In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)

Beau’s softly spoken words jolted her to awareness. She opened her eyes and blinked to bring her surroundings into focus. Beau and Zack both stood directly in front of the couch where she sat, their features etched with concern.

She lifted a hand to her nose, and it came away stained with fresh blood. She frowned because she hadn’t been using her powers. But she had been focusing very intently on her thoughts. Painful, terrifying thoughts.

Zack hurried away and Beau knelt on the floor so he was eye level with her. He reached up to thumb away more blood that trickled from her nose and then wiped his hand on his jeans.

“You need to calm your thoughts,” he said. “Find a good memory or image and focus on that. Try to blank your mind to everything else.”

Zack returned with a warm washcloth and Beau took it, gently wiping the fresh blood and then the remnants of her earlier bleed from her ears and neck, spots he’d missed in his haste to see to her injuries on the drive here. Wherever here was.

She glanced nervously at Zack, self-conscious that he was witnessing her at her weakest. It was bad enough Beau had to see her like this.

“I gave Caleb a quick call so he could get the doc headed this way,” Zack interjected as if sensing Ari’s discomfort. “You might want to put her in one of the bedrooms and let her lie down until he gets here. That way he can examine her in private.”

Beau slowly stood, and despite his insistence that he wasn’t hurt, she could see that he was at the very least bruised and stiff. When he reached down, obviously to pick her up, she put her hand out to ward him off.

“I can make it,” she said quietly. “I’m a little shaky but if I hold on to your arm, I can walk just fine.”

Beau’s lips thinned in displeasure but he didn’t argue or insist. Instead he slid his warm hand underneath her elbow and helped her get to her feet. She swayed slightly and just stood a moment, his fingers tightening around her arm as she got her bearings. She took a shaky step forward, Beau at her side.

Her hand automatically went to his shoulder to further steady herself and his hand dropped from her arm and he instead wrapped his arm around her waist, careful not to touch the gunshot wound. He anchored his arm underneath her shoulder and then glanced down at her.

“Okay?”

She nodded and then took another step, this time less hesitant because she was secure in the knowledge he wouldn’t let her fall. She relaxed into his grasp, leaning into his side as they slowly navigated from the living room down a long hallway to a room at the end.

When they entered the bedroom, Beau assisted her to the bed and then instructed her to brace herself on the nightstand while he pulled back the covers and positioned the pillows to cushion her head.

“You’ll hurt yourself more if you try to crawl up on the bed,” he said gruffly.

Not awaiting a response, he simply lifted her, and her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, clinging to his strength as he lowered her to the soft mattress. She immediately sighed, her eyes closing as she absorbed the pleasure and the comfort the bed brought to her battered body.

“I’m going to clean you up better before the doctor gets here,” he said, already heading toward what she assumed was the bathroom.

He returned a moment later with a damp washcloth, gauze and several bandages. First he carefully went back over the area he’d already tended to, her ears and then her nose, scrubbing gently at the dried blood. Then he lifted the hem of her shirt, which had a large rip where the bullet had seared through material and skin.

Thankfully the wound was just below the band of her bra and he made no attempt to remove it. She was certain her cheeks were flaming and she stared up at the ceiling, tempering her thoughts, telling herself not to be embarrassed. He was no different than the doctor who was coming to examine her. Or so she told herself.

A low growl emanated from his throat and she opened her eyes, her gaze darting to the ferocious scowl on his face. He was staring at the bullet wound and there was murder in his eyes. She shivered, unable to control her reaction to his obvious rage. In that moment she knew he was capable of great violence when it came to someone under his protection being threatened.

He ran his finger lightly over the crease in her skin, frowning harder as he examined the wound.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said in a low voice. “I promised to protect you and instead I got you shot.”

“No—”

Her immediate denial broke off when his head lowered and to her shock, he pressed his mouth tenderly over the wound.

There was nothing sexual about the kiss. It was tender. Meant to comfort. Exquisite.

She stared down at his dark head, pleasure flooding her veins, replacing the pain so evident just moments before. Such a simple gesture and yet it tightened her chest, emotion welling in her throat.