Captive Mate - Eliot Grayson Page 0,65

that he was more practical than I was.

And also how completely lacking in squeamishness.

With a heavy sigh, he knelt down by Parker, who was stirring slightly and moaning. Not dead yet, and apparently that was something Matthew meant to remedy as quickly as possible.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust as he took Parker apart with the efficiency of a butcher having a bad day and wanting to get it over with and go home. Matthew pulled something out with a zipper-like ripping sound and tossed it aside. Oh, ugh. That was Parker’s spine. Yeah, and that looked like his lungs. No way was that healing.

Slumping down against my friendly tree, which was still vibrating slightly from its mighty effort, I absently patted its trunk gently, soothing and thanking it.

Even in my fairly varied experience I’d never seen anything so gruesome. My heart lurched, and then set up a pitter-patter rhythm that had my vision shaking and my hands trembling.

The kind of man who could kill like that — kill for me — calmly, methodically, and without qualm, just because it was necessary…that was a man I could trust. Depend on, even. If I hadn’t been half-dead with exhaustion, my cock would’ve been hard. I’d never wanted anything more in my life than I wanted Matthew to kiss me in that moment.

At last he finished with what was left of Parker. Parker, who could never, ever touch me again.

I was safe from him. I let out a long breath. I hadn’t realized how heavy that weight was until it was gone.

Now that it was quiet in our little corner of the woods, I could hear that the howls had died down. Distant shouts still carried, but it sounded like they weren’t fighting. Arguing, maybe. I reached out with my magical senses, but I couldn’t feel the salt circle. I’d broken my connection to it when I broke my connection to Nate.

Nate. Fuck, Nate. Guilt hit me hard. I’d forgotten about him in the terror of the last few minutes, but I had to get back to him — I was the only one who could heal him.

“Matthew,” I said, or tried to. It came out as a hoarse, reedy whisper.

But he heard me. He stood, rubbed the gore off his hands onto his jeans, and then turned to look at me.

What I saw in his face, in his eyes, made my breath catch. He limped over to me and dropped down on one knee, leaning in close and examining me. Matthew reached up as if to touch me, then grimaced and dropped his hand again. It was still liberally smeared with blood.

He looked me up and down, his expression hardening. “How badly hurt are you?”

“I’ll heal.” I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to touch me. The longing for him to just pull me into his arms and hold me felt like magnetism. “You — you’re still bleeding.”

He was, from wounds on his legs and shoulder and stomach.

“I’m healing too. I’ll be fine. But you —”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I need to get back to Nate. Parker — Parker attacked him. He was bleeding, badly. I need to get back to him.”

“Fuck,” Matthew said, with feeling. “If he dies, Ian — come on, I’ll help you.”

He got a hand around my waist and I leaned on his shoulder, and somehow we both got to our feet, leaning on each other like drunks. Matthew smelled like blood and sweat and redwoods and dirt, and I wanted to bury my face in his chest and inhale him like incense. The touch of his hand burned through my shirt and burrowed into my skin.

We moved as quickly as we could, gaining speed and strength as we went. Thank the gods for alpha healing; he’d be fine within half an hour, probably. I’d take a little longer, but the wounds on my side had already started to itch and burn, signaling that they were closing.

Flashes of movement through the trees resolved into a small group in the spell-circle clearing, all of them clustered around someone on the ground.

I let go of Matthew and broke into an ungraceful stumbling run, with him right on my heels.

Several heads turned as we lurched into the clearing: two of Matthew’s councilors, including Jennifer, and to my shock, Colin Kimball. What the hell had happened here?

Nate lay on the ground on his side, in Ian’s arms, with his face pressed to Ian’s stomach. He wasn’t moving. Ian’s face