you?” Her chin tipped upward. “You weren’t lying on my bed in the soaked clothing. And you weren’t cooperating much in a semiconscious state.”
Gryph chuckled, and regretted it immediately as the movement shook his shoulder. Pain sliced through him and he growled.
Her eyes narrowed and he stopped.
“Perhaps you can tell me your name.” She ripped a white sheet in half, then in half again. Her movements were smooth, capable and graceful. Slim flingers made quick work of reducing the sheet into bandages.
Despite his pain, Gryph found himself fascinated by the firm, capable movements of her slender fingers, wondering what they’d feel like running over his naked skin. The animal in him purred.
Her brows rose. “Is it so hard to tell me your name?”
He hesitated. Having spent his young life avoiding answering questions posed by surface dwellers, he still didn’t feel comfortable sharing anything about himself with those above the world he’d grown up in. But something about this woman inspired his confidence. “Gryph.”
She nodded. “Gryph.” On her lips, his name sounded like the music he listened to with Balthazar in the Lair. “I am Selene.”
Her fingers folded the sheet into a neat pad, which she laid gently over his wound. Using white medical adhesive tape, she taped it down firmly, holding the poultice in place.
“What is that foul-smelling stuff you put on me?”
“A poultice my mother used to make when we fell and scraped our knees. Guaranteed to help you heal quickly.”
“Was your mother an angel like you?”
The woman’s lips tipped upward. “She was the angel. I’m not. In case you don’t remember, I cleaned your wound earlier. You were somewhat out of it. But not enough that you didn’t raise a ruckus several times throughout the procedure.”
Gryph cringed, his fists tightening into knots. “Did I say or do anything?”
“You didn’t say anything. You growled and roared.”
She’d only answered half of his question. Gryph’s eyes narrowed.
The woman wouldn’t meet his gaze and she busied herself gathering the bowl and washcloths on the nightstand.
Gryph grabbed her wrist.
The bowl upended and fell to the ground. The woman’s eyes widened.
“What did I do?” His voice came out gravelly and as more of a growl than he’d intended. The flash of fear in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He dropped her hand.
She stepped back, rubbing at the red marks where his fingers had been.
Gryph sighed. “You didn’t turn me over to the authorities.” He shook his head, staring hard into her eyes. “Why?”
“Should I have?”
“Any surface dweller would have.”
Her brows dipped together. “Surface dweller?” She bent to retrieve the bowl, scooting back out of his reach as soon as she straightened, clutching the bowl to her chest. “What do you mean by surface dweller?”
His lips clamped shut. Damn. He’d said too much. The less this woman knew the better off he was, and the safer the community of souls was who lived far below the hustle and bustle of Chicago in the dark tunnels under the oldest part of the city. The scarred, the unusual, the mutants and the physically and mentally disfigured freaks who slid beneath the surface to live out their lives unnoticed by the beautiful, so-called normal people of the light.
“I should leave.” He pushed to a sitting position and the room spun so fast, he tilted toward the edge of the bed.
The woman was there to catch him, steadying him against her breast. Her tantalizing scent cut through the gray fog consuming him, bringing him back from the edge of unconsciousness.
“You’re not going anywhere in your condition,” she said, her voice firm.
As much as he wanted to remain with his cheek leaning into the softness of her breast, he straightened. “I’ll be fine. I heal fast.” His voice sounded weak, even to his own ears.
“If you let yourself.” She held on to his arm, her gentle fingers urging him toward the pillow.
Too exhausted to fight her, Gryph lay back, the slightest movement shooting pain through his shoulder. The gray fog swirled around his peripheral vision, shadows sneaking up to claim him. He closed his eyes, giving in to the darkness. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”
As if from the bottom of a deep well he heard her answer, “Because I know what it’s like to be different.”
* * *
Selene stayed by his side through what remained of the night. When it came time to open her dress shop above her apartment, she would leave it closed for the day. The man in her bed needed her more than women needed the vintage and whimsical dresses, beautiful, colorful blouses and artistic jewelry her business was known for in the city.
Gryph’s wounds had taken more out of him than he would have admitted. He burned with fever for hours and every time he moved, the pain shot through him, triggering the beast within.
Exhausted from little sleep and the stress of caring for her strange patient, Selene was drifting off in the chair beside the bed when her cell phone rang.
Selene hurried to the kitchen to answer and keep from disturbing her patient.
As soon as she clicked the talk button, Deme’s urgent voice asked, “Selene, honey, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She laughed softly. “Did you expect anything else?”
“With a strange man in your apartment, I didn’t know what to expect. Is he still there?”
Selene turned toward the bedroom.
Gryph lay as still as death, his face flushed with fever.
“Yes, he’s still here.”
“Do you want me to come over? He hasn’t attacked you or anything?”
“No, he’s too far out of it to be a danger.”
“What about when he comes to? I can be there in five minutes. Just say the word.”
“No.” Selene was firm. If Gryph changed in front of her, Deme might not understand. She sure as hell wouldn’t agree to let him stay in Selene’s apartment after that. “What’s the status of the woman who was attacked?”
“She regained consciousness for a few minutes, but she was so distraught, we couldn’t get her to answer questions or identify what attacked her. We’re at the hospital now, hoping she’ll come to long enough to describe her attacker.” As a member of Chicago PD’s Special Investigations Division, Selene’s sisters, Deme and Brigid,
