Fangs But No Fangs

CHAPTER 4

Sometimes I don't know if this plan of mine is really about becoming someone different or just trying to erase the past. Do you think it's even possible to erase the past? I don't know.

I know I'm not hurting anyone anymore. But I'm not making any real amends to those I hurt before. A very important step to recovery. Number Nine on the list, actually. Forgiveness.

How do you ever make up for the worst thing you can possibly do to another? You can't. Maybe this plan is doomed from the start. I'm sorry Rhys, Sebastian, Elizabeth, and Jane. I wish I had understood sooner.

On an upnote, I did get my Popeil Solid Food Injector. So if I want to make a roast with chunks of garlic inside it, then I'm all set.

Christian slammed the stick shift into gear, then pressed the pedal farther to the floor. The engine of his Porsche revved and accepted the push for speed readily.

The shadowy trees tunneled around him, a blur of black on either side of him. He barely registered them, instead staring at the road in front of him. The tires spun faster and faster as more and more road disappeared under his car.

He'd allowed himself to drive tonight. To run away for just a while. But the driving, always a reliable source of escape, wasn't working. No, now racing through the dark didn't give him even the slightest measure of contentment.

He told himself that he'd rise tonight and his reaction to Jolee would be gone. A good day of unnatural slumber was the cure for most ailments. But nothing had changed. He still couldn't stop thinking about her.

He gripped the steering wheel, trying to concentrate on the vibration of the vehicle around him. But instead of feeling the purr of the engine, he could only remember the sensation of her softly accented voice caressing his skin.

He pushed the buttons on the armrest, and the windows glided open, allowing the warm spring air to gust through the car. The earthy, rich scents of new foliage mingled with the scent of leather. He breathed in deeply, only to have that smell replaced by the memory of sweet cinnamon and honey.

He growled, the sound lost in the whip of the wind. Why couldn't he get this mortal out of his head? He couldn't satisfy his hunger, not with her. Not with any mortal. So why did he ache for her? He'd even fed more than usual tonight. He could feel the warmth of the extra blood in his body. But that warmth didn't soothe the need deep inside him.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. Jolee. Even now, he wondered if she was home. Was she okay? Did she hate him? Again he saw her face as he'd last seen it, her lovely, dark eyes widened with surprise, then pain.

He punched his foot down until he felt the pedal connect with the floorboard. The trees and road were a dizzying blur all around him. Suddenly her face was in front of him, small in the distance, blindingly pale, eyes wide and stricken. That face would haunt him.

Almost too late, he realized the image wasn't his memory, a tormenting figment of his imagination. She was real. In front of him.

He slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel. The tires skidded on the tar, rubber melting and burning as he slid closer and closer toward that face. Toward Jolee.

He wasn't going to make it. A wave of panic and helplessness choked him. He was going to hit her. But at the last moment, it was Jolee who reacted, jumping away from the careening vehicle. The car spun, and he lost sight of where she might have gone. Finally the wheels caught and the car rocked to a halt in the center of the now empty road.

Christian jerked the gear shift into neutral and scrambled out of the car. The night was quiet, except for the low rumble of the car's engine. He ran toward where he thought she'd been, searching the dark, his night vision not focusing as quickly as it should have because of his weakened state and his panic.

"Damn it," he shouted, rushing to the side of the road, scanning the ditch, growing more agitated. Then he saw her, a crumpled mass of limbs among some rocks and weeds.

Suddenly he wasn't seeing Jolee. He was seeing another mortal. A tiny woman with short, dark hair and huge green eyes. His brother's woman, the woman he'd killed in a false sense of vengeance. Jane.

Nausea gripped his stomach, but he forced himself to ignore it. He scrambled down the small embankment toward Jolee. Not Jane, Jolee. And she wasn't dead. She couldn't be. He couldn't have killed another innocent mortal.

His eyes better adjusted and now he could see her well. He could see she had a scrape on her arm, blood glistening in the moonlight. The wound seemed to be shallow and not life-threatening. His eyes moved on.

He was more worried about her head, which had hit the rocks. He knelt beside her, holding his hand over her body. He could feel her life energy, strong, warming his fingers. And he could see her heart beat, even at the base of her throat. She didn't seem to be in any distress, but he was still concerned that something might be wrong with her neck or her head.

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?"

His gaze roamed over her body, looking for signs of problems.

"No," she told him, then hesitated. She didn't want to tell this guy she couldn't afford to see a doctor. Not when he'd made it clear he already looked down on her. But she didn't have a choice. As usual, she'd have to set her pride aside, and do whatever was necessary to survive.

"I don't have any insurance," she finally stated flatly.

He stared at her for a moment. Then his frown deepened. "Insurance?"

"Yes, coverage to see a doctor. To help cover the cost of medical care."

He shook his head as if to say he had no idea what she was talking about. How could he not know what medical insurance was? Then she realized that he likely wasn't from the U.S. originally. That would explain his unusual accent. Maybe he had lived somewhere with universal health care.

"Are you Canadian?"

His brows drew even closer together as he stared at her as if she'd gone nutty.

"Canadian?" he finally asked, but didn't wait to discuss the topic further. "Jolee, are you stalling?"

"No. Here you need insurance to see a doctor."

"Well, that's preposterous. You need a doctor, and you will see one."

Jolee almost smiled. Almost. She had to remember this man was a first-class snot. Even if he was being rather gallant at the moment. Of course, he did nearly run you down with his car. Although she'd been a little responsible for that, too. She hadn't been paying attention, her thoughts on the run-in at the bar, and what she'd do if Rick and his buddies returned while she was walking home.

"This woman needs to see a doctor."

Jolee blinked to see that he was obviously done discussing insurance, and was now talking to a custodian who pushed a gray mop around the glossy linoleum flooring.

The custodian, puzzled by the odd man carrying a dirt-and leaf-covered woman, pointed at the alcove labeled "Registration."

Jolee found herself headed to a window where a woman in a white coat, with large-framed glasses and tightly curled hair, looked up at them.

"My goodness," she said, her eyes looking abnormally wide behind her thick lenses. "What happened?"

"She was nearly hit by a car. She needs to see a doctor."

"Please put me down," Jolee hissed, feeling even more ridiculous now that they had observers.

"Have a seat over there," the woman suggested, pointing to the waiting area behind them. "I'll be right out with some paperwork, then we'll get you in to see a doctor."

He didn't look pleased with that answer, but when she pointed again to the waiting room, he did go to the small area, setting Jolee carefully onto one of the metal and plastic chairs.

He sat down beside her, still looking very confused.

"I don't understand," he said. "Why can't you see the doctor, then fill out this paperwork?"

Jolee forced a smile. "You don't go to the doctor much, do you?"

"Never," he stated, and sounded glad of it.

"Okay." The woman appeared with a clipboard. "Just fill but these two forms."

"Does she really need to do this now?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes. Unfortunately. Although if she's too sore to write" — she gestured to Jolee's arm— "then you can help her. I'll be back in a few moments."

The woman marched off, her white shoes squeaking on the newly washed floor.

"Ludicrous," he muttered as he leaned over to peer at the forms.

"See, we should just go," Jolee said hopefully.

"No. Do you need help?"

"No." She sighed. Taking the pen stuck under the metal clip, she started filling in her information. The forms didn't take her long since she had to skip the insurance parts.

Her neighbor shifted in his seat, looking decidedly annoyed. He leaned forward to glare at the clerk. Busy typing on her computer, she didn't notice him. He sat back only to look again seconds later.

"Are you doing all right?" he asked.

Her head felt like it was pulsating noticeably. "I just want to go home."

He stood up, taking the clipboard from where she'd placed it in the chair next to her, and strode to the woman.

He handed the board to her without so much as a word, although Jolee was certain the woman received one of his lofty looks. Not pleasant, as she could attest to.

He came back and took the seat beside her. More time and more impatient movements from her companion, then the woman appeared.

"You don't have insurance," she stated as though Jolee didn't know.

"No, I don't."

The woman frowned. "You will need to pay before you leave tonight."

Jolee nodded and started to lever herself slowly out of the chair. "I figured. Thanks."

Her neighbor stood and reached in his pants pocket. He pulled out a black leather wallet with a small designer emblem on the edge. He flipped it open. "I have plenty of money."

Jolee saw several cards flick by. Gold, platinum, even blue. All that appeared to be missing was Diners Club™.

"Now can she see a doctor?" he asked impatiently.

The clerk nodded, and disappeared through the swinging doors that led into the ER.

Jolee stared at him as he put the wallet back in his pocket.

"I can't take your money." She couldn't owe any money. Especially to this man.

"Of course you can. I'm the one who nearly hit you. I insist on paying for your treatment."

He did have a point. She supposed his gesture was the right one. She'd insist on paying for anyone she hurt, too, that was if she had any money. Thank God she hadn't almost hit him. He'd be in real trouble.

But she wanted to make sure he understood this made them even. "If you pay, I don't owe you anything in return."

He frowned, then comprehension dawned in his eyes. "Certainly not."

She immediately felt stupid. Of course this man wouldn't expect anything else from her. But not because he respected her. Not because he saw her as an equal, but probably because he found her to be unattractive. She told herself that didn't matter to her, but it did sting a little.

Lord, she must be mad. There she sat, hurting, exhausted, and she was upset because this guy didn't find her attractive.

The clerk reappeared, followed by another woman in a white coat. The new woman held the door open and offered a polite smile. "The doctor will see you now."

"About time," her neighbor muttered.

Jolee couldn't agree more. She wanted this over and to go home. And to avoid her neighbor from now on.