Shadow Bound by Erin Kellison Page A

hold her, so that I can,” the first answered.
    The shape of a man crept low next to her.
    Her stomach spasmed; she choked, felt herself abruptly lifted, and then she vomited over the side of the tub.
    “Damn,” the second man said under his breath.
    They settled her back in the water. A hard bar of an arm fell across her chest while merciless hands stroked deep into the muscles of her calves. Hurt. Bruised. The hands moved up to her thighs.
    Strange hands on her body. No! She kicked again. A backlash of water swamped her.
    “Settle down, Dr. O’Brien. You’re going to be okay. You need to drink a little. Can you do that for me?” The first voice again.
    Something skimmed her lips. A straw. Her tongue felt too big to work it right. A splash of sour, sweet fluid hit her mouth and mingled with the acid of her vomit. Made her choke and cough.
    “That’s it. Just a little more.”
    She tried, but her shakes were too bad.
    “More,” the voice commanded, losing its kindness.
    She wanted to cry, but she did as she was told. Took in a deep drink.
    “Watch her temperature,” the other man said. “We don’t want it to drop too low too fast. That’s supposed to be bad.”
    A hand pressed on her forehead. Lingered there long enough for her to sense a well of great strength within its bearer. Then it was gone. “Still feels hot to me, but the ice water screwed with my hands. Did Patty say how long to keep her in the tub?”
    “Until her temp comes down.”
    Another hand touched to her head, too light and brief for her to sense anything. “I think she’s better.”
    “Okay. Let’s get her up and her clothes off. Go get me something to wrap around her. Nothing heavy. Pull the sheet off the bed.”
    The first man took hold under her arms and hauled her out of the water to stand dripping on the floor. In her clothes. Strange. He knelt before her, working the button on her cut-off jeans, peeling them downward, and shifting her weight so she could step out. He paused at her panties, but then stripped those down, too.
    Mortifying, but she shook too much to do anything about it. She glanced away from his ministrations and got a brief impression of a small bedroom, spare and utilitarian. Smelled like a garage.
    “Scissors,” the man stripping her called.
    A sudden sob escaped her. Her weight swayed forward and she dropped her hands to the man’s shoulders.
    A warm arm went up around her waist to steady her. His hand, hot on her waist, branded her with a sense of his strength and purpose. Cued a sensory memory of that very same arm turning her in darkness so that her body was sandwiched—shielded—by his and the wall of a building. The monster not three paces away…
    Scissors started up her shirt. They parted her bra, too, which didn’t make any sense because the clasp was in the back. Then he shrugged the sodden fabric off her shoulders like a jacket.
    A deep freeze wafted over her shoulders as a white sheet billowed open and swaddled her. The man lifted her off her feet and gently placed her on a hard chair.
    “Drink,” he said.
    She complied. The sour fluid made her stomach roll.
    “Did you ever find a thermometer?” he asked over his shoulder.
    “No. Not part of the first-aid kit.”
    The hand went heavy on her forehead again. “Is the plane ready?”
    “Should be, yes,” the other answered. “The doctor will be a few more minutes.”
    Plane? The straw hit her upper lip.
    “Drink,” the man commanded, again.
    She pulled some fluid into her mouth.
    “What is this?” Her throat felt raw, voice scratchy. Speaking took too much effort.
    The man crouched down near her feet. His eyes were gray-blue, like the ocean, but steady and intent under dark brows drawn together in concentration. An angry abrasion pebbled with scabs crossed his forehead below a short crop of dark hair. He had tan skin, lined slightly at the outer edges of his eyes, but not with laughter. It was a serious face, handsome in its symmetry