Fangs But No Fangs

CHAPTER 5

After much poking and prodding, Dr. Williams, a woman in her fifties with pretty white-gray hair and a no-nonsense manner, told Jolee what she'd already guessed.

"You have a few cuts and bruises. Your shoulder is going to be pretty sore for the next few days. The scrape on your arm is large but not terribly deep. It should be kept bandaged, though. Other than that, it doesn't require any special attention. And you have a pretty sizable goose egg on your head."

The doctor scribbled some notes on her clipboard. "Really, there isn't much I can offer you except some Motrin and rest."

Jolee nodded. She wanted to rest. Her eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them. "Rest sounds wonderful."

"Do you have anyone to stay with you tonight?"

Jolee hesitated.

"I think it's wise to have someone with you for at least tonight. You have a concussion, and while I don't think it's severe enough to require a hospital stay, I do think you should have someone around in case you suffer vertigo or nausea. In which case, I'd want you to return to the hospital immediately."

"Yes, I do," Jolee assured the doctor. "I have someone."

The doctor nodded, then wrote something else on her clipboard. Probably that Jolee was a liar. She was sure the doctor knew— she was possibly the worst liar on the planet.

"Okay, well, since it's so late, I'm going to have the nurse give you some of the ibuprofen to take with you tonight. I'll also include some bandages and antibacterial ointment, and a list of things to watch out for with a concussion."

Jolee offered her thanks to the doctor, and once the woman left, she proceeded to dress. She winced as she wrestled her T-shirt back on. Carrying trays and reaching for bottles on the upper shelves at the bar was going to be a challenge, but at least the injuries weren't any worse. She'd be able to work. That was a blessing.

She finished straightening her clothes and eased off the table, the white paper under her bottom crinkling loudly. As she stepped out into the room, she saw the nurse who'd brought her back to the doctor was at her station. She was on the phone, but she waved to Jolee to acknowledge that she saw her. She gestured for Jolee to go back to the waiting room.

Jolee stepped through the swinging door, and her neighbor stood up.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said, "nothing that time and rest won't cure." She couldn't help adding, "Just like I told you."

He didn't acknowledge her peevish tone, but before he could question her further, the nurse arrived.

"Here are your supplies." She held out a small white paper bag. "And here is the list of symptoms to watch for if your concussion worsens."

The nurse then looked to her neighbor. "Will you be the one watching her tonight?"

"Yes," he said.

"No," Jolee stated at the same time.

The nurse looked back and forth between the two. Finally her confused gaze landed on Jolee. "You do have someone to stay with you, at least for tonight, don't you?"

"Yes," Jolee said quickly, adamantly. "Yes, of course, I do."

The nurse gave her a searching look. Again Jolee was sure her horrible lying skills had given her away.

"Okay," the nurse finally said. "Good. And feel better."

"I will. Thank you." Jolee clutched the items the nurse had given her like a victory medal. She just wanted out of here.

Then the clerk appeared. "I have the bill waiting for you."

Jolee really didn't want to hear the total. She felt guilty that this man had to pay— even though he was the one who nearly ran her down, and despite the fact he could obviously afford it. Or at least could have afforded it at one time. Who knew what the state of his finances was now? He did live in a rusty old trailer across from the most broke woman in the known universe. Odds were, he wasn't any too solvent. But he didn't hesitate; he followed the woman back to her desk. Jolee, wimp that she was, remained in the waiting area.

In a few minutes, he returned, looking unfazed by whatever the bill had been. But his expressions were hard to read, so she couldn't be sure how he felt about the cost.

"You'd be an ace at poker," she said, falling into step beside him to retrace their path back to his car.

"Why do you say that?"

"Those eyes of yours," she said. "Beautiful and unreadable."

Christian didn't pause or glance at her as she walked beside him, but he was shocked to the core. This woman, who he'd obviously done a terrific job of making dislike and mistrust him, had just given him a compliment. Well, a compliment of sorts.

"Actually, I haven't gambled at cards for years." Not since his wastrel days frequenting gambling hells all about London. "Are you sure you aren't feeling lightheaded?"

She obviously must be feeling a little confused to say anything complimentary about him.

"No," she said, stifling back a yawn. "But I am exhausted."

"Well, I'll get you home as quickly as possible." He led her to his car, opening the door for her.

"Don't go too quickly. I don't want you to run down anyone else tonight."

A smile tugged at his lips, but he didn't comment.

The ride back to the trailer park was much like the ride to the hospital. Silent. Jolee had her eyes closed, although this time he was fairly certain she just dozed.

Instead of pulling in her driveway, he turned into his own. When the engine rumbled to a stop, Jolee opened her eyes, peering around.

"Thanks," she murmured, obviously not thinking it odd that he didn't drop her off at her door. She reached for the door handle. Christian also reached for his, jumping out of the car to come around and help her.

Jolee was already standing, using the door to steady herself.

"Thanks, I can handle it from here."

She started across the street, but Christian followed, catching the hand of her good arm.

She stopped and glanced down at where he touched her, then lifted an arched brow. "I said I can handle it from here."

He shook his head. "The nurse said you need to have someone with you tonight."

"Well, you are right across the road, so if I need you—»

He shook his head. "You're going to spend the night with me."

She immediately shook her head, then narrowed her eyes as if the action had caused her pain. "No. I promise I'll come right over to you if I have any of the symptoms."

"No. You will stay at my place." Lord, she was a stubborn little mortal.

Her eyes narrowed again, but this time out of annoyance rather than pain. "You are impossible. No."

He smiled slightly. Well, at least she was thinking the same thing about his disposition.

"The other option is that I stay at your trailer, but as I recall, you have no sofa. I suppose I could share your bed."

Her eyes widened now, flashing. "No! This is ridiculous. I'm perfectly fine to go home and go to bed. I don't need you to stay with me."

"Right then. Off to your bed." He started to tug her toward her trailer, but she dug in her heels.

"You would seriously do this, wouldn't you?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Yes. It's doctor's orders."

She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "I will sleep on your couch."

"My bed."

"Couch."

"Bed."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered. "Fine. I'll sleep in your bed."

He started to tug her back toward his trailer.

"But" — she dug her heels in again; he stopped and looked at her— "you will sleep on the couch."

"Absolutely."

Jolee allowed herself to be led into his trailer. She was so tired, she just didn't have any more fight left in her.

She collapsed, drained, on his couch, while he set down her tote bag.

"You should go straight to bed."

She nodded, too tired to get up. Instead she flopped over on the cushions, the movement hurting her shoulder, but she didn't care. It felt so good to lie down.

"Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?" he asked.

She nodded, barely even aware of what he'd asked. He just needed to go and let her rest.

He left the room and she let her eyes drift shut. But he returned just moments later.

"Here you go."

She opened her eyes and he was holding out a white button-front shirt. Crisp white cotton, obviously tailored. Of course.

She reached out a hand to take it, the cotton softer than any she'd ever felt.

"Thanks." She glanced up at him. He nodded. And for the first time, she realized what he looked like. Blood smeared the shoulder and collar of his shirt. The material was wrinkled, and his hemline untucked. His hair, which was cut to look chicly disheveled, was way beyond that, sticking out wildly.

"You're a mess," she stated.

He glanced down at himself, then smiled, just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth.

A rather adorable smile, she thought as she yawned, and let her eyes fall shut again. Too bad he probably knows it.

"My name doesn't mean pretty in French either," he suddenly said, and for a moment, she thought she might have dreamed the comment.

She opened her eyes and he was there. Still messy. Still adorable.

"My name is Christian. Christian Young."

She smiled, sleepiness making her feel relaxed and a little disconnected. "Christian. That's a nice name."

She closed her eyes and slept.

Christian stood over her, watching her. Her breathing came in a low, even rhythm. In. Out. Her spicy scent surrounded him again, the sharper scent of her fear and pain gone. Thankfully gone.

He stared at her face, still pale, but a hint of pink colored her high cheekbones. She would be all right.

He didn't think God would be interested in his thanks, but he thanked him anyway. He hadn't given any credence to God, even when he was alive. Funny, that he should now. Now, when he had no chance of being forgiven by God or man.

Hmmm. He'd never quite believed that he'd be able to do Step Seven of his twelve steps. But there it was, Humility—asking a higher power to remove his shortcomings.

He looked back at Jolee, again seeing another face, the face that had prompted this change in him. The face of a mortal whose only mistake had been to love his vampire brother. Did his brother Rhys still ache for Jane? Of course, he did. Christian could never expect forgiveness from him. Or Sebastian. His baby brother was right to stand by Rhys. Rhys had been right about Lilah all along, that she was evil and cruel and never loved him, but Christian's obsession with her wouldn't allow him to listen. Rhys would never forgive his shortcomings. Never.

Unable to think anymore about what he'd done, he spun away from Jolee and headed to his bedroom. There, he stripped off his soiled shirt, throwing it on the small dresser. The white material landed in a pile. He started to undo his pants when something on the shirt caught his attention.

Slowly he approached the garment, staring at stains, rusty brown against white. Picking up the shirt, he studied the smears. For the first time, he smelled the blood there. Even dried, the blood still contained that intoxicating scent, that lure. He lifted the shirt to his nose, breathing in deeply. His hunger responded, his muscles seizing with the urge to feed. But still his fangs didn't extend.

He threw the garment away from himself. He was only torturing himself. He could never bite her. He couldn't bite at all. But the need was still there, even though his fangs didn't respond.

He left the room, fleeing the need. He was halfway down the hall when realization hit him. The scrape on Jolee's arm had been bleeding when he found her. Her blood had been on his clothing, but until just now he hadn't even smelled it. His hunger hadn't cried out to him until he'd consciously smelled it. There was a time that he'd never have been able to block out the lure of her blood. Were his powers so far gone? Or had he been so worried about her that blood was secondary? He didn't really know.

But he did know he could smell her in the trailer, her spicy, rich scent. A scent that didn't have to do with blood, and only with Jolee herself. He entered the living room. She hadn't moved. She remained curled on her side, her injured arm cradled against her chest. Her dark auburn hair, which had been knotted at the back of her head, had fallen loose. Strands clung to her cheeks. She had a smudge of dirt on the side of her chin, or maybe it was a bruise. Guilt constricted his chest. But no hunger. Even after smelling her blood and reacting to her essence, his hunger had calmed again.

He frowned. But his hunger had responded to her last night in her trailer. His erection, his desire to touch her. That had been the hunger, he was sure of it. Maybe the additional couple ounces of blood had gotten him back under control. Maybe he had found the perfect amount. Enough to satisfy, but little enough to make him as close to human as he could get.

She shifted, her knees practically coming up to touch her chin. She would be more comfortable in his bed. The lumpy mattress was far from luxurious, but it was better than the sunken cushions of the sofa.

He started to lift her, easing one arm under her knees and the other around her back, but she moaned.

"No," she almost pleaded, as if she couldn't stand to be woken again. So instead, he moved her so she was better situated on the length of the sofa, allowing her long legs to stretch out.

He returned to his room and grabbed a blanket. As he covered her, she murmured thanks, but he didn't think she even woke up. He tucked the cover securely around her thin frame. He couldn't recall a time when he'd tucked a person in. Maybe his sister, Elizabeth. But he couldn't recall.

Pain and bitter remorse squeezed his chest. Another mortal he'd hurt. Another mortal he could have saved, if he hadn't been blinded by his own obsession with Lilah. He hadn't killed Elizabeth himself, but for all practical purposes, he might as well have.

Maybe that was why he was so drawn to this mortal. She seemed to need someone. To help her, to save her— he wasn't sure from what exactly, but he was going to make sure he protected her in some way. In the way he should have protected his sister, his brothers, and Jane. And himself.

He sat in a chair and watched Jolee sleep. She shifted slightly so he could see her face. Those lips, her long lashes against her pale skin. Her nose, straight and tipped up just a bit at the end. His body reacted to her, but he ignored the confusing reaction. Instead he went to his computer and to his blog page.

I think I have found a way to make up for my past mistakes. I know I can never receive forgiveness from my brothers. Or Elizabeth. Or Jane. But I can receive forgiveness from another human. I don't exactly know where this strategy fits under my step program. She is either Step Nine: Forgiveness, where I make amends to someone I've hurt.

He glanced at her. He'd definitely hurt her. Both physically and mentally.

Or maybe she's actually Step Eight, which I have titled Willingness. I had been using this blog as my connection to others, but I think maybe I need to do more. I think I might need to actually interact, in person, with humans for this plan to be a real success. To show my desire to change. Or she could actually be Step Twelve: Service. This step requires me to go out and help others and share what I've learned.

That idea now wasn't as appalling as it had once been. Again he looked over at Jolee. In fact, he rather liked the idea of being «friends» with a mortal. It would be quite a novelty, really.

Jolee breathed evenly, deeply. He didn't understand the strange reactions of his body to her. The urge to touch her. The erection without the fangs. All he knew for sure was he needed to be near her. He didn't understand the need, but she made him feel something other than emptiness and hunger. And he would protect her. That seemed like a fair and safe trade-off.

He turned back to the computer.

Maybe she is a combination of all three. In which case, I dare say I'm being quite successful at this program.