Wolfsbane (11 page)

You and me both
.

Encouraging her would only churn what little food was in his stomach. Everyone in their family had already assigned Danielle the spot next to Range. The spot beside Canyon remained empty. And he’d better not mess with that, or he’d be dubbed a cad.
Wouldn’t be the first time
. They almost hadn’t let him live that down.

Eyes closed, she drifted to sleep.

Canyon laid a blanket over his mom. He stood beside her for several minutes, debating whether or not to call her doctor. Had she
just pushed too hard too fast as always? Or was something really wrong? He lifted the advanced thermometer and swiped it over her forehead: 99.9—not stress worthy.

Scratching the back of his neck, he stepped into the hall.

Range met him. “How is she?”

“Resting.” He pulled the door closed. “What were you thinking inviting the senator and his family over so soon after Mom’s surgery?”

A scowl dug into his brother’s dark brows. “She said she’d love it.”

“Grow a brain. Mom would welcome anyone even if she were dying!”

“Give her more credit—”

“I’m giving my medical advice. She shouldn’t have been up and around. If you’d cared more about her than entertaining your girlfriend—”

“Excuse me.” A timid, feminine voice dashed into the hall.

Canyon turned—and his stomach cinched when he saw Roark a few feet away.

Range strode toward her.

Suddenly not in the mood for company, Canyon slipped back into his mother’s room and stuffed himself in the wingback chair. Hands tucked under his arms, he closed his eyes and let himself relax. Maybe if he fell asleep, he’d wake up and they’d all be gone.

But he’d miss
her
.

He cleared his throat and shifted. Didn’t matter. She belonged to Range. Which was odd because the feisty ones had normally repelled his kid brother. Then again, maybe her withdrawn actions from the captivity had snuffed out her fight. Come to think of it, what little of that strong nature he’d seen at the hearing had disappeared tonight. What was up with that?

Laughter outside drew his eyes open and his mind out of the fog of sleep. At the telltale thunk of car doors, he pushed to his feet and checked the window. The lone streetlamp lit only his Camaro and Willow’s car parked in the drive. The other vehicles were gone. Good. He could unwind and maybe go for a jog. His stomach gurgled, reminding him of how little he’d eaten. When he stepped into the hall, he heard Willow, Range, and Leif talking in the den.

Light peeked out from under the bathroom door. His siblings were in the den. Everyone else had left. Who …? He knocked. When no sound came, he pushed open the door—movement flashed to the side. He jerked back as he saw Roark. She stood stiffly, hands at her sides, one slowly moving behind her.

“Sorry, I thought everyone was gone,” he mumbled and back-stepped,
his gaze swinging down.

Instincts blazed.

In rapid-fire succession the pieces hit him—her wide eyes, heaving chest, tear-streaked face, stiff composure. The way the semi-new scars had brightened. The red spot on the tile. Everything in him went cold and silent at the drop of blood. He dragged his gaze back to her, noticing the way she shielded her left arm.

He studied her face. Ashen. Chin trembling.

Splot!
A second droplet hit the tile.

Canyon craned his neck to the side—and he sucked air at what he saw. Blood dribbling down her arm. With the pull of gravity, blood flowed faster.

Adrenaline spiked. In a fluid motion, he stepped in, kicked the door shut, and grabbed her arm. He pivoted and slammed his back against her chest, pinning her to the wall.

She yelped and whimpered. “Please, please …” She hissed. “It hurts. Oh, it hurts!”

He held her arm up, groping the shelf for a towel. Finally he snatched one, spun, and clamped the towel over her cuts. “What’re you doing?” He heard the growl in his voice but didn’t care. “Are you out of your mind?”

Tears streaked down her face. “Please … please don’t tell them.”

Anger lashed out. “Tell them what? That you tried to kill yourself?” He kept a tight grip on her forearm, feeling the wet warmth seeping through the cloth. If he didn’t get this stopped, she’d bleed out.

Pinching the pressure point under her arm, he mentally blocked the panic gouged into her beautiful face. He wanted to curse. Shout. Shake some sense into her.

Shoulders sagging, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

Blood slid over his thumb and splatted against his cuff. The dark stain swam outward in an ever-widening arc against the pale blue cotton. His gaze flipped back to the towel. Soaking fast. “I’m going to have to stitch this to stop the bleeding.”

She hauled in a breath.

“That or call the cops.”

“No!” she snapped. “You can’t. My father …”

“The father you didn’t care about two seconds ago when you sliced open your veins? What about my brother? After all he’s done for you …” His fury unleashed, mixed with the adrenaline at seeing her life slipping away. About to really let her have it, he faltered when she swayed. “Lie
down. On the floor.”

Clumsily she complied, her limbs trembling.

“Keep your arm up.” He stepped into the tub to give her room to maneuver. “Put your legs on the ledge.” He shifted and grabbed another towel, placing it over the first. “What in the name of all that’s holy were you thinking?”

“Y–you don’t understand.”

“You got that right!”

“My dad made a deal. I have to go back—they said I have to.” She shook her head frantically. “I can’t. I can’t go back there.”

“Where? What’re you talking about?”

A sob leapt from her throat. Her eyes rolled.

Out of time. Time for triage. “Keep your arm up. Don’t move.” Canyon propped her arm against the throat of the sink. “I’ll be right back.” Rolling up his sleeve where her blood had stained it, he darted through the house and outside to his car. From the trunk, he pulled his field kit and slunk through the side door, hoping to avoid attracting attention. Back in the bathroom, he knelt beside her.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Woozy. Sick.”

“Good.” He dug through the pack and tugged out the sewing kit. “Serves you right.” With care, he peeled back the towels. Dabbed the wound, assessing. Swiping an antiseptic swab around the skin, he wanted to wring her neck. What was so horrible that she couldn’t fight and get through it? She had it in her; he knew she did.

Having tried to off himself before, he knew how it felt. But he’d also come out of it realizing
nothing
was worth killing himself over. And she had so much going for her. For some strange reason he couldn’t justify, it ate at him that she wanted to end it all. He should be nicer. No, she didn’t cut nice. She needed a good jerk on her reality chain, wake up, and see the good things around her.

She tilted her head to look at her arm. “Do … do you know what you’re doing?”

“Stay quiet and still.”

She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her before focusing on numbing the spot and stitching her up. “I should report this.”

A ragged intake of breath. “You can’t. Please!”

“Yeah? Well, just because a beautiful woman bats her eyes at me and says please isn’t enough cause to keep this under wraps. Your family
needs to know, so they can take care of you. Help you.”

Roark lay still, staring at the ceiling, tears slipping over her rosy cheeks. “You were at the hearing …”

Tension bottomed out as he remembered that day.

“My godfather, General Lambert—you know him?”

He wanted to smile but kept it to himself. “Heard his name once or twice.” Stitching completed, he slumped against the tub, holding her elbow on his knee and appraising his work. This wasn’t something she’d be able to hide. At least not without long sleeves.

“The subcommittee doesn’t believe me.” Fresh, fat tears oozed from her brown eyes. A sob racked her. “If I don’t want to go to prison or face the death penalty, I have to go back.”

“What? Back where?” He groaned and slumped back, shaking his head. He knew exactly where. “Never mind.” He held her gaze, wishing he could wipe this travesty of justice off the map of her life. She didn’t deserve this.

Was the government serious? Yeah … they were stupid enough. Mentally and physically traumatized, she didn’t have a prayer of staying alive down there.

At least … not without help.

Nightshade.

CHAPTER 6

S
tark white bandages covered her left arm. Rubbing her fingers over the white tape, Dani released a shuddering breath. Had she really sunk so low she thought the only way out was to kill herself? Exhausted, she set down the toilet lid and sat. Realization of what she’d done finally settled in.

Tears again stung her eyes, but she stuffed them down. She had sobbed like a hysterical fool in front of a man she didn’t know. In a few minutes she’d have to face Range, and the last thing she wanted was more of his doting concern. He hovered. Crooned. Suffocated. While she just needed space, not a reminder that the “perfect man” worried over her. Yeah, he was perfect—perfect life, perfect family, perfect temperament. He certainly wouldn’t understand.

“You got that right!”

His brother’s snarled words as he worked to help—no,
rescue
her—wormed through Dani. Even with his mumbled curses as he worked to save her life, she saw the understanding that held back his anger. Somehow Canyon understood. Understood that the court had found her guilty, that she’d lost hope, that she was terrified of ending up a victim again. And he hadn’t babied her the way his brother had. Rather, he looked like he wanted to pound her.

The door creaked open.

Dani jerked up, then stilled as Canyon’s familiar build filled the bathroom, every crevice and nook, with pure confidence. Beneath the sandy blond crop and eyebrows, twinkled eyes that said he’d seen much, done much, and took everything in stride. Yet she’d rattled him with her little stunt. He must think her a mental case.

Well, who else would carve her own arm?

“Here.” He held out a black shirt and blue cardigan, the veins in his arms taut and strong. “Change behind the shower curtain.” Without a word, he bent and started packing his kit.

Hesitating for only a minute, her gaze locked on his broad shoulders and his straightforward methods, she hiked over the ledge of the tub. Tugging the navy curtain closed, she glanced at the shirt. Similar in style to the one she’d worn to the party. And with the cardigan, no one would know the difference or see the bandages. How many men would think like that?

“Remove the bandage when you get home.” His words sailed through the thin barrier. “Air the wound out and let the healing start. The stitches will dissolve, but you’ll need to keep it clean.”

Changed, she stepped from behind the curtain.

Canyon stood with his arms folded over his muscular chest, the kit gone from sight. He gave her a nod. “Ready?”

Dani adjusted the sleeve of the sweater as it caught on the bandage. Why did the thought of leaving this little sanctuary scare the wits out of her? She wasn’t a scared baby. As a matter of fact, hadn’t she hated being in confined settings with men since returning? So, why was his presence in the small room more comforting than disturbing?

“Imagine Range is looking for you by now.” He reached for the knob.

She caught his arm, her breath in her throat. “I … please …”

He paused, blue eyes fastened to hers, then softening as he smirked. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Not exactly what she wanted to hear. A strange feeling spiraled through her, warming her belly. Attraction? The thought made her stomach flip. Then flop.

No. That couldn’t be. She didn’t want anything to do with men.

He slipped into the hall and glanced both ways. “You’re clear.” He motioned her out.

Moving into the chilled darkness, she hesitated as laughter erupted from the living area. Several voices mingled. Who was still here? Two hours ago, when her father got paged and had to leave, Range offered to take her and her stepmother home if they wanted to stay and hang out with the others, an idea her father instantly agreed to. But then she got the call … and rushed from the room. Range followed, but she told him she’d be fine and locked herself in the bathroom.

Or so she thought until Canyon walked in on her. How exactly did he get in if she’d locked the door? Her mind flitted to earlier in the
evening when she couldn’t get the door open and he’d told her that it stuck. Maybe it hadn’t locked. Was it providence he’d come in on her?

How did he figure out what she’d done?

“Here.” Canyon’s gruff voice snatched her attention back. He passed her a slip of paper. “That’s me.”

She glanced at the scrap with scrawled numbers.

“I expect two calls: one before you bed down and another first thing in the morning. If I haven’t heard from you by 2359 and 0800, I’ll bang down your front door and bring the cops with me.” Laugh lines pinched the corners of his eyes. “Got it?”

Although a smile dug into her mouth, Dani feigned offense. “I don’t recall being put under your command.”