Page 3 of A Hunter Turned
“It’s a party,” was Jamie’s still grinning response.
“Somebody, grab some beers,” she heard Kane say as the bed dipped under his weight and his arm settled around her.
“I can’t wait to see your faces again, even yours,” she teased, nudging Kane with her shoulder.
“I’m still too handsome for words,” was Kane’s smug response that elicited a loud, “Ha!” from Morgan.
And then the familiar, no-nonsense tone as the healer entered, “Too many people. Out. I can’t work like this.”
There were a few grumbles, mostly from Kane, but Jamie was too excited to do anything but smile. “I’ll see you all soon,” and God, how great was it to be able to say that?
“I’m going to unwrap your eyes,” the healer informed her just before Jamie felt gentle fingers at the back of her head.
Layers of gauze were unwound, and Marguerite cautioned, “Don’t attempt to open your eyes until I tell you.”
“Can you itch them for me, Doc?” Jamie asked, only half-joking but couldn’t contain the sigh of relief when the healer’s glove-tipped fingers gently scratched around the healing skin.
“If everything is as it should be with your sight, we should be able to reduce the padding around your fingers to something a little more manageable. You’ll still have to be careful.”
“You’re like a fairy godmother today, Marguerite.”
The healer snorted, and Jamie felt the air shift as the woman stepped back slightly. “Okay, try to open your eyes but don’t force them. Go slowly.”
Carefully, Jamie attempted to lift her lids, feeling just the tiniest bit of resistance before a blurry form came into view. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the haze. It reminded her of her human days when she’d first wake up in the morning before she donned her glasses.
“I need to check your eyes,” the healer warned just as a bright light flashed.
By the time the healer finished, Jamie’s vision was not only blurry but spotted as well. Still, she couldn’t resist looking around the room. She could make out colors and blurry shapes, a dresser, what looked like a recliner, a few lamps with halos around their glow, the indistinct features of a woman, short in stature and a bit on the plump side that could only be Marguerite.
A movement to her right had Jamie turning her head. The shape was undeniably male and taller than Kane and what she remembered of Travis St. John which only left…
“Can you see?” was asked in the unmistakable voice of the pack alpha. She may not have been able to see him clearly, but from what she could tell, Archer Langley was nothing like she’d imagined. Broad shoulders, not even a hint of a paunch, long legs braced apart and unless the man was wearing a wig, her image of a thin comb-over on his balding head was also now off the table. How very disappointing.
∞∞∞
Archer had stuck around because he’d had the absurd compulsion to see the color of this vampire’s eyes. This woman who stirred up far too many memories that were better left buried. If anyone asked, his excuse would be that as Jamie Wilson was recovering on pack lands, she fell under his protection as alpha and he was only doing his job – as he would with any member of his pack. It was complete bullshit but no one would dare question him, one of the few perks of the job.
Slightly unfocused hazel eyes gazed in his direction. The skin around those eyes was mottled with varying shades of pink and red as the flesh continued to heal after the severe burns that had been inflicted on her as a punishment.
She blinked several times, most likely in an attempt to bring him fully into focus but it was clear the healing was yet incomplete. She needed more blood.
Gritting his teeth against the inexplicable urge to offer his vein as nourishment, he strode purposely for the door and looked pointedly at Morgan Rhys, the leader of this little band of Hunters. “She needs blood.”
Morgan nodded, her teammate Kane standing as well, and Archer resisted the urge to growl. He knew both of them had been regularly feeding Jamie, them being naturally born vampires, their blood was pure and much more potent than anything found in a human or shifter vein, but Archer had no desire to see another man feeding the injured woman who so reminded him of his late wife. It didn’t matter that Jamie Wilson wasn’t his, could never be his.
Archer had been there that morning when they brought Jamie into the bayou just before the sun came up. Travis St. John, a dragon shifter that had set up a sanctuary for himself on the edge of pack lands, had called to give Archer a heads up that he was bringing vampires into the bayou because one of them was gravely injured. While he had grudgingly given them the okay, trusting the dragon’s judgment, he also needed to be sure this wasn’t some vampire trickery that would put the vulnerable in his pack at risk of an attack.
His first sight of Jamie, limp in an unknown male vampire’s arms as the Born carried his injured teammate, had left Archer feeling like a vice was clamped around his lungs. It had taken everything in him not to yank the woman away from the male – who would later be introduced to him as Kane Fletcher – and see to the female’s recovery himself. The woman had been cleaned up elsewhere, her injuries bandaged, but his nose had picked up the lingering scent of decrepit earth, blood, and burnt flesh. His mind had immediately hurdled backward in time when his wife, his mate, after months of being missing with Archer unable to find her, had finally reappeared. Having picked up just the faintest hint of her scent on the breeze, he’d ran toward it, his hopes skyrocketing. His first sight of his wife had brought him up short, a murderous rage making him see red. His sweet, strong, beautiful wife had crawled toward him on her hands and knees, tears streaking her dirty, abused face, her arm extended as she spotted him and his name a weak whisper on her lips. She’d collapsed in Archer’s arms from injuries inflicted by the vampires that had stolen her. Now years later, he’d been presented with another female who had suffered a similar fate. Her hair may have been blonde where his mate’s hair had been a deep, luxurious brown, her skin pale where Kelsey’s had been golden from her time in the sun, but he had been hit with the driving need to protect this woman where he hadn’t been able to protect his wife.
Shaking off the memories that left him wanting to howl his rage, he focused on Jamie as she fed from Morgan’s wrist while the healer unwrapped the bandages padding the vampire’s healing hands. The sooner Jamie Wilson was healed, the sooner these vampires would be out of his territory and he could once more bury the hurt that came with those memories, and with it, purge this insane need to protect a creature that should represent everything he hated. Things would return to normal.Hecould finally return to normal.
Chapter Three
Despite the fresh infusion of blood, Jamie’s vision was blurry and had her wishing she had a pair of glasses at hand. As it had been when she was human, she once again found herself nearsighted, which meant she had no trouble focusing on the ravages of her face when she leaned in to see her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her breath hissing between her teeth, she cringed. She was hideous. While the ample supply of blood she’d drank of late had healed the bruises, cuts, and the worst of the burning from her torture, there was still a thin line of peeling, blackened skin creating the outline of a mask around her eyes. Inside the perimeter of that line, the skin was shiny pink with patches of red but the worst part was that she had no eyelashes, and above her left eye, no eyebrow. Above the other eye, half an eyebrow had survived the scorching except it was the outer portion which made her look like she had a little caterpillar stuck to her face. Not a good look.
Unlike the Born, who were beautiful thanks to some quirk of biology passed down from their demonic genes, Jamie had been a human with flawed features to begin with, and while vampirism had evened out her skin tone, sped up her metabolism so she never had to worry about getting fat, and repaired her less than stellar vision – at least before having her eyes cooked – certain imperfections couldn’t be fixed. Her forehead would always be a bit too wide, her bottom teeth slightly crowded despite doing her time in braces, and don’t get her started on the dimple in her chin which she hated. She’d gotten used to all of that long ago, had accepted it. Her face was her face. This, what she was seeing now, made her want to cry. It only made it worse knowing that that arrogant asshole Archer Langley had seen her like this. He was probably out there, quietly cackling and rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he came up with ways to mock her appearance in addition to her fortitude. Even if hehadbeen a pot-bellied, toad-face with a bad comb-over who had no right to judge, she still would have been mortified. She may not have seen more than a blurry, indistinct shape of the alpha, but her gut told her that the truth of the man was in complete opposition to her humorous imaginings. It made her want to bury her head and hide.
First, though, she wanted to pee by herself and then brush her teeth without assistance now that she could. Her fingers were still splinted and continued to ache, but thanks to thinner bandages and some welcome thumb action she could at least now pick things up, reclaim a portion of her independence. Her digits wouldn’t be flying over a keyboard anytime soon, but this was a start.
