Chapter Four

Jemma’s mouth felt as if someone had poured sand into it. She was sure her eyes had been glued shut. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them opened. She tried to lift her hand, but something was wrapped around it, preventing her from moving her arm. She wiggled her fingers and felt the grip tighten.

“Jemma! Are you awake? Come on, baby. Open those big blues for me.”

Baby? Hell, she had to be dreaming. That would be the only place she’d hear Brock Holloway call her baby in that gruff tone that sent shivers through her body.

“Open your eyes, baby,” he ordered softly, a whispered command at her ear. “I want to see you.”

Now, she didn’t want to open her eyes. Not because he commanded her to, but because she was afraid she’d discover he wasn’t really there. No one was there for her. Not anymore. Not since she’d been locked into a cellar and left in the dark. She’d been alone for six years. Even in the Holloway den, surrounded by testosterone, she’d felt alone.

“Please, Jemma,” he begged.

Brock? Begging?

She managed to force open her eyelids only to slam them back shut at the glare of the light. It hurt. The brightness pierced into the back of her skull and made it throb. She moaned as the pain hit her. Her hand was freed, and when she managed to blink again, Brock wasn’t at her side. She knew she’d only imagined him, but it was like a gut punch to know he’d been a remnant of a dream already lost.

“Jensen!”

She gingerly turned her head toward that voice. Brock’s large frame was at the door as he called for his brother.

“Jensen!” he yelled one more time before he rushed back to her. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

She wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or her.

“What—” She broke off, coughing and sending sandpaper scouring over her throat.

“Brock, get her some water while I take a look,” Jensen ordered as he strode into the room.

She lifted her hand to cradle her neck, sure she’d cut it with her fit of coughing.

“Hey, there, little bear. It’s good to see you,” Jensen said. “You had us scared for a few days.”

She wanted to comment, but she needed that drink first. She lifted her hand for the cup when Brock brought it to her, but he sat beside her, wrapped his arm around her shoulders to help her sit up a bit, then held the cup to her lips.

“Slowly,” he ordered. “Take it easy. You’ve been unconscious for almost a week.”

He forced her to take sips but held the cup steady until she’d managed to swallow over half of the water. She finally pulled her head back and shook her head. He didn’t release her, though. He managed to turn and set down the cup but kept his arm around her, tugging her close to his chest and holding her there. She closed her eyes, giving her throat a moment to soak in the water.

She remembered the attack. Sending Helen running for help then the knife and the bastard drugging her.

“My side?” she asked, clearing her throat and taking another drink when Brock offered her the cup again.

“Healed,” Jensen told her. “Bastard had poison on the blade. Then he injected you with a drug to lock down your bear, so she couldn’t help you heal. It’s been a rough few days. You spiked a fever and were in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t give you anything until I made sure all the poison was out of your system. You finally stabilized enough yesterday for me to try to wake your bear.”

“How many days?” she asked then motioned for Brock to give her the rest of the water.

“Today’s six,” Brock murmured as he helped her finish the cup.

“Helen?”

“Fine. She made it back to her sister’s cabin and got out word of the attack. Several hunters tried to get to them, but Sam and Helen’s brothers kept them all safe,” Brock answered. He kept running his fingers over her skin, from elbow to shoulder then across her collarbone before traveling the same path in reverse.

“The women?” She focused on Jensen.

“Two were killed.”

He didn’t offer the hows or whys, and it really didn’t matter. They were gone, and she knew who to blame. The same group of purist bastards whose attack had led to a thirteen-year-old girl losing everything.

As if he sensed her emotions, Brock lowered his head and pressed his lips to her temple. What the hell was going on? This definitely wasn’t the Brock she knew. Had she woken up in an alternate reality?

She reached to touch Jensen then startled when Brock growled beside her. Jensen was there. Brock was a solid presence at her side, his heat bleeding into her skin and warming her up. Still, she pinched herself and yelped when it hurt more than she’d expected.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brock commanded, glaring at her.

“It is you,” she whispered, which made Jensen laugh.

“What does that mean?” Brock demanded. “Of course, it’s me.”

“You’re acting strange. You’re…touching me.” She turned to Jensen and whispered, “Did he get hit in the head? Is it Brock-Brock or head-trauma Brock?”

“He took a knife to the thigh, but his head is fine. Better than it’s been in a while,” Jensen told her, which only made her more unsure of what was happening.

She turned to Brock again, dropping a hand to brush over his thigh, rubbing her finger over it in search of the wound. Instead, the backs of her fingers met another bulge. One she’d noted several times but never been allowed to caress. This time, Brock didn’t shy away. Instead, his legs shifted as if he were giving her more room to indulge her curiosity.

“None of that,” Jensen tutted as he moved across the room and opened a drawer, removing a needle and several vials she knew he’d fill with her blood. “She’s just woken. Her bear still needs time to help her heal fully. Whatever you have in mind can wait,” he ordered with a glance toward his brother.

Brock returned Jensen’s glare, a rumble rising in his chest.

“This is where you say something cutting and run away,” she murmured, pulling Brock’s attention back to her.

“I don’t run away.”

Jensen seemed to choke on a laugh before heading toward her again, with more than the needle and vials in his hands.

“What’s all that for?” she asked.

“I need to do a full exam, now that you’re awake,” Jensen said. “I’ll help you undress and redress as we go.”

“Fuck, no,” Brock snarled.

“I’m a doctor,” Jensen reminded, but Brock practically vibrated beside her.

“I’m fine,” she said, her gaze bouncing between the brothers. What the hell was going on?

“You almost died, Jemma. Were unconscious for five days. You’re not fine. I need to check your wound and make sure it’s healing as it should. I need to check your heart and lungs, both of which attempted to fail from the poison in your system. I need blood to see how much is left in your system and how much your bear has been able to do so far. And a urine sample. Think you can give me one yet?”

She blinked as she slowly processed everything Jensen said. Her bladder throbbed with the need to empty, now that he’d made her aware of it. She opened her mouth to ask how they’d seen to that need while she’d been unconscious but snapped her mouth closed, certain she didn’t want to know.

“Yes, I’d love a few minutes in the bathroom,” she finally muttered.

She was gearing up to gain her feet when Brock stood and swept her up against his chest. She squealed, actually fucking squealed, as his arm slid under her buttocks, her naked buttocks. What the hell was she wearing?

“Oh my God,” she whimpered. “Where are my clothes?”

“I put my shirt on you,” Brock said as he entered the bathroom and kept the arm under her buttocks while he used his other hand to lift the lid on the toilet. He set her down, catching his shirt and tugging it out of the way, then stood there with a hand at her waist, steadying her.

“Go away.”

“You can barely sit upright,” he said softly. “Besides, it’s nothing I haven’t—”

She managed to slap a hand over his mouth. “Don’t finish that sentence if you ever want to see me naked again.”

She shook her head. She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh, I plan to do more than see you, little mate,” he informed her with a heated look.

“Go away, Brock.”

He took precious seconds to stand and move toward the door.

“I’m right outside. Holler if you need me.”

She waved him off, waiting for the snick of the door closing before she released her bladder. She knew he heard her, but that was different from him standing there and watching her. She grabbed the cup he’d set on the counter and used it before the stream ended. She took a few extra minutes to eye the shower, wondering if she’d have enough time to get in before Brock realized what she was doing.

“No shower,” Jensen called through the door, making her huff in resignation.

The door clicked.

“Don’t open the door!” she yelled.

“Jemma,” Brock growled.

“Give me a few damn minutes.”

She finally forced herself to stand and shuffled to the sink. She was weak, and she hated it. Five days lying in a bed hadn’t done her any favors. Then she saw her reflection in the mirror. Exhaustion clung to her face as if she hadn’t spent the last week asleep. She had dark circles under her eyes, making the blue seem dull. Her normally thick, black curls hung in a disheveled mess around her. She turned on the water and took her time washing her hands then her face. She found a washcloth in one of the drawers and cleaned a few other places as quickly as she could. Finally, she used her finger to clean her teeth, rinsing her mouth with water again and again.

This time, when the door pushed open, she didn’t say anything. She was ready for it and the man who filled the doorway. Still, she flushed when he scooped her up again. A rumble sounded in his chest as he carried her back to the bed and placed her gently on it before tugging the cover up over her chest. She jerked it back down to her waist with a glare.

“I’ll get you another shirt.”

His eyes were heated, and when he stood, his bulge was thicker than before. She glanced down at herself and realized she’d splashed water on the shirt she wore and now her nipples were fairly visible through the wet material. She shook her head. Why did she care? Brock didn’t get to suddenly play the attentive suitor. That wasn’t who they were. The faster she remembered that, the less likely she was to be hurt in the end. Besides, she was leaving. It would be better for everyone.

“Maybe, you can grab clothes for me while Jensen does his exam,” she suggested. “My clothes, please.”

“Something loose,” Jensen added. “Nothing that might constrict where she was stabbed.”

Brock grumbled again, but she ignored him.

“Ready?” Jensen moved toward her.

“As soon as he leaves.”

“Jemma,” Brock growled.

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what this change is all about, but no. I’m awake now. I decide what happens from this point on.”

His face blanched, and he looked as if he’d been punched.

“I’d never take advantage of you,” he whispered.

“I’m not saying you did,” she relented. “I need a few moments to get my feet underneath me. Please, Brock. Get my clothes. Maybe, something to eat? I’m obviously not going anywhere right now.”

He looked as if he might argue, but Jensen stepped in.

“Get her something light. We don’t want to risk too much too soon,” Jensen said.

“I’m starving,” she admitted. “And I really want that shower.”

“Later,” Jensen said. “Let’s get those feet underneath you, first.”

She nodded then glanced back at Brock.

“I’ll be back,” he vowed, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver through her.

He opened the cabin door, allowing the spill of sunlight to wash across the floor, before he tugged it closed behind him.

The room felt empty without him. She wanted to call out, to ask him to stay, but she didn’t. Instead, she wondered how long it would be before the real Brock returned. The one who viewed her with contempt and couldn’t wait for her to go away. That man had hurt her with his harsh criticisms, and if she let down her walls at his sudden care and concern, he’d destroy her when things went back to how they were. She couldn’t let that happen.