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
