trapped in a
cage of comatose flesh and bones. Unable to move his arms or legs, and with his eyelids shut so
tight it was like he'd been crying rubber cement, it appeared that his hearing was the only thing
working: There was a conversation going on above him. Two voices. A female's and a male's,
neither of which he recognized.
No, wait. He knew one of them. One of them had ordered him around. The female. But why?
And why the hell had he let her?
He listened to her talk without really following the words. Her cadence of speech was like a
male's. Direct. Authoritative. Commanding.
Who was she? Who-
Her identity hit him like a slap, stunning some sense into him. The surgeon. The human surgeon.
Jesus Christ, he was in a human hospital. He'd fallen into human hands after… Shit, what had
happened?
Panic energized him… and got him exactly nowhere. His body was a slab of meat, and he had a
feeling the tube down his throat meant a machine was working his lungs. Clearly they'd sedated
the shit out of him.
Oh, God. How close to dawn was it? He needed to get the hell away from here. How was he
going to-
His escape planning came to a crashing halt as his instincts fired up, took the wheel, grabbed
control.
It wasn't the fighter in him coming out, though. It was all those possessive male impulses that
had always been dormant, the ones he'd read about or heard about or seen in others, but had
assumed he'd been born without. The trigger was a scent in the room, the scent of a male who
wanted sex… with the female, with V's surgeon.
Mine.
The word came from out of nowhere and arrived with a matched set of urge-to-kill luggage. He
was so outraged his eyes flipped open.
Turning his head, he saw a tall human woman with a short cap of blond hair. She wore rimless
glasses, no makeup, no earrings. Her white coat read, JANE WHITCOMB, MD, CHIEF OF
TRAUMA DIVISION in black cursive letters.
«Manny,» she said, «this is crazy.»
V shifted his stare to a dark-haired human male. The guy was also in a white coat, with his
reading, MANUEL MANELLO, MD, CHAIRMAN, DEPARTMENT OF SURGERY at the
right of the lapel.
«There's nothing crazy about it.» The guy's voice was deep and demanding, his eyes way too
fricking fixated on V's surgeon. «I know what I want. And I want you.»
Mine, V thought Not yours, MINE.
«I can't not go down to Columbia tomorrow,» she said. «Even if there were something between
us, I'd still have to leave if I want to lead a department.»
«Something between us.» The bastard smiled. «Does that mean you'll think about it?»
«It?»
«Us.»
V's upper lip pulled off his fangs. As he started to growl, that one word rolled around his brain, a
grenade with the pin out: Mine.
«I don't know,» V's surgeon said.
«That's not a no, is it. Jane? That is not a no.»
«No… it isn't.»
«Good.» The human male glanced down at V and seemed surprised. «Someone's awake.»
You'd better fucking believe it, V thought. And if you touch her, I'm going to bite your
godforsaken arm off at the socket.
Chapter Nine
Faye Montgomery was a practical woman, which was why she made a great nurse. She'd been
born levelheaded, just like she'd come out with dark hair and dark eyes, and she was outstanding
in a crisis. With a husband in the Marines and two kids at home and twelve years of working in
intensive care units, it took a lot to rattle her.
Sitting behind the SICU's nursing station, she was rattled now.
Three men the size of SUVs were standing on the other side of the partition. One had long,
multicolored hair and a pair of yellow eyes that didn't seem real, they were so bright. The second
was mind-bendingly beautiful and so sexually magnetic, she had to remind herself she was
happily married to a man she still had the hots for. The third was hanging back, nothing but a
Red Sox cap, a pair of sunglasses, and an air of pure evil that didn't match his handsome face.
Had one of them asked a question? She thought so.
As none of the other nurses seemed capable of speech, Faye stammered, «I'm sorry? Er… what
did you say?»
The one with the fantastic hair-God, was that stuff for real?-smiled a little. «We're looking for
Michael Klosnick, who came up from the ED. Admitting told us he was brought here after he
was operated on?»
God… those irises were the color of buttercups in the sunshine, a true, resonating gold. «Are you
family?»
«We're his brothers.»
«Okay, but I'm sorry, he's just out of the OR and we don't-« For no good
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