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man. There was no excessive hair, no fur, just blood and bruises. Some of the tension seeped out of
Rachael.
He groaned, the sound nearly inaudible. There was a hint of distaste. His chest and stomach carried
bruises. There was a raw-looking wound seeping blood across his stomach and a small brown leech
attached to his skin. He turned his back to her.
Rachael let out her breath, her stomach muscles clenching. He had scars on his back. Lots of them. And
he had another leech. "You have another one on your back. Come over here and I'll take it off for you."
The thought of touching the leech was disgusting, but it sickened her to see the thing sucking on him like
the parasite it was.
His shoulders stiffened. Not a big movement, but one that told her she'd surprised him and he didn't like
surprises. He turned his head, a slow, animal-like movement. Rachael's breath caught in her throat. His
eyes glowed, much like that of a cat in the dark. The flames from the fireplace leapt in the yellow-green
depths. There was a long moment of silence. A log hissed and shifted. Sparks flew.
"Thanks, but I'll pass. I'm used to them." Rio sounded gruff and abrupt and surly even to his own ears.
Hell, all she'd done was ask to help him. He didn't need to bite her head off. "I think your wrist is broken.
I haven't had time to splint it." He couldn't remember anyone offering to help him before. He rarely spent
more than a few minutes in the company of others, and her close proximity was unsettling. She made him
feel vulnerable in a way he couldn't understand.
Rachael looked with some surprise at her swollen wrist. The pain radiating up from her leg consumed her
to the point she hadn't noticed her wrist. "I guess it is. Who are
you?"
She watched him take his time before answering, pulling the leech from his stomach with the ease of
practice and disposing of it. His strange eyes immediately focused fully on her. "Rio Santana." He
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obviously was expecting a reaction to his name.
Rachael blinked at him. The intensity of his gaze made her heart pound. She'd never heard his name
before, she was certain of it, yet something about him seemed familiar to her. She shifted position and
pain knifed through her.
Impatience flickered across his face. "Stop moving around. You'll start bleeding again, and I haven't even
cleaned up the first mess."
"You spend a lot of time working on your manners, don't you?" she observed.
"You tried to bash in my head, lady. I don't think I need you to lecture me on manners." He stalked
across the room to draw the knife from the sheath.
Her heart jumped, then settled into a steady pounding. Everything about the way he moved reminded her
of an animal. The flames from the fireplace made the blade of the knife glow an eerie red-orange as he
held it up.
"Stop looking at me like I have two heads," he snapped, sounding more impatient than ever.
"I'm looking at you like you're waving a big knife around," she said. Her leg was throbbing with pain,
forcing her to grit her teeth and try to relax. How was she supposed to keep from moving around when it
felt as if someone was using a dull saw on her flesh? "And I didn't exactly try to bash your head in. It
wasn't personal."
"The knife is to remove the leech from my back. I can't felt compelled to explain what should have been
perfectly obvious, he didn't know. "And I always take it personally when someone tries to remove my
head from my shoulders."
She made a face. A silly, feminine expression of exasperation. And she did it with little white lines of pain
etched around her mouth. It fascinated him, that wholly feminine expression. His stomach did a weird flip.
"You don't hear me complaining that your little pet chewed off my leg. Men are such babies. It isn't even
that big of a gash."
He had the urge to laugh. It came out of nowhere, blind-siding him, bursting over him unexpectedly. He
didn't laugh, of course; he frowned at her instead. "You put a hole in my head."
"You're going to put a hole in your back with that knife. Stop being macho he-man and let me take that
horrible thing off of you."
His eyebrow shot up. "You want me to put a knife in your hands, lady?"
"Stop calling me lady, it's becoming annoying." Pain was beating at her so strongly now that she wanted
to throw up again. It was definitely making it hard to think. She kept fear at bay with her usual chatter,
but she wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer. And she dared not think what might happen then.
"I don't exactly know your name. Where I come from, lady is a compliment."
"Not in that tone of voice," she objected. "Rachael Los..." she trailed off, casting around for a name, any
name. She couldn't think clearly; she'd already forgotten her new name, but it was imperative she hide her
identity. Pain throbbed in her head, beat at her body. "Smith."
If it were possible, his eyebrow went higher. "Rachael Los Smith?" His mouth softened for the briefest of
moments, a rusty attempt at a smile. Or a smirk. She couldn't tell. Her vision was beginning to blur.
Rio moved closer to her, his mouth once more twisting into a frown. "You're sweating." His palm settled
on her forehead. "Do not get an infection. We're stuck here without help for the duration of the storm."
"I'll make sure I follow your orders, Rio, because I have the power to determine that, you know."
Rachael's gaze followed the path of the knife as it moved close to her. "If you don't let me help you now,
I don't think I'm going to be able to at all." Her voice was funny, tinny and far away. "That awful leech is
going to just stay there, getting high on your blood. Maybe it's a girl leech and she's going to have babies
and they'll all live on your back, sucking your blood. A little leech community. How perfectly lovely."
He muttered something under his breath.
"And don't swear at me or I'm going to cry. I'm doing my best here and you aren't giving me anything to
work with."
His fingers were gentle in her hair even though he didn't mean to touch her. "Don't you dare cry." The
thought was more alarming than someone coming at him with a gun. Her tears might turn him inside out.
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