She waited, but he didn’t respond. Okay. No objection, at least. Exhaling, she eased to the center of the mattress and grabbed the scissors, raising the material and cringing when she saw him shiver as if in pain, grinding her teeth in sympathy for what he must feel.
Looking beneath the first patch of cloth from his skin, she sucked in a breath at the long, deep cut across his back and down his side. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Jag.”
“It’ll heal,” he managed hoarsely, speaking for the first time in long minutes. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” she said, refusing his words. She eased the material she’d cut away from his skin, disposing of the soiled cloth on one of the towels she’d obtained. Turning back to survey his wound, finding it worse than expected, she whispered her prior words, “You’re not fine.”
Though she really wanted to get the rest of the T-shirt off his body, it clung to him, a matted second skin. The gel being applied came next so it could start working. If it worked. She didn’t know what to think. Could some blue gel help a wound this massive?
She reached for the wet towel sitting nearby, deciding again to explain herself. To make sure Jag knew what to expect. “I’m going to clean up this section of your back and then put the gel on before dealing with the rest of the shirt.”
“Okay,” he said in a low, hoarse voice.
Receiving his approval, Karen dabbed at the blood around the wound. Recoiling, Jag pressed his shoulder blades together and then groaned with the action.
Karen’s hand came down on his shoulder, an instinctive act meant to comfort, molding his warm, taut skin. Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but notice the definition in his arms. The power he must possess. The strength. Yet…
“Easy,” she urged. “Easy.” His muscles slowly relaxed, his shoulders slumping forward. “That’s right.” She worked quickly to clean him up a bit and then grabbed the jar, feeling the coolness of the gel through the solid surface. “This is going to be cold.”
He nodded and then moved without warning, yanking at the remainder of his shirt and tearing it away, discarding it to the floor. “You need to make sure it’s inside the wound,” he said, his voice stronger now, as if he’d found a second wind. “Not just on the surface.”
“All right,” she said, swallowing. It was going to hurt him. “Ready?”
“Just do it,” he said firmly.
Figured he’d be a macho man. “All right, then.” She dipped her fingers into cool liquid and lobbed a big bunch of it on the cut.
Amazingly he didn’t so much as flinch this time, clearly having braced himself for the impact. Considering the pain he must be enduring, she didn’t know how he managed to remain so calm. With as gentle a touch as possible, Karen worked the gel over and into the wound. To her surprise, the blood flow appeared to slow instantly.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she realized she would have to settle down in front of Jag to doctor the rest of his injury. She’d have to face him and look into those dark, mysterious eyes. Part of her wanted to do just that, to search for the familiar presence of the past she knew she’d find there. Another part of her resisted. The part that hadn’t quite accepted that she was Jag’s wife from the past. The part that hadn’t quite connected with the world of “anything is possible” she’d managed to step into.
But it had to be done. The sword had cut right through his body. All the way through. The thought of metal biting through his flesh made her teeth grind together.
Without warning Jag of her intentions, afraid he might object for some reason she didn’t quite understand considering she was helping him, she scooted her supplies to the edge of the mattress where she could reach them from the floor. He should welcome anything she was doing. Somehow, with Jag, she doubted it would be that cut and dried.
Easing off the bed, she slid onto the ground at his feet. Before he could object, or she could chicken out for that matter, her hands went to his knees and she settled between them.
The touch of her hand to his leg shot heat up her arms and through her body. Her gaze shot to his, a reaction to the attraction so alive between them.
As she predicted, those dark eyes of his, so intense, so potent, stared into hers, entrancing her with the depth of what they stirred inside her. What he stirred inside her. Embracing her with warmth—familiar warmth. She could see he felt it, too. He might not have allowed himself to consider she was his wife, she was Caron, but somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he knew.
In that moment, their gazes locked. There was nothing, no one, but the two of them. Time stood still. She felt Jag on a level beyond the physical. Soul deep. It was the only way to describe the way he reached beyond her surface and touched the very core of her existence.
Emotion stirred, emotion she couldn’t touch, couldn’t identify, but she damn sure could feel. Primal heat coursed through her body, arousal and desire tricking along her nerve endings. But this was more than simple lust. Far more than desire. This was a product of a bond that only two people meant to be together shared.
Unnerved by the clamoring of emotions screaming inside, Karen forced herself back to the urgent matter at hand, appalled at her distraction from Jag’s injury. She reached for a towel, determined to get him attended to and resting.
Delicately she cleared her throat, not sure she could even find her voice. “Can you ease back so I can clean the wound?” she asked hoarsely, her words a barely there whisper.
For several seconds, he simply stared at her, and she thought he might resist. Then he did as she asked, leaning backward to hold his weight up on his arms. The only way she could get to the cut was to push upward, off her heels, leaning across his crotch, her chest pressed against the intimate part of his body.
The sound of his low, guttural moan made her pull back. “Did I hurt you?”
His expression raged with disbelief, which quickly turned to anger. “No,” he said as if she should know as much. “You didn’t hurt me.” He dropped to his back and covered his face with his arm.
She’d have spouted back with something about his rude tone, but now wasn’t the time. But soon, he’d have to get an attitude adjustment. Karen reached for her supplies and a moment later managed to plop a goodly portion of the remaining gel onto his wound.
“Why are you here?” he asked, not looking at her, his voice weak, as if he was biting back pain as she worked the gel into his wound. “I told you to stay away.”
There he went, needing that attitude adjustment again. Perhaps it couldn’t wait. Even now, while doctoring his injury, he was digging for reasons to make her the enemy. He was going to have to let go of that need. Otherwise they would never figure out what they faced and defeat it together.
“Leave you alone,” she repeated flatly. “Right. And let you bleed to death.”
“I won’t bleed to death,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
Karen would have laughed at the ridiculous, macho statement if she hadn’t found the white line above his lip a distraction. In contrast to his warm brown complexion, it warned of weakness in his body. Of the very blood loss he claimed as no concern.
“Right,” she said again. “That’s why your Healer was so worried.”
“I could have waited on Marisol.”
His statement, meant to be harsh, came out with a weak delivery, his voice cracking ever so slightly. The fact that he used what little energy he had to push her away upset Karen. A new emotion, one laced with pain, had her lashing out before she could pull back.
“You think I want to be here?” she demanded. “Helping someone who doesn’t even appreciate it?” Karen glowered at him for several beats and then went to work. “I don’t, you know.” She wiped around the wound, cleaning the lost blood from his skin as the gel had already slowed the bleeding. The muscles in his abdominals flexed with the action and she bit her bottom lip. His disposition might be in need of a makeover, but his body rippled with perfection. A b
ody damaged by the bite of a blade. Her voice softened as she realized how much this man had meant to her once and could once again, if she let him. “You saved my life, though. I owed you.”
He lifted his arm and stared at her, a hint of shock in his eyes, quickly masked with steely ice. No doubt he intimidated most people with that look. Not her. She’d been to hell and back today. She’d seen far worse than his nasty attitude. Things she wouldn’t soon forget.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, finally.
She disposed of the glass jar now empty and her palms settled on his thighs. Strong thighs. He was a powerful man. A force to be feared by many. Just not her. He made her feel a lot of things but not that. Not fear.
It was time he got that through his thick skull. “You don’t scare me no matter how much you want to,” she proclaimed, and then moved on to business. “I need to wrap the wound. Can you sit up again?”
Without warning, he pushed his body upward, shackling her wrists, his eyes meeting hers. “You need to leave.”
He was so close she could see the dark stubble on his jaw. Reach out and touch it even if her hands were free. And she might have, had she been able to. The urge was overwhelming. Like something she’d done in the past. An instinct born of habit.
“I’m not going anywhere until Marisol arrives,” she told him. “You might as well let me finish the job I started and bandage you. Then you can lay your stubborn self down and rest.”
His expression was hard. His jaw tight. “You have no idea what you are dealing with here.”
“Actually,” she declared, “I’m pretty darn certain you’re the one who doesn’t know what you’re dealing with.” Before he could respond she added, “You’ve been far from kind to me. You roar big and might even bite.” She let out a choked laugh at her choice of words. “Literally, I guess.”
“Exactly why you should get out of here. I’m like those beasts that just attacked. You’ve seen it in your dreams. Don’t be a fool. Get away from me while you still can.”
“I’ve seen no beast in you. A cranky man who has locked me up, yelled at me and accused me of nasty things, yes, but no beast.”
“The dreams, Karen. Think about what happens in them.”
“Oh, I have,” she said. “And frankly, I think you are reading them all wrong.” She shook her head. “But that’s a subject for another time, after you rest. Let me finish bandaging your wounds so you can rest. Then we can talk. After you’re healed.” He stared at her, unmoving, no response. “Please, Jag.”
“I can’t let you stay here.” His head fell forward, his fingers loosening around her wrists. “I don’t want to hurt you, Karen.”
“You won’t,” she whispered, believing it with all her soul. “You won’t.”
He lifted his eyes to hers, and his look said a million words, exposing deep-felt pain and emotion, even a hint of fear. “How can you be so sure, when I’m not?”
This time Karen gave into instinct, reaching out and pulling a strand of his hair through her fingers. She half expected him to jerk away, but he didn’t. It felt right, touching him, talking to him. The warmth and tenderness slowly flooding his eyes told her it did to him, as well.
“I feel no fear of you, Jag. Not in the dreams. Not now.”
He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek, his eyes falling shut for a moment, as if he was absorbing her touch. Sexual friction came with the light scraping of his whiskers against the sensitive skin of her palm.
When he looked at her again, she saw the heat of his gaze. “What do you feel, Karen?”
Chapter 17
When Karen didn’t immediately respond to his question, Jag repeated it, burning for her answer more than he did from the wound in his side. “What do you feel, Karen?”
Again, his words hung in the air, taunting him with her possible responses. Being close to her like this, experiencing her tender touch, lavishing in her caring voice and eyes, delivered a jolt. Stirred emotions from times long gone. Of a life he’d lost when he’d lost his wife.
Karen finally opened her mouth to speak, the thoughtful expression in her eyes indicating she’d given great consideration to what she was about to relay. “My mother use to love the saying, ‘things happen for a reason.’”
Jag sucked in a breath, barely able to believe what he’d just heard. His wife had used those words, all too often. Things happen for a reason. Possibilities rushed at him, along with a wave of emotion. Did he dare let his mind form the thoughts trying to take shape?
“There’s a reason why I’m here,” Karen continued. “A reason you and I came together.” She inhaled and let it out, as if she willed him to do the same. As if she knew he needed to breathe. “I know I’m supposed to be here. It’s…destiny. “
Caron had often called their marriage, their love—destiny. She claimed that was why her family had settled on land next to his family ranch. He stared into Karen’s eyes, searching the depths of her soul…of his soul. And in that moment, their gazes locked, he felt something deep inside him move, reaching out from her to him, lightening where he’d been dark before. He knew the truth with that feeling. Knew what he hadn’t dared think, let alone voice. He knew this Karen was his Caron.
“I need to do this,” Karen said, holding up the bandages.
Barely containing the sudden urge to pull her into his arms, to hold her and never let her go, Jag took several seconds to respond. Somehow, he managed a nod. He needed to think. Besides, he didn’t want to scare Karen. There was no guarantee she would believe him if he told her his thoughts, though on some level he had to think she knew. He felt it. Still, even if she was his wife from another life, things had changed. He’d changed. Seen and done things to harden him.
Why was this happening? Why? He wanted it, yet, he feared it all the same. His chest tightened as a new concern took form. Darklands would destroy him if given an opportunity. What better way than to deliver Caron to him again and then watch as he killed her?
The implications of Karen being here, of him perhaps watching her die again, were like a knife cutting at him. Karen’s fingers brushed his skin, goose bumps following in their wake. His fists balled as he fought the desire, the absolute need, to touch her. No matter what might have changed in either of them, she still stirred things emotional and intense inside him.
But what if he hurt her? The dreams said he would. They showed him the horrible truth of his lust turned to damnation.
Karen’s hands settled on his shoulders. She was behind him now, on the bed, taping the bandage. As if she’d read his mind, her mouth settled close to his ear, her breath warm on his neck. “I’m not afraid of you, Jag.”
“You should be. You had the same dreams I did.”
“Perhaps I interpreted it differently than you,” Karen suggested, but didn’t give him time to respond. Instead she said, “lay back and rest.” She scooted to the side so he had room to ease back on the mattress. He didn’t argue, avoiding eye contact for fear of what he might find, for fear he’d see his failure in her gaze. Grunting with a sharp pain, he slid backward and rested his head on the pillow.
“Are you okay?” she asked, concern etching her tone, remaining on the bed beside him, seeming in no rush to put distance between them. “Is there anything I can give you for the pain?”
The truth was he suddenly felt pretty damn bad. His vision was spotty, his stomach rolling. He forced himself to look at her, forced his expression to one of a blank mask though his eyelids were heavy. He couldn’t manage to get them to above half-veiled.
“I’ll be okay when you leave,” he said, trying to get her a safe distance from him, so he knew he couldn’t hurt her.
“I’m not leaving,” she said, no hesitation, voice full of certainty.
He was fading and he knew it. Even his voice came out a whisper. “Leave. I don’t…want to hurt you.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said, rotating to lie down on the mattress beside him.
> “You…can’t stay,” he said, but he wasn’t sure she heard the words. Wait. He wasn’t sure he really said them. Everything was just so…dark. So black. Then the dream emerged…first sweet, sensual. Karen making love to him. Karen’s sweet curves pressed to his. So perfect. But then the beast started scratching at his insides, biting at him, wanting her….
Karen lifted up on her elbow and eyed Jag, feeling a cold vise on her heart at his closed eyes. “Jag?” she whispered, the horrible possibility he might not be sleeping twisting her gut.
Relief washed over her as he murmured something incoherent. She let air trickle from her lungs. Unable to stop herself, she scooted closer to him, inhaling his masculine scent, warmth curling deep in her stomach. Flashes of the past were starting to come at her, revealing how close they’d been. Bringing forward a timeless love she held inside. The kind she’d never felt in this lifetime—until now.
Tentatively she reached out, fingers trailing his jaw. He was a beautiful man, ruggedly handsome, gorgeously sculpted. His cheekbones were high, his lips full. She’d always thought so, she realized. From the moment she’d met him so very long ago. Time stood still as Karen stared at Jag, memories flooding her mind.
Without warning, Marisol appeared in the room, a shimmer of light surrounding her for a moment. Karen jumped, yanking her hand back from Jag’s face as if she were a kid caught digging in the cookie jar. She stiffened to a sitting position. “Good gosh, you scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” Marisol said, her eyes narrowing as she took in Karen’s position on the bed next to Jag. “I normally use doors but under the circumstances time seems important.” Her gaze went to Jag and she sat down beside him. “How’s he doing?”
“Not good. I stopped the bleeding but the wound is deep. He passed out about ten minutes ago.” Karen noted the paleness of Marisol’s skin. Her brows dipped. “Are you okay?”
Marisol nodded, but she didn’t make eye contact with Karen. “I’m fine.” She held her palm above Jag’s left side. “He will be, too.”