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Man, he hated barbecue. Especially when he was on the menu.
Nalla’s worried face appeared above his own. “Are you okay?”
Great, he thought.Two nights in a row.
“I’m always okay. Just—”
“Give you a minute,” she finished hoarsely. “Yeah, I’ve been through this before with you, remember.”
With a series of shrugs, she got out of her parka—
“No, no—” He batted a lame hand. “You need to stay warm—”
“Shut up.” She put her hand over his babbling mouth. “Just because you don’t stay dead doesn’t mean you’re not suffering. I’m taking you back to the house and we’re going—”
“I’mnotgoing to Luchas House.”
As she stared down at him, the female was looking like she was in charge. So it was not entirely surprising when she announced in a voice that could have gotten steel I-beams on their feet and marching to her orders:
“Yes, you are.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nalla was done with the arguing. The only thing Nate had more of than willpower was stupidity. The good news? He was too physically compromised to do much about anything. The bad news? Trying to fit him into her parka would be like stuffing a boulder into a backpack. So she put her Patagonia back on, got down beside him, and pushed her arms behind both of his knees and just below his shoulder blades—
Nate hissed in agony.
Oh, God.The leather had melded with his skin. She could feel it—and she knew enough about basic medical care to fear he had third-degree burns over a lot of his back.
This could be fatal. And what if… he didn’t come around again.
“Brace yourself,” she said as she locked her teeth.
“Wait, you can’t lift me—”
Sucking in a deep breath, she punched her feet into the ground, and used all the muscles in her thighs and her ass. It was a hard graft, but she got him up off the snow.
“The hell I can’t carry you,” she grunted.
“I’ll walk—”
As Nate started to shove himself against her hold, she glared at his flushed face. “Cut that out or I’m going to drop you on your head—God, do youalwaysargue with everybody and everything?”
“No,” he snapped.
“Now I know what people feel like around me,” she muttered.
It was not a catwalk model-strut to be sure—although even if she’d been on a level floor and not carrying two hundred fifty pounds of loose-noodle deadweight, she doubted she could ever pull off the Mharta routine with her hips. But she made it through the woods, and what a relief to get out of all the cloying branches and underbrush. In the meadow proper, she made better time, although it was a trudge, her lungs burning and making her think of her saying she didn’t mind getting burned.
Ask, and ye shall receive.
Nate, meanwhile, was not doing well. His lips were peeled off his fangs, and his raw, singed hands were clawed up in front of his chest like he was trying to limit the contact he had with anything.
It was a toss-up as to what would hurt him more: Lying in the snow, waiting for death and then the revival to come, or this trip to the house, his raw back exposed, all the jostling and bumping making things worse for him. And what if he didn’t die out in the forest? He’d just be out in the elements, suffering.
What a mess—
“You… shouldn’t… take me inside,” he gritted. “Too upsetting… for them to see… me…”
