Page 20 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
Chapter NineThe night of my auction there was a man in the Den, his eyes a frosty blue and his hair white-blond. It might make another man look soft, but his broad shoulders strain his white dress shirt, muscles bulging beneath the fabric. He looks like some kind of Nordic warrior, pillaging a village.
He takes one look at Gabriel and scowls. “Sit down before you fall down.”
It’s a sign of how affected Gabriel is that he actually listens. He takes two steps into the nearest sitting room and reclines his body on a leather armchair. It could be casual comfort. Only a scratch, like he wants me to believe. But the way he closes his eyes proves it’s more than that. He can finally lower his guard now that we’re somewhere safe.
Blood stains a dark line down the front of his crisp white shirt.
I wring my hands together, torn between wanting to help him and not wanting to make it worse. “You said there’s a first-aid kit?”
“Anders will get it,” Gabriel says without moving.
Blue eyes flash with ice. “It would serve you right to bleed out.”
I take a step forward. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but he needs you to help him. And that’s what you’re going to do.”
One pale eyebrow rises. “Your kitten has claws, Gabriel.”
“Hey,” I snap. “He’s not talking to you. I am. And I’m telling you to get a first-aid kit now.”
After a long look Anders stalks down the hallway.
I kneel beside Gabriel and take his hand in mine.
His eyes slit open. “I liked that.”
“Him calling me a kitten?”
“I liked you standing up for me.”
My heart aches. He’s been so alone, without even knowing it. These men at the Den, they’re his friends. But they’re also tough assholes, used to hurting each other as much as helping. A group of lost boys, all grown up but still searching for a home.
Gabriel hasn’t had anyone to look after him.
Now he has me.
Anders returns with a black leather bag. I expected something small and white and plastic, maybe with a strip of gauze and a small tube of Neosporin. Instead he pulls out a stainless-steel tray that contains metal tools wrapped in plastic, like some kind of portable surgical table.
Gabriel moves to take off his shirt, apparently unsurprised by the setup.
“You said it was a graze,” I accuse.
“It is,” Anders says, wiping away blood with a wad of gauze. “A graze that needs stitches.”
Gabriel shrugs and then winces. “You don’t have to watch. Wait upstairs for me.”
I’m not going anywhere. “You’ve done this before?” I ask Anders even though he handles the tools with a cool efficiency clearly born of experience.
He doesn’t bother looking up. “Once or twice.”
“He’s a doctor,” Gabriel says.
“Was a doctor.” Anders snaps on a pair of plastic gloves. “My license was revoked.”
My mouth drops, though I’m not sure what’s more shocking—that this large, rough-hewn man, a hint of violence in his every move, once made a living healing people, or that he lost his license. “What for?”
“What else? Killing patients.”
I move to stand between him and Gabriel. “Wait. Are you serious? Should you be doing this?”
“He went to medical school, little virgin,” Gabriel says from behind me.
“You should go to a hospital,” I say without turning. “Where the doctors still have their licenses!”
Something dark passes over Anders’s expression—maybe grief. Maybe fury. But when he speaks, his tone is droll. “Well, sure. He’ll lose another pint of blood in the process and the hospital will have to report the gunshot wound, which will lead to the police knocking on your door.”
“Better than you chopping him up,” I snap back. I don’t know where this protective instinct comes from, but it’s hard and hot. I want to stand up for Gabriel the way no one ever has before. I want to stand up for him the way no one did for me when I needed help.
Large fingers take mine. I turn to see Gabriel holding my hand, his mouth taut with pain, his eyes bright with a shared fervor. “Little virgin.”
I can’t even mind him calling me that, not with blood slick on his neck. “I’m sorry,” I whisper because it feels like my fault. His blood. My fear. Everything that’s happened since the auction.
He pulls me close, until I’m standing between his legs. It should make me feel vulnerable, being small and captive within the confines of his body. Even injured he could hurt me a thousand times over. Instead I feel like he’s worshipping me. I always thought of the men as gods—powerful, angry. He makes me feel like a goddess, beautiful and divine.
“I’m one hundred percent fine,” he murmurs, echoing my words.
Only then do I realize the breath I’ve been holding. Gabriel worried about me, but I wasn’t injured. He was, and the knowledge pains me in the deepest way. I step aside without another word, clinging to Gabriel’s hand even as Anders pulls up a chair.
