Forged: The World of Nightwalkers Read Online Free PDF Page A

unpolished statue. How in the hell was that possible? It couldn’t be … but it was. She was feeling it right under her fingertips.
    “No outside light. Please,” he said, startling her. Begging her. “The daylight will make it impossible for you to help me, and I will die. I promise you, I
will
die.”
    She nodded hastily, reaching out to give him an awkward pat of reassurance on the large, curving muscle of his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve already closed the storm shutters.” And started a fire in the fireplace that warmed both the master bedroom and the living room with shared sides, its warm light dancing over them both. That and the bedside light was enough.
    He exhaled then, a long shuddering breath of his final strength bleeding out of him, and suddenly she remembered what all of that blood meant and forgot about her damaged clothes and quilts. She ran for her bathroom, yanking out the supplies she had squirreled away in dribs and drabs over the years just in case … well, just in case. And now, it was in case. She found a basin and loaded it up with gauze, iodine, and 2-0 vicryl sutures. She belatedly washed her hands and snapped on a pair of purple nitrile gloves, even though she was already drenched in his blood. She would work better with clean hands and the traction of the gloves.
    She hastened to the bed, moving up to him and hitting both of the bedside lights. She turned him and realized there was no more stone skin on him. He was entirely a flesh-and-blood man. For some reason that comforted her a little. But the idea that that couldchange at any moment sat heavy on her thoughts. Suddenly she felt the burning presence of her phone in her back pocket. She should call for help, never mind his protestations. He was out like a light and there was nothing he could do about it, he was just that weak. But he had surprised her thus far with his ability to power through his weakness, and even if she called for help, it could take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour before anyone would make it up the mountain to her. This was what she had feared, and the only thing she had feared, about living alone so remotely. She had imagined things like this, evil men stumbling upon her house and she alone and helpless.
    But nothing about him made her sense that he was evil, per se. After all, he had pointed out to her what he
could
do to her … inferring the opposite, that he
wouldn’t
do anything to hurt her.
    In the end she decided to leave the phone silent in her pocket, even as she berated herself for probably being stupid and very likely to regret it. But the healer in her jumped to the forefront, and she grabbed gauze and began to wipe at the source of his blood. She gasped when she finally cleared the field and could see the extent of the damage. A cut deep into his side, as if someone had swung a sword into him, trying to cleave him in half, and down his side and leg he was violently burned, third degree in most places.
    Again, she felt the burn of her phone in her pocket.
    “Doona,” he rasped, as if he could read her mind.
    “I won’t,” she soothed him. “But you are terribly injured. You need a hospital.”
    His mouth turned grim and his eyes fluttered open. For the first time the golden topaz of his eyes jumped out at her. They were beautiful, she thought with no little awe, as was the rest of him. He had the darkest, deepest black hair she’d ever seen. Not blue-black … not dark brown … but purest black. It had the lightest curl to it as it fell in waves to just above his collar. He had an aquiline nose and deeply sculpted cheeks, the cheekbones wide. His mouth was full, like for a woman, only unmistakably male. She imagined a mouth that large had a smile just as wide. A killer smile, she was sure. He was not pretty or boyish by any stretch of the imagination, but was still strongly handsome.
    But there was no time to further enjoy the view. She had to clear her field once again