Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (29 page)

Damn Thaïs. He survived while good men died.
 

"I can assist," I said, trying once again to sit. My body ached like I'd fought an entire battalion by myself.
 

"Like hell you will." Marius held a hand to my back, helping me up. "I'd put you under observation if I thought I could get away with it. You don't have any physical damage that I can tell, but the Shrouds drained your strength."
 

"It wasn't the Shrouds"—at least I didn't think so. But we were getting off the subject. "I'm actually feeling better," I said, sitting on my own. That would show him. I fought a wave of nausea. Oh geez. Who was I kidding? I was a mess. "How did you even find us?"
 

"You were at the checkpoint. As soon as we had full dark, I flew."
 

Right. Thank goodness for super-vampire-speed or I would have been toast. I braced my head in my hands. "Thanks, buddy."
 

"Don't suck up," he said, easing me back down as Galen made another sharp left. "And you owe me a white coat."
 

I looked down at the one I'd borrowed. It was spattered with blood.
 

Marius glanced out the back window. "We're here."
 

The ambulance ground to a halt and the whole thing rocked as the back doors flew open. Rodger and Kosta pounded in.
 

"What have we got?" barked Kosta, already examining the immortal on the top bunk.
 

"Lung function compromised. We're down to about twenty percent, thoracic hemorrhaging, I neutralized the poison on Thaïs. Arrow wounds near his heart need repair," Marius said as orderlies scrambled to unhook the stretcher. "Petra was drained, lost consciousness."
 

I winced. Fine MD I'd become.
 

"Get them out of here," Kosta barked. "Let's move."
 

I grabbed hold of the side of the ambulance and heaved up to my feet. "What can I do?"
 

Kosta didn't even spare a glance. "Stay out of the way, Robichaud."
 

He jumped out and Galen replaced him, his face a mask of calm concentration mixed with worry. His black special ops uniform was torn and dirty. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."
 

I examined the arm wrapped around me as he led me outside. The chill of the night helped clear my head. "How are you okay?" I'd seen those Shrouds. I knew what they could do.
 

He huffed. "This is from Jeffe," he said, poking a finger through a hole in his field jacket. "He stashed me in the minefield."
 

Rodger barked commands as orderlies rushed one of the immortals into surgery.
 

"I'm sorry," I said.
 

"So am I," Galen growled. I had a feeling we'd be talking about that later. "Lucky for you, I'm a fast healer." He steered me past rushing medical workers as we walked through the chaos of the yard. "I used the amulet on the Shrouds," he said, "drove them into the hell vent."
 

I missed a step and almost tripped. "Why didn't I think of that?"
 

"Because you were half out of your mind." Galen said. "You're not a god."
 

But he didn't say I shouldn't have touched it. We both knew I'd had to do it.
 

"What happened to the Shrouds in the hell vent?" I asked.
 

He shrugged. "Rustle, rustle, burp. I don't care. They're gone."
 

I stopped in front of the OR. "I need to help out in surgery." I might not be on a table, but I could assist. I could hear them working inside—Rodger, Kosta, Horace.
 

Galen glanced at the closed door. "Let them handle it. They're good."
 

I knew that. I wanted to be a part of it. I squeezed my eyes shut. "This is my one chance to make a difference and I can't." I could barely stand up straight.
 

Surprise skittered across Galen's face. "You already did."
 

Weak bulbs cast pale yellow light over the yard. He tipped my chin up, his thumb caressing my tearstained cheek. "You think the only way to save lives is to be a doctor? It's not, you know."
 

The strength in his voice, the surety of his words made me want to believe him. I could see why people followed this man. He came at the world from a different angle. He acted with complete clarity. It almost seemed effortless in the way he drew the right people behind him at the precise moment to make a difference.
 

If I was science, he was art.
 

He'd even motivated a persnickety vampire.
 

I gave one last, long look at the closed door of the OR. "What else can I do?"
 

"Come on," he said, leading me away. "I'll show you."
 

Chapter Nineteen

I shivered as the cold desert breeze blew in from the north. The sleeves of my coat were clammy, wet with the colonel's blood. My entire body ached.
 

Galen wrapped an arm around me, avoiding my bad shoulder, as he led me across the yard toward the visiting officers' quarters. EMTs were already clearing out the back of our battered ambulance, prepping it for next time.
 

We passed the cluttered bulletin board that gave the latest count on the vacation pot—three weeks, one day, seven hours, and forty minutes.
 

A loudspeaker crackled above, hanging crookedly on the old dead trunk of a palm tree. I had a new appreciation for whoever had dragged that out of the closest hell vent. And I could have sworn I saw one of Rodger's sea creatures slink behind the supply tent.
 

Nothing changed at the MASH 3063rd. That usually drove me nuts. Now it settled into my bones with a familiar comfort, like returning home from a long journey.
 

My legs were still wobbly, but it wasn't why I leaned against Galen. The truth was I needed him. I craved the kind of comfort he offered. I rarely allowed myself that type of weakness, but either I had to accept some support or I was going to give in to a crying fit. Nobody wanted that—least of all me.
 

"You're doing great," he said, tugging me closer.
 

I let out a slightly crazed laugh. Tonight was the closest I've ever come to death. Both my own and losing the people I cared about. I'd barely held on. In fact, I hadn't. I'd collapsed. I'd have been Shroud bait if Galen hadn't shown up when he did.
 

And Thaïs. He wasn't just an asshole, or a traitor to the cause. Tonight, he'd shown himself to be a homegrown terrorist.
 

"Thaïs attacked those soldiers," I said. We'd come in peace. "He had a bomb."
 

He'd been struck down. He'd gotten what he deserved.
 

Still, for as much heartache as he'd caused, I didn't want to see him die, either.
 

I almost felt guilty about that after what happened to Colonel Spiros.
 

We reached Galen's tent. The torches outside burned high, illuminating his handsome features in the firelight as he untied the front flaps. "It's over now," he said. "You did the best you could. And if Thaïs survives, I'll kick his ass myself."
 

I tried to smile, but I couldn't. I'd failed to night. It tugged at me. I should have prevented Thaïs's insane suicide charge. I should have known. If there was one thing I'd learned in this hole, it was to be aware of the people around me. "There had to be something I missed."
 

"Some situations, some creatures you can't predict," Galen said. "You just deal with them as they come." There was rock-hard assurance in his voice, a grim determination that no matter what we'd face—be it scorpions or Shrouds—he'd have my back. He touched my arm. "We'll get through this."
 

"Which part?" I asked, overwhelmed.
 

He held my gaze. "All of it."
 

God, I wished he wouldn't look at me like that. It was just one more thing that could go wrong.
 

"I'm a mess," I said, ducking inside the tent.
 

After the events of to night, the sheer luxury of this place was lost on me. Galen sat me down on a plush purple couch and slipped my white coat off from behind. He wadded it up and tossed it into the kitchen garbage.
 

"Hey," I said, in halfhearted protest. Oh, who was I kidding? Marius's coat was toast.
 

He squatted in front of me, running his hands up my arms, checking for injuries.
 

"It wasn't my blood on the coat," I said, half impressed by his methodical search, half turned on. I swallowed hard. "I just got kicked around," I insisted as he ran his hands up my sides, his touch warm against my white tank top.
 

We were finally alone together and I felt like death warmed over. My breasts grew heavy as he lingered on the blossoming purple bruise on my shoulder.
 

"I'm fine," I insisted. I was pretty clean. "That's not even my blood on my pants." Although there was quite a bit of it, now that I really looked. Still, you couldn't really tell against the rusty red of my uniform.
 

"They're bloody," he said, tugging open the buttons.
 

His touch was certain, and unfair, considering this was just a mercy undressing.
 

Unless... God, was I even considering it? We'd just been through hell.
 

Galen stripped the pants off my legs. It felt good.
 

I found I wanted them gone. I wanted to be rid of the blood and the grime and the feel of the desert.
 

At least I'd worn my barely there lace bikini bottoms.
 

He tried not to stare.
 

My mouth twitched in a smile I didn't quite feel.
 

He liked them. I could see it in his hitchy movements as he stood, the way his eyes traveled everywhere but on me.
 

I felt the tightening between my legs as I shifted my hips on the couch. "Is it okay to be turned on?" I wanted to forget about blood and death and simply feel.
 

"It happens," he said, his voice a bit hoarse. "But you don't need me to jump you right now."
 

Ah, but that's where he was wrong. I needed to forget. I needed to find a place far gone from the suffering. I needed to feel valued, cherished, loved.
 

"At least take your shirt off for me," I coaxed. "It'll make me feel better."
 

"Stop it." He stood, backing out of my reach. "I'm pissed off and I'm taking care of you," he grumbled, but I could hear the desire underneath his words.
 

He strode through an open tent flap and toward the bubbling mud bath. He pulled a towel from a freestanding rack.
 

"Fine," I said. If that's how he wanted to play, "I'll take my shirt off."
 

Galen dropped the towel.
 

He stared at me as I seductively inched my white T-shirt up, freeing my breasts. My muscles ached and my arm stung, but I didn't let it show in the sexy smile I gave him. I tossed the shirt at his feet.
 

Yes. This felt good. No pain, no fear. Only desire.
 

He stood with his arms at his sides, absolutely motionless. "Shit, Petra. I'm trying to be noble here."
 

I toyed with the soft skin between my breasts. "What if I want you to be hard instead?"
 

He couldn't tear his eyes away. I don't even think he blinked.
 

I let my knees fall open. "Do you want to know what you do to me?"
 

His breath was ragged. "I don't think I'd survive it."
 

He swallowed hard as he retrieved the towel and held it under the gurgling fountain. He wrung the fresh, clean water onto the floor as he returned to me.
 

Oh yes, he was hard. As he stood over me with the towel, I could see his swollen cock fighting against his black combat fatigues. He bent at the knees, and I caught him in my hand. He hissed and grew even more as he crouched in front of me. I inched my hand up his chest, over flesh and muscle, as he sank down all the way.
 

He closed his eyes, fighting for control as he came level with my breasts. His muscles shook as I drew my hand up farther, baring his chest. "I thought you wanted to make me come," I said, brushing my thumb over a flat, hard nipple.
 

His eyes blazed. "Gods." He lowered his gaze and took a shuddering breath. "I'm not going to grab you and shove my cock into you," he muttered, as if he were about to rip off my panties and fuck me right there. "I have to make sure you're okay."
 

I lingered on the idea of his cock. Hot and ready. Moisture beading at the tip before he drove it inside me. I felt myself grow wet.
 

The muscles in his chest and jaw tightened as he brought the cool cloth up to my cheeks and neck. He cleaned me gently, lingering on my jaw. The pain and the chaos of the night faded away.
 

He worked slowly, taking extra care with my bruised shoulder. He eased the cloth down my arms. He took my hands in his and wiped the blood away from my palms. Then he ran the cloth over each finger, gently pulling, his head bent as he worked. Every stroke of his fingers spiraled straight through me. His eyes caught mine, hungry.
 

We both shivered as he drew the cloth over my aching breasts, again and again, like he was fighting some kind of battle in his head and this was the line of demarcation.
 

As long as he was cleaning me, he was taking care of me. Never mind the fact that I didn't have any blood or dirt on my breasts. He held the cloth in a death grip, rubbing, stroking.