Chapter 3

" O h my God!"

Maisie dropped the poker, hearing it clatter onto the hardwood floor at her feet.

Probably the landlord would demand something out of their rental bond to repair the scratches it had undoubtedly caused, but Maisie didn't exactly care about that right now.

Right now, she was transfixed by the sight in front of her – in both a good and a bad way.

The good was that this guy was, even in his current state, insanely hot. Maisie liked to think she had an eye for a good-looking man, but this guy took the cake, the gateau, the entire pastry shop. Lightly curled dark brown hair, chiseled jaw, just a little bit of stubble, a straight, perfect nose.

And those biceps… yowza.

The bad was that these were completely inappropriate thoughts to be having right now, what is wrong with you?!

The guy was clearly injured – he staggered as he stood by her bed, almost falling forward onto his knees. Blood was soaking through the front of his ragged shirt, and, as Maisie rushed over to him, she could see it was also seeping out of a wound on his back.

Shit. Shit. I need to help this guy.

Immediately, her brain snapped into nurse mode.

She didn't care who this guy was or where he'd come from. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that he needed her help.

"Just take it easy," she said quickly, as the guy staggered again. She grabbed his shoulder, urging him to sit down on the bed. "I'm a nurse – I can help you. I just need to know what happened to you first."

The guy muttered something incomprehensible – he sounded like he was trying to talk through a mouthful of cotton wool – his long, dark eyelashes fluttering over his golden-brown eyes.

"Can you say that again?" she asked, as she eased him backward. But it seemed like he couldn't – his jaw worked, but no sound emerged.

I'll just have to examine him myself, Maisie thought, as, quickly and efficiently, she unbuttoned his shirt to get a better look at the extent of his injuries.

Okay. Bullet wounds, she thought, nurse mode making a dispassionate assessment. I'll need to get some compression onto the one on this shoulder. The other one just winged his side. Not great, but not as bad as the first one.

"Wait here and don't move," she said in her most no-nonsense tone, though she didn't think this guy was in any state to go anywhere right now.

She hurried to the bathroom, where she kept her first aid kit – she'd need to put on some latex gloves before she touched him any further, aside from anything else. Plus, being a nurse, her first aid kit was just a little more expansive than most, with gloves, syringes, tourniquets, duct tape, sugary biscuits, a marker, cotton pads, long rolls of bandages, ultra-strength disinfectant, and a host of other things to cover even the most unexpected of injuries.

She snapped on the latex gloves as she strode back toward her room, the kit tucked under her arm.

"I thought I told you not to move!" Maisie cried out as she entered the room and found the guy sitting up on the bed, looking around as if he was completely at a loss to explain how he'd gotten here. Which, to be honest, she didn't blame him for. He was probably suffering from blood loss and possibly even shock. She had to staunch that bleeding, and quickly. "Just lie back. I'm going to apply some compression to that shoulder wound – and it's probably going to hurt."

She pulled a cotton pad out of her first aid kit, and got ready to press it down on the bullet wound in the man's shoulder – at least until he grabbed her wrist, yanking her hand away.

Geeze, this guy is strong –

"Don't touch me." The man's voice was little more than a low growl, shot through with pain.

"I have to touch you if I'm going to stop this bleeding," Maisie shot back. "I don't have time for any stupid macho bullshit. You've been shot – twice – and all those gym rat muscles aren't going to save you from that. I am."

But his grip around her wrist didn't get any looser.

"You can't," he managed to get out after a moment or two of labored breathing. "Too late – there's nothing –"

Maisie compressed her lips into a thin line. "Don't talk like that – I'll tell you right now, these are flesh wounds. Nothing vital has been hit. No organs, no major arteries. If we get you to the hospital right now you'll be okay. Right now, the problem is blood loss, which I can slow down if you let go of my freaking wrist. "

The man seemed surprised as he looked down at where his fingers were squeezed around her wrist, but then he let go, with no further objections.

" Thank you," Maisie said shortly. Her skin was still tingling where he'd gripped her – he really had been strong, which was surprising considering the state he was in. But then, he was probably filled with adrenaline.

"Looks like you got someone pretty pissed off with you," she murmured a little absently, as the guy finally lay back a little. Maisie sprayed some disinfectant onto the cotton pad before leaning over him, trying to ignore the expanse of sweaty, golden skin before her.

This is really not the time to be noticing this guy's rockin' bod, she scolded herself, as she lowered her hand to press the cotton onto the bullet wound in his shoulder – and then stopped short.

What the hell?

Stopping short, Maisie stared down at the wound. She'd thought it was just a standard bullet wound, but now she could see there was something… odd about it.

And that smell…

She'd never smelled anything like it before. It was almost chemical – and it definitely burned up the inside of her nostrils when she sniffed it.

And what is that?

Now that she was getting a better look, Maisie could see something green inside the wound – green and viscous, almost like the green slime she'd sometimes played with as a kid when she and her cousins had been given a play chemistry set that had let them make their own goopy creations for fun.

But I don't think this is that, Maisie thought, as she glanced at the man's face. It was a mask of sweat and pain, his breath coming in quick, short rasps. And I don't think this guy is reacting to just being in pain from being shot.

She'd seen shooting victims before. And this was different.

"Hey," she said, setting the cotton pad aside for the moment until she knew more about what she was dealing with. She gently patted the man's cheek with her gloved hand, trying to get him to focus. "Can you tell me any more about what happened to you? Do you know if…"

But Maisie found she wasn't sure how to formulate the question. Do you know if the people who shot you happened to be messing around with a child's fake chemistry set at the time? seemed like the stupidest question she could possibly ask.

But whatever the case, the man seemed to understand, and he shook his head violently.

"Don't touch it," he rasped out. "Deadly – venom –"

Well that was clear enough, Maisie thought, but she'd never seen any kind of venom that looked like green goo. And it didn't explain why it was in a bullet wound. And there was definitely no kind of snake that could inflict a bite that could possibly be mistaken for one.

Whatever the case, it was clear that this was way beyond what she could treat here at home.

"I'm calling you an ambulance," she said. "If you've been… bitten by something, we need to get some antivenom into you right now."

"The hospital won't have the antivenom." The man struggled to sit up. He seemed to have recovered a little – though that was relative. He was still clearly woozy and struggling to move. "I have to get out of here."

"You're in no fit state to go anywhere," Maisie told him in her most I am a nurse and I know what's best for you voice. "Walking around will only make the venom move faster through your bloodstream. You need to stay still."

It was pretty clear he wasn't listening, however. He struggled upward again, shrugging off Maisie's hands like they were nothing even as she tried to urge him back down onto the bed.

With the movement, more blood and green goo trickled out of his wound.

What is that stuff? Maisie wondered. She reached out, swiping at the rivulet of it that ran down his chest with her gloved hand.

"No!"

Once again, the man's hand was around her wrist, his grip just as crushing. Maisie stared at him, about to tell him to take his hands off her right now , but then, she realized, to her shock, that she could feel a burning sensation on the tip of her finger.

Glancing back at her hand, she sucked in a shocked breath as she realized –

That goo – it's burning right through my glove?!

"No. No ."

The man was muttering only semi-coherently, his pupils dilated. He stared down at her hand, a look of horror on his face. Maisie felt a cold sensation settling in the pit of her gut.

What the hell is that stuff?!

"Wait –" Maisie started to say, as the guy lifted his other hand. But before she could finish the sentence, he'd already ripped the glove from her hand and tossed it across the room.

Now that the fingertip of the glove, coated in goo, was no longer against her skin, the burning sensation lessened a little, but Maisie could still see her skin was reddened where it had made contact.

This really isn't like any venom I've ever heard about, she thought, dazed – but then, before she could think anything else, the man had lifted her hand to his lips and – and –

Oh my God, Maisie thought as he opened his mouth and pulled her fingers inside.

For a moment, Maisie was too shocked to do anything – shocked by the heat of the inside of his mouth, and the roughness of his tongue against the pads of her fingers. She could feel it lapping at the burned tip of her index finger, as if soothing it. And as he did so, the pain of the burning sensation seemed to lessen.

It felt… good, Maisie thought, her head clouding a little as she let her eyes range over his face, taking in the beads of sweat that coated his skin, the way his damp eyelashes were clumped together into sharp points, his full, slightly pursed lips.

But he's – he's sucking on my fingers!

Maisie had been a nurse for seven years, and nothing like that had ever happened to her before.

Still more unexpected was the reaction she was having to it.

Maisie knew she should be jerking her hand away, telling this guy to cut this nonsense out right away or she'd call the cops.

But instead, she found herself unable to move, feeling as if little sparks of electricity were running up her arm, a small but very definite warmth gathering in her lower belly.

This is totally inappropriate! Maisie tried to tell herself, but somehow, she just couldn't bring herself to pull away. The warmth of his mouth seemed to fill her with heat, and Maisie could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, her breath coming quickly and shallowly.

"That's – that's enough!" she finally managed to stutter out, pulling her fingers away from his mouth. They felt cold after having been engulfed in the heat of his mouth, and she stared down at them, wondering what on earth had come over her. Her fingers were shiny with his saliva, and she could see a tiny red mark on the tip of her index finger, where the goo had burned through her glove.

"You – you'd better not try anything like that again, mister," she scolded him, but she sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. Which, she was pretty sure, were pretty much glowing red now with the power of her blush. "If you want me to help you and call an ambulance, you need to start behaving yourself."

"I said no ambulances." The guy shook his head, and tried again to heave himself to his feet. "They can't help. I need to – need to get to –"

He staggered, and Maisie sprang forward, putting her shoulder under his arm to try to hold him up – she knew she'd barely be able to, but she was stronger than she looked.

"You're not going anywhere except to a hospital," she told him sternly.

But in her heart, Maisie could feel doubt creeping in. She really didn't know what was going on here, but that poison goo was weird. This guy seemed pretty adamant about not going to a hospital, but that wasn't unusual either, especially if he'd been shot while carrying out some kind of criminal activity. The hospital would have to call the cops to report it, of course.

"My work – it's the only place that can help me," the guy gritted out a moment later. He started trying to make his way to the door of the room, stumbling along and dragging Maisie along with him.

She went, if only because she had a feeling he'd definitely keel over without her supporting him.

"Your work? Where do you work?" she asked, as she steered him slightly off-course so she could grab her wallet and phone.

"Can't explain. Just… I have to get there. If I can. If it's not too late."

Maisie felt exasperation bubbling up inside her, alongside the heat that still lingered in her belly.

"I can't take that for an answer," she said, though, she noticed, she wasn't exactly stopping this guy from staggering toward the door. "You need to tell me where we're going."

Wait, when did this become ‘we', and why am I agreeing to take him there?!

Maisie knew it was insane, but for some reason, she believed this guy when he said a hospital couldn't help him.

But that could just be the delirium from… whatever that stuff is, she thought, glancing again at his shoulder wound, oozing with blood and green goo.

"I can't just let you go," Maisie told him. "You need medical attention. And I mean urgently . Can you get that at your… your work?"

"Yes." The man's voice was strong and definite – the most definite he'd sounded about anything. "It's the only place that can help me."

Maisie pursed her lips, helping him stagger along.

I must be crazy.

"Do you work at a medical facility?" she asked, as they emerged from her room into the hall. She grabbed her keys from where they sat on the shelf by the wall. "Are you well enough to give me directions?"

"I don't know."

That, Maisie could believe. It was clear this guy was fading fast.

"Hey, stay with me now," she said, urging him to walk a little faster. "Fine. If you can get to my car and tell me where to go, I'll drive you there. Okay?"

"You have to come too. Wyvern venom… on your finger…"

Maisie blinked, looking up at him incredulously.

Wyvern venom? What next, is he going to tell me he got bitten by a manticore while he was running away from a basilisk? Give me a break…

Or maybe ‘wyvern venom' was some trendy street name for some new kind of drug that hadn't yet hit the mainstream. And to be honest, she'd heard wilder tales from time to time.

I'm probably walking right into a nest of criminals, Maisie thought, as she shouldered her front door open, maneuvering them both out of it before she kicked it closed behind them. The deadlock snapped into place behind her.

Her car was parked in the drive. She leaned against it as she unlocked the passenger's side door, letting the man rest against her.

Geeze, he's heavy.

It didn't help, she supposed, that all of his sweaty, muscled side was pressed against her body – but she couldn't think about that right now. Instead, she focused on getting the car door open, and bundling him inside.

Slamming the door behind him once she was sure there were no parts of him still left outside, she raced around to the driver's side, yanking the door open.

"You never told me your name, by the way," she said as she sat down, jamming the key in the ignition. She had to keep him talking – it was pretty clear he was on the edge of passing out, and that would be very bad. "Can you tell me what name to call you?"

"Rhys." The man's voice was barely a whisper. "Rhys Richardson."

"Well, Rhys Richardson, you better wake up enough to give me some directions," Maisie told him, as her car lurched to life. Silently, she thanked her lucky stars – her car was so old that sometimes it took a few goes for the engine to turn over.

She didn't get any answer to that, however, as she drove the car probably a little faster than was wise out onto the street, her tires squealing on the asphalt as she accelerated.

"Hey – hey, you stay awake now, got it?" she said, hoping this Rhys Richardson – which did not sound like a real name to her – couldn't hear the rising panic in her voice.

She shouldn't be panicking, she told herself – she'd faced more emergency situations than she could count over the course of her job. It was just that she was usually a little less… involved than this.

And usually, she thought, glancing at Rhys again, the patient didn't have my fingers in his mouth five minutes previously…

She looked down at her finger again. It still hurt a little, and there was still a little red mark like a burn right on the tip where she'd touched the goo. Clearly, whatever that stuff was, it was lethal.

And who knows how much of that got inside him? However that happened...

And then, when he'd realized she'd gotten some on her own fingers, he'd grabbed her hand and sucked it off, she thought, feeling her face coloring a little before she forced the memory of the warmth of his mouth out of her head.

"You still with me?" she asked, when she didn't get an answer. "Look. If you want me to take you to your work, wherever that may be, you better start giving me some directions. Or else I'm just going to drive you to the hospital whether you like it or not."

"No. You have to take me to… to the Agency."

That at least got him to talk, even if it was a slurred, barely lucid series of words that didn't make much sense to Maisie.

"The Agency?" she repeated, confused. "I'll need a little more information than that."

This time, Rhys didn't respond at all – and a moment later when she looked over at him, Maisie could see him fishing around in his pants for something.

"You better not be trying anything on, mister," she warned him, though she didn't really think he was in any kind of state to be doing any such thing. "You keep those on!"

But as it turned out, he wasn't trying to take his pants off at all, which she realized a moment later when he pulled a mobile phone out of his jeans pocket.

"Here," he said, voice rasping. "I'll –"

He apparently didn't have the strength to tell her what he was going to do, however, and he just blearily poked at the screen of the phone, which kept slipping in the sweat that coated his hands.

"Who're you calling?" Maisie asked, more to keep him talking than anything else, but again, he didn't answer. He just, with what was obviously great difficulty, lifted a hand to press the phone to Maisie's ear – and then completely keeled over.

" Shit! "

Maisie swerved as his weight hit her, earning her an infuriated honk from the car in the next lane, which she totally got that she deserved, but still. How rude!

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Using all her strength, Maisie managed to heave Rhys's weight off her, propping him up in his seat as best she could.

Not good, she thought, as she glanced over at him. His breathing was shallow, his face sweaty and white as snow. It was clear he wasn't going to last much longer.

That's it. We're going to the hospital. I don't care what this ‘Agency' is or what this guy wants, I don't have any other choice.

She was so busy trying to keep her eyes both on the road and on Rhys that she didn't realize that she'd been hearing a voice saying, "Hello? Hello?" until it had been going on several seconds by the time it registered.

After a moment of extreme confusion, Maisie realized the voice was coming from Rhys's phone – he'd dropped it when he collapsed, but clearly he'd managed to dial a number first.

Ugh, where did it go?

By some miracle of luck, the phone had wedged itself between her butt and the driver's seat – all she had to do was pick it up.

If I get a ticket for this, you're paying it, buddy, she thought, sending a venomous look in Rhys's direction as she lifted the phone to her ear.

"Who's this?" she asked, hoping there weren't any cops around. Thankfully, the afternoon traffic was comparatively light.

There was a long pause from the other end of the line. "Never mind that. Who's this ?"

"My name's Maisie Dawson," she snapped, though she didn't like this guy's tone. "And I've currently got a car full of some guy who calls himself Rhys Richardson, and he's in a bad way. I have no idea who you are, but he seemed pretty insistent I talk to you. So start talking, and tell me what I'm supposed to do here."

There was another long pause. "What do you mean, Rhys is in a bad way? What's happened to him?"

"You'll have to be the one to tell me," Maisie said, as she turned a corner. "He's been shot. But that's not all that's wrong with him. There's some kind of burning green goo in the wounds, and I have no idea what it is."

On the other end of the line, she thought she heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Right now I'm taking him to the hospital," she continued, when nothing else was forthcoming. "Even though he –"

"No. No hospitals." The guy on the other end's voice was firm but calm. "They wouldn't know how to treat what you're looking at."

Maisie gritted her teeth.

"Are you sure you're really the only ones who can help him?"

"Yes. I know you don't have any reason to, but right now, I'm asking you to trust me, and to do exactly what I ask, if you want Rhys to live."

Well, obviously I do, she thought, her eyes darting to where Rhys was not looking good at all. But what the hell am I walking into here?

"All right," the guy on the other end said. "Stay calm. I'll give you directions. Just follow my instructions, and everything will be okay."