Greyson - Part 4: An Alpha Billionaire Shifter Romance (The Silver Moon Pack) (9 page)

Chapter
3

Archer

Archer couldn’t quite believe that his brother was staying. Hawke had issues…issues caused by one fucker of a stepfather…issues he himself was spared because Hawke had done all he could to protect him, taking the brunt of the abuse to keep him safe.

As a result, Hawke didn’t deal with people or the outside world, which was a fucking shame, since there was a world of inspiration out there to be explored and experienced. The fact that he’d taken an interest in this beautiful stranger was unexpected, and as far as Archer was concerned, a huge step in the right direction.

If she somehow allowed Hawke to live a more normal life instead of escaping from it, then Archer would do all he could to make sure that she not only got better, but she stuck around, especially since Hawke only seemed more and more withdrawn these days. He wasn’t even painting, and in the past that had been one of the few things that allowed him some relief from the demons that haunted him.

The day slipped into night, and though they’d managed to warm her up, she’d yet to open her eyes, leaving him worried about her. It’d be easy enough for infection to set into her wound, and though they managed to clean it and get it bandaged, they hadn’t done much else.

Her color was better at least. He’d never seen anyone look so blue, as if she’d been touched by the heart of winter. Luckily, the blue had subsided, and though she was still pale, especially in contrast to her thick, mahogany red hair, her cheeks were now flushed with a touch of pink. In the dim light of the room as he held her close, he’d counted the smattering of freckles that danced across her pixie nose, and the truth was there was an ethereal quality to her, like she wasn’t quite of this world.

He could see Hawke painting her as a mermaid washed ashore—and hoped he would. It’d be good to see him painting again, and not just because he had buyers clamoring for another piece of “their” work. Although Hawke was the artist, Archer was the one who went out into the world, pretending to be “Jackson,” the famous painter. It was why few knew that there were two of them. It was just how Hawke preferred to live his life—away from the city and the public, the media. Whereas Archer had no problem with the limelight, the attention, the women.

And every so often, Archer would bring someone home with him, someone who didn’t know about the art or who they were, and…well…he’d share. It was easy enough to find women who didn’t mind being blindfolded—nor did they mind someone else joining them in bed. It wasn’t ideal, but after the sacrifices Hawke had made for him, he’d do anything and everything for his brother.

With her temperature back to normal, Archer knew they were taking a chance with both of them being there, since she might very well wake up. “We probably don’t need to keep her warm any longer, and even if we stay to keep an eye on her, one of us needs to go, Hawke.”

His brother pulled her closer to him, his blue eyes dark in the dimmed light. “I know. And I will. Just not quite yet.”

“I’ll go then.” Archer slipped out of bed and got dressed when she started to stir. And then she sat up and started to scream and lash out as if fighting an unknown enemy
.
“Fuck…”

Hawke caught her, turning her so she’d focus on him. “It’s okay…you’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you. You have my word.”

But before she said even a single word, her eyes rolled back and she went limp in Hawke’s arms. He laid her back once more while Archer sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know, Hawke. I’m really worried about her. But…one of us has to go. We can’t risk her seeing both of us together.”

“You should stay with her then. I think I might head to the studio for a bit.” Hawke slipped out of bed and grabbed his clothing, his gaze taking her in as if for inspiration. “You’ll let me know if she wakes?”

“Yeah…of course.” Archer tried to mask just how excited he was for his twin, not wanting Hawke to second-guess things. It had just been so long since Hawke painted anything, and Archer knew that his brother needed to paint to help keep the darkness and demons at bay.

With Hawke gone, Archer sat on the side of the bed to look at their guest, his heart still hammering inside his chest from when she’d screamed out. He didn’t know what she’d been through, but the thought of someone hurting her was enough to have his blood boiling. And it was then, when she shifted her head with a moan, that he saw the marks around her neck. Rage consumed him as he was hit with all too vivid an image of someone trying to strangle her. And what? When that didn’t work, they shot her?

Who the fuck had tried to hurt her? Why did they want her dead? And who the hell was she?

He got up and went to the hastily discarded pile of clothes, and started going through her things, hoping for some sort of clue to her identity. Her clothes were still wet, and cold to the touch. Grabbing her jeans, he went from one pocket to the next, but came up empty. She’d been wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, so no pockets there, but given that it was November, she’d also had on a jacket—and that was a treasure trove of wet receipts, damp cough drops, Chapstick, and a small coin purse with a small amount of money, a credit card, and a license.
Perfect
.

Phoebe Nicholls, of Rockport, MA. Archer stuffed the ID into the back pocket of his jeans as he took her in, his mind running through the possibilities of who could possibly be after her. Given that she didn’t look like a hardened criminal, the remaining possibilities seemed endless.

“Who wants you dead, Phoebe Nicholls—and why?”

Chapter
4

Phoebe

Phoebe felt herself falling through the darkness, the bitter cold ocean threatening to drown her in its inky depths as she tried to swim back to the surface. If she could just grab another breath of air, if she could just swim to shore…but then Kevin’s hand closed around her ankle and he pulled her deep into the depths of the angry dark sea, as she kicked and lashed out to get free of him, his grip too strong.

She startled awake, her body shaking with the tremors of her dream as she tried to make out the room in the darkness, all of it unfamiliar.
Where was Kevin? Had she gotten away or did he have her even now?

“It’s okay, Phoebe… You’re safe.” She turned toward the unfamiliar voice, her heart racing to realize that she wasn’t alone. The man sat forward in the plush chair, his face catching the light from the fire in the fireplace.

“Where…where am I?” Her voice sounded crackly and hoarse, as if from disuse.
And how did he know her name?

Unsure of her situation, she scanned the darkened room to try to find a way to escape. She tried to sit up, when pain, sharp and strong, spiked through her arm and shoulder, every muscle screaming in response to the sudden movement, no doubt sore from her fight with Kevin and the swim afterwards.

“Easy there… You washed up on the beach. And you’re injured—a gunshot wound to your arm and shoulder.” He stood up and slowly approached her, as if trying to gain the trust of a wounded and scared animal that might bolt at any moment, and then slowly sat down on the far end of the bed. “You nearly drowned, and you were hypothermic…you washed up on the beach.”

Adrenaline surged through her body as her memories started to come back to her—Kevin, his boat, him trying to strangle her, the cold ocean, and the gunshots. She looked down at her shoulder, and found it bandaged. But it was also then that she realized she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Panic spiked through her once again, her fatigued muscles tensing and ready to fight.
“You undressed me.”

He put up his hands, showing her he wasn’t a threat, as his kind gaze locked on hers. “I had to get you warmed up. You weren’t going to survive if I didn’t get you out of your freezing wet clothes. But I swear, you’ve come to no harm here.”

“How did you know my name?” There was so much that wasn’t making sense, and her head felt like she was swimming through pea soup, her thoughts muddled and slow to come. “And who are you?”

“Your license was in your jacket pocket. And my name’s…Jackson.” He relaxed a little when a giant black dog nudged his hand to be comforted and looked at her in worry. Jackson gave his dog a scratch, as if reassuring the pup that everything was okay, before he turned his keen blue eyes to her. “You’ve been here for two days. We’re rather remote up this way, but the doctor should be here in the morning. He’ll be glad to know you’re awake, though I’m still worried about an infection setting into your arm. I don’t suppose you know who tried to hurt you?”

Kevin…
She had to go
…had to get out of there before he found her. And with the entire police department at his disposal, he could easily do just that. “I need to leave.”

“Sweetheart…you can’t go. You’re not well, and no offense, but if the marks around your neck and the gunshot wound to your shoulder are anything to go by, then it’s not safe for you to go home. But you can stay here on the island as long as you need to.” He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze as if to reassure her that everything would be okay, and amazingly enough, despite everything she’d been through, despite Jackson being a total stranger, it worked. She may not know him, but for some reason, she trusted him.

“Thank you—not just for the offer, but for saving me.”
Did Kevin think she was dead? Or would he be coming after her?
She knew what he was like, and he would stop at nothing to see her dead. As far as he was concerned, she was his—always would be. And if he couldn’t have her, then no one would. She fought back the shiver of fear and panic that wanted to cripple her, knowing she couldn’t give in to it if she had any hope of surviving her nightmare. “You’re right that it’s not safe for me, but that also means that if I stay here, I could be putting you in danger, and I can’t do that. I really need to go.”

“I don’t know who you’re running from, but you’re safe here. I own the entire island, and there’s no other home here. The area is remote, and the bridge connecting us to the mainland is up. But…I also think there’s a good chance that whoever tried to hurt you probably thinks you’re dead, given that you’re damn lucky to have washed up on shore alive. If you just lie low for a while, he might move on.” Jackson ran a rough hand across his stubbled chin, and it was then that she finally had a moment to realize just how handsome he was. He couldn’t be more than a year or two older than her own twenty-six years, and he was tall and muscularly built—that much she could tell, even with him sitting down.

“You don’t know him—he won’t rest until he finds me. If my body doesn’t turn up in a morgue, he’ll just keep looking, and that means I’ll be putting you in danger if I stay.” And yet…where the hell would she go? And how the hell would she manage it? If Kevin was monitoring her accounts, he’d know she was alive. That meant she had no cash available to her, unless she could get to her apartment. But that, too, was a risk, since he’d no doubt be keeping an eye on it. “If I could just stay another day or two until I can figure things out, I’d be forever thankful.”

Jackson genuinely looked worried about her, and she swore, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had showed her this sort of kindness. “You can stay as long as you’d like, Phoebe. I honestly mean that.”

“I truly appreciate it.” She was suddenly overwhelmed by everything that had happened to her, including the fact that she could stop running and being scared, even if it was just for a few days. Her relief was overwhelming, and she found herself helpless to keep the tears from flowing over. “I can’t thank you enough…”

“Hey…it’ll be okay.” Wiping her tears with a gentle touch, he gathered her into his strong arms and held her close, his hand running over her hair as he soothed her. “You’ve been through a lot, but I swear, you’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you, Phoebe.”

And for the first time in a very long time, she put her trust in someone, too tired to keep fighting on her own.

***

The doctor who came to visit her the following morning was a kind, older gentleman who was quick and efficient in his examination of her. Jackson never strayed farther than necessary, and even when he did have to go, Guinness stayed behind, having taken up residence at the foot of the bed, as if on constant watch, protecting her from any threats. And when the doctor decided she needed stitches, it was Jackson’s hand that she held tight, burying her head against his shoulder and breathing in his masculine scent, the safety of his arms unlike anything she’d ever known.

The doctor packed away his things into a worn leather satchel. “Your body is still recovering, so you’ll need to rest and slowly start getting some food into your system so you’re strong enough to fight off any infection. Also, make sure you take the full course of antibiotics, and your bandages will need to be changed daily. If you start to run a fever or if you start to see a puss-like discharge from your wound, you’ll need to call me immediately.”

“I will. Thank you.” Rest and food sounded perfect, and truth be told, she’d been downright exhausted even before getting shot. Running from Kevin and having to constantly look over her shoulder the last two years had left her stressed and weary.

Jackson saw the doctor out, and then returned with a large bag, brimming with clothes that he set aside not far from the bed. “I figured you might need to get dressed at some point, in something other than my hand-me-downs. Your jeans seemed to be in decent shape, but your top and jacket were ruined by the gunshot, and if you’re going to stay for a bit, you’ll need more than just one outfit.”

“Jackson…I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you for all of this. You don’t know what you’ve truly done for me by letting me stay here.” And he’d asked for nothing in return. It was hard for her to trust people, especially after what she went through with Kevin, but somehow, Jackson seemed to have a way of easing her fears, and making her feel safe.

“I’m glad to hear it. Like I said, you can stay as long as you’d like, Phoebe. Honestly, I like having the company, since this place can get pretty lonely when it’s just me and Guinness.” The dog’s ears perked up when he heard his name. “Even Guinness likes having you here. Hasn’t chewed his way through any furniture or remote controls since you got here.”

She had to laugh, reaching out to give the giant dog a scratch. “I promise not to make myself a nuisance.”

Phoebe figured that if Jackson was living on such a remote island all alone, then there was likely a reason for it. Not that it was any of her business. She was just relieved to have a safe place to hide out. And though she hadn’t really left her room, she could be stuck hiding out in far worse places. From what she could tell, she was in some sort of Victorian Golden Age mansion, reminiscent of the mansions one found in Newport, RI, built when the wealthiest of families would get away to the New England coast for their summer holiday.

Cupping the back of her neck, Jackson bent down and kissed her forehead, sending her heart racing with a wealth of jumbled emotions. “Just get better, okay?”

All she could do is nod and ignore her racing heart.