Kathy Love - Fangs But No Fangs

Unsure what to do, he hesitated. He didn't know much about the care of mortals. Medicine had been pretty archaic back in the days when he might have needed it. But he seemed to recall, perhaps on one of the late-night reruns of St. Elsewhere he'd been watching occasionally, that it was dangerous to move a mortal with possible head or spinal damage.

He needed to get an ambulance here. He stood, debating what to do, when Jolee moaned. He dropped back down beside her.

"Jolee, can you hear me?"

She groaned again, bringing a hand up to her temple. She blinked up at him, then blinked again before mumbling, "What? Telling me I'm ugly wasn't enough? You had to run me down, too?"

Relief and then regret swept through his chest. "I didn't see you. I'm sorry."

She struggled to sit up. Christian placed an arm behind her back, helping her. She jerked away from his touch, then winced and rubbed her shoulder.

"Let me see." Christian stood and stepped from rock to rock to reach her other side. He squatted down and gently rolled back the dirt-covered sleeve of her T-shirt. The pale skin of her shoulder was mottled with purple bruises.

"Can you lift your arm?" he asked.

She nodded, but didn't offer to show him.

"Are you sure?"

"I can, but that doesn't mean I want to. It hurts like hell."

Christian would have smiled, if he didn't feel so guilty.

Being careful not to touch the bruise, he pulled her shirt back down over her injury. "I think we should get you to a doctor."

"No," she cried, then more calmly she repeated, "No."

"You could have a… " What was an injury to the head called? "A concussion."

"No," she said again. "I'll be fine. Just help me up."

Christian stood, taking both her hands to steady her. She winced again as she levered herself up, but she managed to get her footing and stand. He started to place an arm around her back to assist her, but again, she shrugged him off.

"I'm okay," she insisted, and began to pick her way over the uneven terrain.

Christian stayed close, several times wanting to steady her when she swayed. But she would pause for a moment, get her bearings, then continue on. At the edge of the road, she came to a stop, looking around, her eyes dazed.

"Are you feeling unwell?" he asked. Fearing she was going to pass out, he moved closer to her.

"My tote bag," she said, blinking around. "I had a tote bag."

"Just wait here. Let me look."

She opened her mouth as though she planned to argue, but then she nodded. He found the bag with no problem, in a cluster of wildflowers about six feet from where she'd landed. Luckily, the bag was still zipped.

"Found it," he called to her, as he joined her back on the soft shoulder of the road. He noticed her skin looked even paler than when he first found her, and her eyes were glazed.

"Jolee?"

She blinked at him. He could sense her wooziness, her confusion. He immediately scooped her up, trying to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to jar her injuries.

She stiffened in his hold. "Put me down."

"You are too hurt to walk."

She didn't argue, but she didn't relax against him either. She kept herself positioned as far away from him as his hold would allow, her head angled away from his. He hurried to his car. With her cradled in one arm like a baby, he opened the door with the other. If she was surprised by the feat of strength, she didn't show it as he then placed her in the passenger seat.

Instead she let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Her hands lay palm up, limp in her lap.

For a moment, Christian feared she'd lost consciousness again, but then she murmured, "I must be mad allowing myself to be placed in the deathmobile."

Christian nearly smiled again, relieved she was still awake. Of course, she didn't realize quite how accurate that title for his car really was.

He sprinted around the vehicle and got in. He shifted into gear, this time easing into motion, trying not to jerk her too much. Glancing over at her, he could see her color hadn't improved. Her eyes were still shut, although now she had the hand of her left arm cupping the elbow of her right as if to hold the limb steady.

"Are you in terrible pain?"

She didn't respond for a moment, then she said, her voice soft as though she didn't really have the energy to talk, "Is there such a thing as good pain?"

Christian didn't answer. He knew she was attempting to be funny, but he also knew she was hurt badly. He nudged the gas pedal a little more, still trying to keep his driving steady and smooth, but he needed to get her to help.

The drive to the hospital only took fifteen minutes, but to Christian it seemed like forever. Fortunately he knew where it was. To his shame, he'd gone there one evening when the hospital was holding a local blood drive— the lure of fresh blood almost too much for him. He had left before he'd even entered the building. Step 10: Maintenance. Continue to take personal inventory, and when you are wrong promptly admit it and rectify it.

Jolee hadn't said a word or opened her eyes for the remainder of the drive, and he was pretty sure she'd fallen unconscious. He got out of the car and came around to her side. When he started to lift her out of the seat, she opened her eyes only to immediately close them again against the bright lights of the hospital entrance.

But that didn't stop her from pushing at his chest with her good arm. "No hospital."

She squinted up at him, her lush mouth set into a firm line.

"Jolee, you need medical attention."

"I'll be fine."

He easily restrained her, trying to be as careful of her injured arm as he could. "You are not fine. You lost consciousness on the way here. Your shoulder is badly bruised. You need to see a physician."

Jolee's head pounded, her shoulder throbbed, but still she tried to wriggle out of her neighbor's grasp. She couldn't go to a doctor. She couldn't afford that. And without insurance, the fees were bound to be astronomical.

Despite her current pain, she knew she'd be all right. Sore for a few days, but she'd be okay. She was not going to pay a doctor an exorbitant sum just to tell her to take some ibuprofen and tough it out.

But fighting off her neighbor was not easy. She wasn't even sure it was possible. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and lean muscles. But he was even stronger than his model-like physique would imply. It was like trying to wrestle a brick wall. Finally she stopped squirming, too tired and sore to continue.

"This is ridiculous. I told you I'll be fine."

He nodded, not focusing on her, but trying to decide where to go now that they were through the doors. "I have no doubt you will be fine. But you need a doctor to verify that."

"The doctor is just going to tell me to go home and take it easy for a few days."

"Probably," Christian agreed. He frowned up at a sign that read «Emergency» with an arrow pointing down the hall. He quickly strode in that direction.

"So why not skip the middle man and take me home so I can start taking it easy," she said, her voice sounding a little frantic, even to her own ears.

"Stop arguing," he ordered, his attention still on the signs leading to the emergency room.

She wanted to argue, especially since she didn't care for how he'd just spoken to her, but her head was throbbing. And she knew an argument was pointless. He was a brick wall.

Still, she couldn't see a doctor. Her bank account couldn't afford the cost. Even if they billed her. Even if they let her make payments. She had to get out of here.

"Please. Stop."

The desperation in her voice finally got through to him. He stopped instantly.

He frowned at her, his face just inches from hers, his pale eyes alive with worry. "What is it? Am I hurting you?"