Page 7 of Warmongers and Wands
I blacked out as he pulled me from the car, only to come to with him carrying me snug against a rock-hard body, his hands gentle as they cradled me and supported my injured leg. I could feel the wiry softness of his beard against my face, feel the strength in his muscular arms. This would have been an amazing romance novel if only I wasn’t in so much pain.
The next thing I knew, he was nudging a door open with his foot and carrying me into a one-room log cabin. A cheerful fire crackled in a stone fireplace against one wall. There was a pair of rough-hewn chairs and a table, a set of shelves with cooking utensils, and in the corner, a bed which seemed to be covered with a weird combination of cheap fleece blankets, leather, and animal skins.
Kinky. Or survivalist Grizzly Adams. Or kinky survivalist Grizzly Adams.
A chattering noise filled the room and a raccoon jumped onto the table, rising on its two hind legs to wave front paws in the air. It had to have been one of the biggest, fattest raccoons I’d ever seen in my life.
“She returned,” the man told the raccoon. “And once I am free, you will get your reward. I keep my vows.”
Okay, so hot Grizzly Adams here had a pet raccoon. Given that I’d been contemplating a cat or possibly a dog adoption in my near future, I wasn’t about to point fingers. People who lived alone…well, got lonely. I certainly knew that.
“What’s his name?” I gasped, inclining my head toward the raccoon. It clearly says a lot about my mental, emotional, and physical state that I was asking the raccoon’s name and not the name of this gorgeous man carrying me.
“Diebin.”
Cute. I hoped he didn’t bite. I shifted a bit in the man’s arms and winced.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’ll live.” My breath was warm against his beard. I thought I’d live anyway. Cuts. Bruises. My rib. My left leg. Hopefully that was it and the adrenaline wasn’t covering up a ruptured spleen or a brain bleed or anything.
“Thanks for finding me and getting me out of the truck,” I added, wondering why he was still standing in the middle of the room with me in his arms. Not that I was complaining or anything. I mean, a hot guy holding me was pretty darned nice. And I was certain the act of setting me down somewhere was going to bring on a fresh wave of agony.
“I serve in the hope that you’ll finally free me,” he announced.
Free him? What the hell was he talking about? Was he a shifter chafing under the rules of his pack? Was he under some sort of indentured servitude to the fae? A nine-to-five desk job he just couldn’t take any more?
“I’ll do all I can,” I told him. The least I could do for this guy was get him out of whatever entanglement he needed freeing from, but even in my hurt state, I knew better than to blindly promise something I might not be able to deliver on. As a Perkins, I had significant standing in Accident, but there were things the family name couldn’t overcome. And compared to Cassie, I wasn’t all that powerful a witch. I could enchant objects—especially metal objects—but big spells took time as well as the appropriate astrological conditions. I wasn’t gifted enough to do much magic on the fly as some of my sisters could.
“Why have you not healed yourself?” He eyed my leg. “Did your flying vehicle spell fail? Has another witch cursed you and blocked your powers?”
I blinked, surprised that he knew I was a witch. I mean, if he went into town or up to the wolf pack compound, then he would obviously have heard about the Perkins sisters and how we were witches descended from the town founder. Someone might have pointed me out to him. But why didn’t I know him? I made it a habit to know all the town residents. How had this guy slipped in without my seeing him? Because someone who looked like he did wasn’t someone I’d see and forget.
“I can’t do flying spells. And I haven’t been cursed—just a storm and a mechanical issue and a rockslide.” I grimaced, remembering the feeling of my truck going off the mountain. “And I suck at healing. That’s Glenda. My skill is in enchanting objects. Besides that, right now I’m in too much pain to concentrate. No magic happening here. Not at the moment.”
Whew. Saying all that had completely worn me out. The kinky leather-and-fur bed was looking mighty inviting. Of course, just being here in these guy’s arms was pretty darn sweet as well.
He chuckled. “I am not skilled in healing, either. My talents lay in a very different direction.”
As much pain as I was in, my mind went right to the gutter. Talents. A guy that looked like this… damn, broken leg or not, I was not going to refuse if he offered up those sorts of talents to me.
“I’ve seen enough injuries in my life that I know how to set bones and check for bleeding,” he added.
As grateful as I was that my savior knew basic first aid, I got the feeling I might need more than splints and bandages. “Got a phone? Can you call an ambulance? Get Ophelia. Tell Cassie. Cassie needs to know. She’ll worry. Don’t want her to worry.”
Shit, I was totally rambling. Going off the rails here. I’d already plunged over the side of a cliff physically, and now it seemed my mind was doing the same thing.
The man didn’t answer me; instead, he crossed the room and laid me gently on the bed. Then he walked over to pick up what looked to be an old hunting knife with a rawhide handle from the table with the raccoon on it. I stared at the knife, thinking how amazing it would be in ritual. I could imbue such an object with magic, enchant it, and I got the impression that this knife would be the perfect medium to hold a spell.
It was also perfect for cutting my clothes off.
“Hey!” The knife sliced right through my tank top before I had a chance to get the word out. Darn it, that was one of my favorite tank tops, too.
“I need to check your injuries,” he told me.
I looked down, thinking that he was probably going to have to cut my pants off, but that my shirt could have stayed on. That’s when I realized I had a huge diagonal bruise across my chest, some raw and red seatbelt burns, and that the tank top was most likely a goner even before he’d started cutting. Even if I could get the blood out of it, there were holes and a rip right across where the bottom of my boob had been. Yeah, the shirt probably needed to go. The guy knew first aid. I was probably in shock. I needed to shut up and just let him do his thing.
Trust. It wasn’t something I gave easily, but something told me I could trust this man.
