Page 29 of Tying the Knot
“I’m fine,” I snap, but my feet will not find purchase, and I’m scrambling all over the place. It must be the most hilarious thing to watch from the outside, but to me, I want the ice to open up and swallow me whole. My arse is soaked and freezing, which is not helping my mood, at all.
The more I fight him, the worse I end up, and then the absolute worst happens.
“Oww!” I cry out as a painful twinge shoots through my ankle. I gasp and hobble on the leg as another alpha, the one to whom I spoke very briefly in the station, kneels in the freezing slush to grab my foot.
“Are you hurt?” he murmurs.
“I broke my ankle a year ago. I think it’s okay, just twisted slightly,” I mutter back, utterly humiliated.
We are still standing in the road, but he carefully places my foot back on the ground, and together they help me up the curb.
“Dylan,” I say briskly to get that out of the way.
He is staring at me in half-amusement, half-pity. I want to kick him in his nuts. Pillock.
“Morgan,” he replies. “I’d ask how you are, but…”
“I’m all kinds of good, thank you. If I may have my bag, please?” I hold my hand out to an alpha I haven’t come across yet. He is gripping it in his hands, a stricken look on his face. His dark hair is sticking out of a beanie, and his dark eyes are swimming with turbulence.
“Please,” I say again when he doesn’t respond.
Dylan elbows him in the side, and he gulps. “Uhm…”
“We need to make sure that ankle is okay,” Mr Christmas says. I’m struggling to remember his name.
I let out a whoop as he scoops me up, cradling me in his arms, our faces coming within centimetres of each other. I inhale deeply and nearly groan. My stomach has twisted into a knot. My blood is racing through my veins as my heart pumps faster. We stare at each other, and I get lost in his emerald eyes for one moment before he starts walking forward.
“My hotel is back that way,” I stammer.
“Our house is this way.”
“But…”
“It’s easier than carrying you back up to your hotel room,” he states, averting his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly. He is trying not to breathe.
“I don’t stink,” I point out.
“No, you smell exquisite,” he mutters quietly, but I hear him.
“What’s your name again?” I ask, to deflect from the sudden need I have to plant my lips on his.
“Elijah,” he says.
“Well, Elijah, I’m fine. You can put me down. The laundrette is here, and this is where I was headed before you accosted me.”
“Accosted?” He chokes on the word.
“Well, I wouldn't have gone flying if it hadn’t been for you.”
“She has a point,” Dylan pipes up.
“We have a washing machine at home,” Elijah says, ignoring this exchange. “You can use that while we check over your ankle.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m a fully trained casualty medic used to working in the field. I can tell you if you need to go to A & E, or if you need to rest it.”
It doesn’t look like I have much choice. He’s still carrying me, and I’m in no position to struggle out of his grip and try to make a run for it.
