She was frowning at him. Her hands were braced on her hips as she glared at the wounds.
“I told you not to get wounded,” she pointed out calmly.
“You did,” he agreed with a slow, thoughtful nod. “And I tried very hard to please you, mate, but that Vanderale brat seemed to think his own hide was more important than mine and used me for a shield.”
Oh, now this was just wrong. He was blatantly lying to her. Blatantly, playfully. Almost flirtatiously lying to her. She had already heard the details when he was first brought in, but she turned to Jonas and Dane where they stood behind her anyway.
Both men were glaring at her mate.
Her brow arched inquisitively. “Vanderale brat?” she asked Dane curiously.
He grunted at the insult. “Next time, I’ll throw him to the damned Coyotes.”
“Looks like he’s going to live, anyway,” Jonas drawled as he watched Lawe broodingly. “You acted like you actually missed having bullets whine past your head.”
Lawe grinned.
The sight of that smile did something to her. It melted her insides. Like butter on a hot summer day she could feel emotion just oozing through her, over-taking her, seeping into all the little hidden, previously locked areas of her soul to fill her with a sense of rich, sudden life.
“And I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Dane murmured.
“Damned Breed sense of smell.” Diane sighed as they both left the suite, the outer doors closing behind them as the medic laid the last skin cement to the degradable staples used to pull the edges of the wound together.
Sealing the exposed raw flesh, the Breed pulled back, packed his instruments into the old-fashioned black case he carried and shook his head at Lawe. “I thought I was done fixing you up.”
“This happens often does it?” Diane asked.
The medic grinned. “Just every time he heads out on a mission, finds a Council soldier to fight, or just plain wants to spar with the younger Breeds to prove his experience beats their youth and strength.” He chuckled. “Sure you want him back on active status?”
She turned back to her mate. His brow was arched, his expression knowing.
“Hell,” she breathed out in exasperation, “it’s probably the only way to keep from killing him.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty tame while he’s healing.” The medic chuckled as he headed for the door. “Call me if he busts the stitches loose.”
Within seconds he too had left the room, leaving them alone.
“In pain?” she asked.
He rose from the bed and quickly shed his jeans. The shirt had been cut from him earlier, his boots eased from his feet the moment they had been lifted to the bed.
He was aroused.
The bronze length of his c**k speared out from his body, thick and throbbing, the mushroomed crest gleaming damply with pr**cum as his balls lifted tight to the base of the shaft.
“Pretty sure,” she murmured as she tore the loose shirt over her head and quickly shed the yoga pants she had donned.
She was ready for him.
Diane could feel her juices gathering on the lips of her pu**y as the inner muscles pulsed and flexed with the need for attention.
Wrapping his fingers around the heavy column, he stroked it lazily as he stared down at her, his gaze becoming intent and brooding.
“Punishment time,” he murmured.
Her brow lifted, her gaze flicking to his fingers as they stroked his powerful erection.
“Really?” she murmured.