up now that I’m almost there.

Hunter’s nose is bleeding, leaving bloodstains
on the carpet as we go upstairs. I drag him to the bathroom closest to my room
and set him down on the toilet. His face is covered in blood, and it doesn’t
take long for the bathroom to look like a crime scene.

I snatch a few rolls of toilet paper
standing on the table and rip some off. I grab a stool standing in the corner
and sit down next to him. Dabbing the cotton against his face, I check if his
nose is really broken. He winces when I touch him, but doesn’t cry out in pain.
He refuses to show me any pain.

How very noble of him.

“I have to call an ambulance,” I say.

I turn to fetch my cell phone from my
purse, but Hunter grabs my wrist and stops me from moving.

“Don’t. I don’t want to go there. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the cops will be asking questions,
and I don’t want to answer them.” His nostrils flare and he cracks his
knuckles.

I smash my lips together out of
frustration. “But you’re hurt.”

“Please …” he says.

He looks genuinely worried. As if he’s
afraid, or something. And it sounds like he’s begging me.

“All right.”

He visibly relaxes, his muscles straining
less.

I sit back down on the stool and tend to
him. He keeps his eyes solely on me, while I inspect his nose. It’s not broken,
luckily. I clean his face gently, making sure I don’t press too hard on his
bruises. I open the faucet, poor some cold water over a handful of paper, and
wipe the blood from his face.

My vision is blurry, though. I don’t have
my glasses anymore. They got thwacked off during the fight, and we had to run
before I could search for them. Dammit, this would be so much easier with my
glasses.

Hunter just sits there, studying me,
breathing in and out like he’s trying to calm down. His chest heaves, and he
coughs again. “God … it’s hot in here.”

“No, it’s not.” I put my hand on his
forehead and don’t feel an unusual temperature. He must still be overheated
from the fight.

Then he hooks his fingers under his vest
and pulls it over his head.

Oh. My. God.

My pupils dilate as he takes off the top
half of his clothes, leaving only bare skin for me to see. I try not to look too
dumbstruck when he throws it to the floor and gazes back at me. But I can’t
stop my eyes from zoning in on his perfect body.

Those thick pectorals, solid abs, and huge
biceps draw my attention like a bee that has found his flower. Especially those
V-lines …

My G
od. I can’t stop
staring.

My heart is thudding in my chest, and my
throat is dry. I swallow away the lump in my throat. I have to fight the urge
to touch those deliciously taut muscles.

I’ve never actually seen anyone this strong
and lean before. Well, at least not partially naked.

He lets out a groan as he moves his body to
sit more comfortably. The raw, masculine sound sends shivers down my spine.

But when I look at him, I feel bad. He
looks busted and bruised all over, and I feel sorry for him.

It’s my fault he’s hurt.

He protected me. He was the one who saved
me. He got into a fight for me.

The least I can do is mend his wounds.

“Be right back,” I say, and I rush out of
the bathroom.

I make my way to my own dorm room and find
it empty. Evie must still be studying somewhere, which means I won’t be
bothered for some time.

Good.

I need to fix Hunter’s wounds and I can’t
have anyone distracting me right now.

Rummaging through my closet, I find the
first aid kit I stocked for emergency cases such as these. I take out the
entire box and hurry back to Hunter.

He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his
knees, holding his own head in his hands.

“Fuck,” he says quietly as the bleeding
starts again.

“I’ve got this,” I say, and throw all the
contents of the box in the sink. It’s at times like these that I’m glad my
mother taught me all the things I need to know so that I’d be independent.

First I take the bottle of pure alcohol and
drown a few cotton balls in it.

When I turn around and sit down again, he
stares up at me, waiting for me to do something.

“This’ll hurt. A lot,” I say before I dab
the cotton balls against the wounds on his face.

He hisses. “Fuck! Jesus Christ! What are
you doing?”

Slamming his fist against the wall next to
us, he lets out a huge breath. I almost jolt up from the noise. He’s so
aggressive and angry. Sometimes it scares me.

“Cleaning your wound with alcohol.”

He calms down once I’m done. I grab a few
dressings and cover up his slashes with them. Then I start wrapping a bandage
around his head.

“Do I have to wear this?” he says when I’m
almost done.

“Yes. You’ve got a big gash on your
forehead. Doesn’t look pretty. It needs to heal.”

He groans, annoyed.

“How are your knuckles?” I ask, because I
know they must hurt after all those punches.

“Fine.”

Of course that’s a lie. Men and their
pride.

He leans back on the toilet, resting his
head against the wall. He opens his hands, spreading out his fingers, and gives
me access. He looks at me intently as I grab his hand.

The moment my skin makes contact with his,
I feel fuzzy and weak, like a meek girl. The way he feels is amazing, so warm,
and his hands are almost twice the size of mine. My hand could fit into his
perfectly.

If I could ever hold it.

I swallow from the nerves and try not to
tremble as I check his hands for bruises and cuts. His hand is tough as
leather, and his fingers are so calloused, they make me remember he is a
fighter in heart and soul.

I wonder why.

“Thanks,” he says when I let go of his
hand.

His face isn’t doleful like before; on the
contrary, he actually seems grateful.

I smile, my cheeks rushing with heat when
he smiles too.

“Where are your glasses?” he says.

“I lost them during the fight …”

He chuckles a little, but holds back
because of the pain in his chest. “Too bad. You looked cuter with them.”

My eyes widen and I gasp for air. My face
lights up red hot with embarrassment.

Did he actually just say that?

My heart is pounding. I can’t believe this.
It feels so unreal. He just said I’m cute.

Hunter Bane thinks I’m cute? Is this real?

For some reason I burst out into giggles.
And now I’m even more ashamed.

“What?” he says. He leans forward and
stares straight into my eyes. I stop laughing. My muscles tense up and I
freeze. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my lips.

Sweet, hot, delirious breath.

I want to inhale it. Take him with me and
never stop breathing him in.

I want to kiss him.

“What’s so funny?” he says. “You think I’m
making a joke?” His voice is thick, like a guttural sound, and turns my bones
liquid.

I clear my throat. “No. You’re just the
first to say that.”

He leans back, and I can feel my body
relaxing again.

“Well it’s the truth,” he says.

“Others don’t seem to think so.”

“You shouldn’t care so much about what
others think,” he says. “What
you
think is what matters.”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out my
glasses.

“Oh my God, you found them! Thank you so
much,” I say with a gleeful smile on my face.

“Don’t mention it. Least I could do for you
now that you’ve nursed me back to health.”

I roll my eyes and chortle, while he hands
me my glasses. Leaning forward still makes him groan, though.

“Damn … I feel like shit,” he says,
laughing.

“You look the part.”

“I just want to crash on my bed and sleep
through the day tomorrow.”

He gets up from the toilet and barely stays
straight. I quickly put his arm around my shoulder and support him while he
walks. We go to his room, and boy, it’s not what I expected.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just a
table, a chair, two beds, a pile of homework and books. It’s even clean.

But what surprises me the most is the
ginormous bookshelf right beside the door.

I don’t have time to marvel at his books,
because he limps forward and I have to go with him. I help him get to his bed,
and he lets himself fall down on top of it.

Looking at him for a few seconds feels like
an eternity. It’s so dead quiet in here. Neither of us knows what to say.

“Thanks,” I say after a while. “For coming
to my rescue.”

“I would do it again.”

I blush and smile, and the smile he gives
me back makes the butterflies in my stomach fly even more.

“Well … goodnight,” I say, and I turn
around and walk to the door at an awkward pace.

“G’night.”

Before I walk out I peek one last time at
the wicked fighter lying in his bed.

He looks darn cute and sexy when he tries
to sleep.

And then I close the door.

“What are you doing?”

I jolt up and shriek, startled. I
immediately turn around. Evie is standing right in front of me, her hands
clenched to her waist, and she looks pissed.

“Going to bed,” I say with a quavering
voice.

“That’s Hunter’s room,” she says, pointing.

“Obviously.”

“You just came out of his room.” Her eyes
scan my face, and when she lowers them to look at my clothes, her pupils
dilate. “Oh my God!”

I shush her by putting my finger on her
lips. “Don’t shout so much.”

“But you’re covered in blood! Shit. Are you
all right?” She grabs my shirt and lifts it, inspecting my tummy where the
stain was. “There’s no wound.”

“That’s because it isn’t mine.” I jerk my
shirt loose and lower it again.

She squints, and I can almost see her brain
working.

Biting my lip, I say, “It’s Hunter’s. He
got into a fight.”

“I knew it! He’s the one who was in the
fight the other day. People have been talking about him.” She gapes at me with
furrowed brows. “And you were in there? With that guy, who’s got a temper like
a stick of dynamite?”

“Shhh,” I say. “Stop making so much noise.
Let’s go to our room. We can talk there.”

I push her inside and close the door behind
us.

“Autumn, you really shouldn’t be around
that guy,” Evie says. “He’s bad news. Big time.”

“I had to help him.”

“Why? You could’ve called nine-one-one.”

“He didn’t want to go to a hospital.”

She snorts. “Why not? Afraid of needles or
something?”

“I don’t know … It doesn’t matter. The
point is I was the only one who could help him out. What else was I supposed to
do? Leave him out there, bleeding to death?”

She sighs. “Well … No, of course not, but
…”

“But what?”

“Why were you even there in the first
place? I thought you were working at Denny’s place. Next thing you know I find
you sneaking out of Hunter’s room.”

“I …” I hesitate. I want to tell her, but
at the same time I don’t want to speak. Not about that. I don’t want to relive
the moment some group of dickheads almost raped me.

But I’m so grateful Hunter was there to
save me and kick their asses. I owe him. Big time.

How can I explain that to her? She won’t
understand. Just by looking at her I can see she’s starting to hate him, just
like almost every other guy she meets. Her eyes are practically burning with
fire.

If I say anything, all it’ll do is cause
her to ask more questions. I’m tired, and I really don’t want to talk about it.
I want to bury it somewhere deep and never think about it again.

I take a deep breath before I speak. “I
didn’t see anything, okay. I wasn’t there when it happened. I just found him
and fixed him up. That’s it.”

I know I’m lying. And I hate myself for it,
but I really want to sleep right now. Maybe I’ll tell her sometime later, when
things have calmed down.

When I’ve had the time to calm down.