Elle James - Possessing the Witch

She’d only answered half of his question. Gryph’s eyes narrowed.

The woman wouldn’t meet his gaze and she busied herself gathering the bowl and washcloths on the nightstand.

Gryph grabbed her wrist.

The bowl upended and fell to the ground. The woman’s eyes widened.

“What did I do ?” His voice came out gravelly and as more of a growl than he’d intended. The flash of fear in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He dropped her hand.

She stepped back, rubbing at the red marks where his fingers had been.

Gryph sighed. “You didn’t turn me over to the authorities.” He shook his head, staring hard into her eyes. “Why?”

“Should I have?”

“Any surface dweller would have.”

Her brows dipped together. “Surface dweller?” She bent to retrieve the bowl, scooting back out of his reach as soon as she straightened, clutching the bowl to her chest. “What do you mean by surface dweller?”

His lips clamped shut. Damn. He’d said too much. The less this woman knew the better off he was, and the safer the community of souls was who lived far below the hustle and bustle of Chicago in the dark tunnels under the oldest part of the city. The scarred, the unusual, the mutants and the physically and mentally disfigured freaks who slid beneath the surface to live out their lives unnoticed by the beautiful, so-called normal people of the light.

“I should leave.” He pushed to a sitting position and the room spun so fast, he tilted toward the edge of the bed.

The woman was there to catch him, steadying him against her breast. Her tantalizing scent cut through the gray fog consuming him, bringing him back from the edge of unconsciousness.

“You’re not going anywhere in your condition,” she said, her voice firm.

As much as he wanted to remain with his cheek leaning into the softness of her breast, he straightened. “I’ll be fine. I heal fast.” His voice sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“If you let yourself.” She held on to his arm, her gentle fingers urging him toward the pillow.

Too exhausted to fight her, Gryph lay back, the slightest movement shooting pain through his shoulder. The gray fog swirled around his peripheral vision, shadows sneaking up to claim him. He closed his eyes, giving in to the darkness. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

As if from the bottom of a deep well he heard her answer, “Because I know what it’s like to be different.”

* * *

Selene stayed by his side through what remained of the night. When it came time to open her dress shop above her apartment, she would leave it closed for the day. The man in her bed needed her more than women needed the vintage and whimsical dresses, beautiful, colorful blouses and artistic jewelry her business was known for in the city.

Gryph’s wounds had taken more out of him than he would have admitted. He burned with fever for hours and every time he moved, the pain shot through him, triggering the beast within.

Exhausted from little sleep and the stress of caring for her strange patient, Selene was drifting off in the chair beside the bed when her cell phone rang.

Selene hurried to the kitchen to answer and keep from disturbing her patient.

As soon as she clicked the talk button, Deme’s urgent voice asked, “Selene, honey, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She laughed softly. “Did you expect anything else?”

“With a strange man in your apartment, I didn’t know what to expect. Is he still there?”

Selene turned toward the bedroom.

Gryph lay as still as death, his face flushed with fever.

“Yes, he’s still here.”

“Do you want me to come over? He hasn’t attacked you or anything?”

“No, he’s too far out of it to be a danger.”

“What about when he comes to? I can be there in five minutes. Just say the word.”

“No.” Selene was firm. If Gryph changed in front of her, Deme might not understand. She sure as hell wouldn’t agree to let him stay in Selene’s apartment after that. “What’s the status of the woman who was attacked?”

“She regained consciousness for a few minutes, but she was so distraught, we couldn’t get her to answer questions or identify what attacked her. We’re at the hospital now, hoping she’ll come to long enough to describe her attacker.” As a member of Chicago PD’s Special Investigations Division, Selene’s sisters, Deme and Brigid, had an inside track on any case that defied the norm. Last night’s attack was right up their ally.

“Let me know what you learn.”

“We had the ME examine her wounds.”

“Isn’t that a bit premature?”

“Her physician wanted a forensic look at what he saw.”

“And?”

“They both confirmed it was some kind of animal attack.”

Selene’s hand tightened on the cell phone. “Did they say what kind of animal?”

“No, only that it was large enough to snap her neck and paralyze her. If she lives, most likely she’ll never walk again.”

Selene drew in a long breath, empathy for the girl weighing deeply in her mind. What if she was wrong? What if the man in her bed was the beast who’d attacked the woman?

She focused on the man lying against her sheets for a long moment. She could sense no latent savagery in him. No hunger to kill. Even when he’d half shifted in pain, she hadn’t sensed that he was capable of killing without cause. He wasn’t the one.

“Selene, are you there?”

Selene shook her head and returned her attention to her sister. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Brigid is with me. I can send her over to assess the guy in your apartment, if you’d like me to.”

“No, Deme.” She gripped the phone. “You didn’t tell her about him, did you?”

“No. I respected your wishes. Although if you’re comfortable with him in your home, why be secretive? We’re sisters. Since when do you keep secrets from any of us?”

Since the man in her bed had a beast inside him. “Please, just let me get him well. I’ll tell the others once he’s able to get around on his own.”

“By that time, he might be well enough to attack you. I tell you, Selene, I’m not happy with the situation. It’s bad enough watching over a stranger who’s been attacked. I don’t want to know what it feels like to stand over one of my sister’s hospital bed.”

“I’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Well, I’m coming by later today. Whether you like it or not.”

“He’s unconscious now. Let him wake before you do.”

She snorted. “I’m not liking this.”

“Duly noted.” Selene sighed. “Don’t worry, Deme. I’ll be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that’s what this woman said as she stepped into that parking garage.” Deme hung up.

Selene sagged against the counter.

She could hear the man in her bed moan, the moan changing to a low rumbling growl as he thrashed, the sheets slipping low over his waist.

Tired, but determined, Selene prepared another of her mother’s poultices, wet a clean washcloth and filled a basin with fresh water. She laid them on a tray and carried them into the room.

With great care, she removed the bandages and plucked away the old poultice a little at a time. The wound was an angry red around the edges. When she applied the damp washcloth, the man jerked to a sitting position, his gaze wild as he slapped her wrist away as if slapping a paw at her. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks flushed with fever.

“It’s okay.” She pressed a hand to the uninjured shoulder. Speaking softly, she urged him to lie down.

As if he understood, he eased to his back, grimacing, his lips drawing back over long catlike fangs.

As she removed the poultice from the wound, she talked softly. “I’ve never met a man quite like you.”