Sharon Ashwood - Possessed by an Immortal

Involving anyone else in her headlong flight meant trusting them. Trust meant risk. She would make fewer mistakes if she worked alone, and Jonathan would be safer—and her son’s safety was the bottom line.

The nose of the gun shook. To cover, she pulled the slide back, remembering it was a single-action pistol and she had to chamber a round. She knew the basics, but was no marksman. She frowned, doing her best to look tough.

“Have you done this before?” Mark asked in that silky tone he’d used in the woods. “Is this a new kind of home invasion?”

“Uh-huh.” Her heart pounded so hard her head swam. Behind her, Jonathan stirred anxiously. Her free hand groped behind her, catching his hand. Images flicked past. Bob the fishing guide who’d left her to freeze. The men who’d chased her from New York to these wild islands in the north. Her best friend and employer murdered, the studio where they’d worked burned to the ground. She’d heard Jessica scream that night, the sound coming shrill through the phone. The memory made her stomach roil.

This wasn’t a game. If Bree faltered, she’d be dead and Jonathan right along with her.

Dr. Bedroom Eyes didn’t know any of that. He just looked annoyed and—embarrassed? He’d probably never been threatened with his own gun before.

“You shouldn’t have wasted my professional time,” he said with deceptive coolness. “You should have just robbed me straightaway.”

Anger rose, and Bree’s hand stopped trembling. “I’m not an idiot. I know I need to find proper medical care. I was hoping you could just give Jonathan some medicine.”

“I can’t even diagnose him yet.”

“I thought you said you were better than the other doctors.”

His dark eyes flickered dangerously, sending a chill up her neck. There was menace just below that handsome facade. “I need the proper equipment. For that I need a hospital. You need a hospital.”

What Bree needed was someone—anyone—to understand. “Hospitals need names.”

Comprehension crossed his face. “You’re on the run. You’re in some kind of trouble.”

“You have no idea.” Men with guns. Men who would cheerfully take what she had and kill both her and her boy.

Mark took a step closer.

“Stay where you are!” she warned.

A second later, he was inches away from her, grabbing her gun hand and twisting her facedown against the back of the overstuffed chair. How had he moved so fast?

The edge of the chair back dug into her flesh. His hands were cool and horribly strong. Rough cloth grazed her cheek as her arm was wrenched behind her. The gun slid out of her tingling hand.

“Jonathan!” she wailed. Where had he gone?

With an inarticulate cry, her son threw himself against the doctor, pounding his fists against the man’s legs. Jonathan’s face was twisted with fury, tears streaking his cheeks.

“No!” Bree forgot the pain snaking up her arm.

Jonathan kicked the doctor’s ankle. With a curse, Mark released her, stepping back and removing the clip from the pistol in a single move. Then he ejected the cartridge from the chamber with practiced ease. “Enough!”

Bree fell to her knees and grabbed her son, who was ready to relaunch his attack. “No, baby.”

Jonathan threw his arms around her neck. With a mother’s instinct, she knew he was offering protection and needing comfort at the same time. She closed her eyes, her heart squeezed with dread for whatever was going to happen next.

Her arm and shoulder throbbed. “I’m sorry. Please, please don’t take it out on him.” She looked up at the doctor, putting her soul into her eyes. “Let us go.”

His gaze narrowed, his expression unreadable. “I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer me. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Bree balked, but she had no cards left to play and everything to lose. “Okay.”

She stood, setting Jonathan in the big, stuffed chair. The boy slumped into the cushions, his face still red and wet with tears. She kissed his cheeks dry. Then Bree turned to face the man she’d held at gunpoint moments ago.

“Why are you running?” he asked.

“I witnessed a murder.” It wasn’t the whole answer, but it wasn’t a lie.

“When?”

“A year ago.”

“You’ve been running all that time?”

“And hiding. I was safe for a while, until—”

He interrupted with an impatient gesture of his hand. “A doctor ran your insurance card, and somehow that let the bad guys find you.”

She nodded, and that perfect mouth of his twitched down at the corners.

“I get it.” He paused a moment, and she could almost see thoughts chasing through his head. After drawing a long breath, he thrust the empty gun into his waistband. The gesture was slow and reluctant, as if he wasn’t sure he’d made the right choice. “You’re lucky I came along. That cougar wasn’t going to back off because you asked nicely.”

Frowning, he looked at the clip in his hand. “If you’re on the run, how come you don’t have your own weapon?”

Bree stiffened. He had a point. She could have used something like the Browning when Bob had forced her out of the boat. “I’m doing the best I can, but it’s not easy. I can’t travel with a four-year-old boy and a loaded gun. That’s just bad parenting.”

He didn’t answer, but made a noise that sounded as though he was choking back a laugh. Heat flared across her cheeks.

The doctor closed his fingers over the clip. The gesture mesmerized her. She remembered the hard strength of his hands, and the delicate touch he’d used when examining Jonathan. With unbidden clarity, she imagined them skimming her limbs with the caress of a lover. Desire simmered under her skin, and it shocked her to realize that she wanted that touch with an ache so sharp it stung.

She’d been alone too long.

His voice snapped her back to reality. The menace had gone out of it, but it wasn’t warm. “Why are you here, in these woods?”

“I hired a boat to take me to the mainland. When my ride found out we were being followed, he dumped me on your beach.”

He took a step forward. “Who’s following you?”

Bree suddenly realized she’d brought danger to his door. She’d been so focused on getting Jonathan to shelter, she’d missed that point. “I don’t have names, but they’re bad news. If they catch up with Bob, he won’t play the hero. He’ll sell me for gas money.”

“Knights in shining armor are few and far between.”

She folded her arms. “No kidding.”

He shrugged. His expression was stone, hard and unwelcoming. “Knights were overrated, if you ask me. If you want to protect a treasure, ask a dragon.”

* * *

Mark had spoken without thinking, but the look she gave him was significant. He was the fierce predator, the dragon; her son was the treasure. Even if she didn’t realize it yet, Bree was counting on him to get Jonathan someplace safe.

No. No women and children, not ever again. I’m not that man. Mark recoiled. He understood the primitive instincts of pack and cave. He knew why Bree looked to him for protection. He was three-quarters beast, only a shred of humanity still tying him to the civilized world.

Family would be his nightmare reborn, history mercilessly repeating itself. Sure, he could play doctor, whether it was with one small boy or a country ravaged by flood and fire. But as a medical man, he could come and go at will, getting involved on his own terms.

A family man had no escape from their needs and his failures. I am not your dragon. Still, he had to do something for her, if only to get her out of his cabin—and maybe after centuries of woe and slaughter, he was ready to see someone like her win.