Bound by Dreams Page 21

  “It’s bad, Calan. I’m not sure they’ll make it in time.”

  Fury and despair churned up and Calan gripped Izzy’s arm. “Do something for her now.”

  “I’m not a magician. If one of those bullets grazed her heart, the odds are about as bad as they come.” Izzy shook his head slowly. “I would only make things worse.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the odds.” Calan growled the words, bent over Kiera, his fingers gently stroking her hair. “There has to be something you can do, Teague.”

  “She needs surgery and X-rays and fluids.” Izzy’s voice was taut with frustration. “How am I supposed to do that in the middle of a muddy field, with no equipment and no blood?”

  Calan’s eyes narrowed. “How long until the chopper arrives?”

  Izzy rubbed his neck. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “And that much more time back. She won’t make it, will she?”

  “I don’t know, Calan. Damn it, I just don’t know.”

  In Calan’s arms, Kiera’s body shook. She took a short, gasping breath.

  “Your guess is she’s got a bullet at or near her heart. That’s where the angle of the wound appears to be.”

  “Impossible to know for sure without an X-ray, but it’s a solid probability.”

  “And if the bullet could be removed?”

  “Out here in the field, without sterile equipment? Impossible.”

  Calan was already sliding a blanket under Kiera’s body. “Tell me. What if it were out?”

  “Hypothetically—if it was lodged at or near her heart, and if it was removed cleanly and fast, with blood volume adequately controlled—but that would take a machine, Calan. If all that happened, I’d say her chances for surviving were slight, yet better than hopeless. But it can’t be done.”

  It could.

  It would be dangerous, Calan knew. Maybe right at the edge of insanity. But he was making the choice blind, by heart and instinct alone and praying he’d taken the right turn because there was no going back.

  She was white, motionless in his arms. Blood oozed through his half-open fingers. He couldn’t let her die without trying to help her.

  What good were his skills if they couldn’t save the woman he knew, in this instant, that he was joined with by destiny?

  He shoved Izzy’s jacket off his shoulders, glancing up as Nicholas jumped over a narrow ditch in the fog.

  Izzy glared at him. “I told you to—”

  “The brigadier’s men are down on the coast road. Things are just about mopped up there. The whole place looks like a war zone.” Nicholas only then saw the woman who was cradled protectively in Calan’s arms. “What happened up here?”

  “She’s dying, Nicholas. I have to remove that bullet so she can have a chance.”

  “Out here? But how—” Nicholas frowned as Calan touched Kiera’s face very gently. “She’s—she looks like…” Nicholas sank down to the mud, swaying as if he’d been kicked. “Elena?” he whispered. “How can that be?”

  “She’s your sister’s daughter. A mother betrayed and a daughter who learned bitterness and mistrust. A long story, Nicholas, and there’s no time for any of it now.” Calan shot a look squarely at Izzy. “Get me your best antiseptic.”

  Izzy growled a protest, but the look on Calan’s face stopped him cold. “You’re serious about this? Nicholas, how can he—”

  “Do what he says, Izzy.”

  Muttering, Izzy pulled a brown plastic bottle from his gear bag. “Here’s the antiseptic,” he said reluctantly. “But how—”

  “Scrub my hands. Then paint them up to the wrists. Be sure you get the nails.”

  “You’re a crazy man, MacKay. I know field hygiene, but this can’t work. If that bullet doesn’t kill her, then you will.”

  “How far out is the helicopter, Nicholas?”

  “Another eight minutes now. They’re having trouble finding us in this pea soup.”

  Calan’s jaw set in a hard line. “That’s what I thought. Get the sterile equipment and dressings ready, Izzy. Open that blanket, Nicholas. You’ll have to keep her still, no matter what. No movement of any sort will be safe once I start.”

  “Once you start what?” Izzy peered down, angry and suspicious.

  “We’re wasting time. Leave the things I need and wait over by the car, Teague.” The order snapped off Calan’s tongue. “Don’t come back until Nicholas calls you.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “Go, Izzy.” Nicholas’s eyes darkened with impatience. “It’s her only chance. Let Calan do this.”

  Shaking his head, Izzy stood up. After a last glance at Kiera, he stalked away into the fog.

  Calan rolled his shoulders. His eyes followed the distant line of the ruined church as he took deep, focusing breaths. He didn’t look at Nicholas as he held his hands carefully level, just above Kiera’s chest.

  “Let me see the bullet hole, Nicholas. And whatever happens—take care of her and her family. Help her. Together you can put all the ghosts to rest.”

  “I will. Be careful, Calan.” The Englishman flinched as Kiera’s eyes fluttered open and she gasped twice, flailing against Nicholas’s arms.

  “Hold her, damn it. No matter what you see or what happens.”

  Then Calan brought all his focus to his hands. With savage control, he dropped in one hard instant from sanity into the cruel, dark place where his Other waited, cunning and hungry. Muscles rippled along his back. Tendons shifted and fine black hair rose across his neck and chest. Calan drew back from the physical form at the last minute, shuddering against the violence of his shift, fighting to control who he was and everything that he intended to do, despite the fury of his Other and the fearsome price it would cost them both.

  His fingers twisted, misshapen bones cracking, then shaped to short, powerful paws covered by dark fur. He closed his eyes, drawing back, caught in the moment before he returned to human form.

  He snarled in pain, focused on his hands.

  His fingers seemed to lose physical form.

  Sweating, Calan held his hands at the thin boundary between animal and human form, when atoms spun and energy played out in a vast network that held only probability. He eased his shimmering fingers against the hole in Kiera’s chest and followed the trail of battered skin in search of the bullet fragment. Without form, his fingers traced the bullet’s path.

  Calan took a harsh breath, battered by unthinkable pain as he fought his change and the rebellion of all his muscles. He was a hunter not a healer. His body quivered, desperate to change. But he swore to use every second of life to save the woman in his arms.

  Sweat dotted his chiseled features. His heart fought in angry, unpredictable beats as he gently found the outline of a bullet lodged inches above Kiera’s heart. “Be ready.” His voice was hoarse.

  Almost like a growl.

  He struggled against the restless hunger of his Other beating beneath his skin. Calan pulled his hands free, memorizing the bullet’s path.

  “Give me the surgical tweezers, Nicholas. Quick—”

  His hands took solid form. He grabbed the fine titanium handle from Nicholas and followed the jagged path downward by touch and memory. Kiera gasped restlessly as he found the bullet and closed the tweezers over the metal edge.

  Sweating, he pulled the metal up, away from her heart, inch by careful inch.

  His hands were rock solid, without a tremor despite the Change that howled through his blood. In Nicholas’s arms Kiera took a raw, sighing breath. Color rushed in to fill her face.

  Calan leaned forward and his eyes closed.

  “Calan—can you hear me?” Nicholas’s voice was very dim. “Let it go. You’ve done all you can. You’re barely breathing.”

  Calan let the Change free, let his body’s energy flare into the shift. Tendons and muscles twisted wildly, power shooting through him. But it was too late. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest. The sharp, irregular hammer turned to crushing pa
in as his heart stopped.

  He collapsed backward on the ground.

  When Nicholas Draycott looked down, a bullet lay cradled on Calan’s still and bloody palm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “IZZY, YOU NEED to look after Calan now.” Nicholas Draycott shifted to one side as Izzy Teague crouched in the mud beside Calan’s rigid body.

  “What in the hell did he just do?” Izzy’s voice was tense as he pulled a stethoscope and syringes out of his field kit bag. “At least Kiera’s got a strong pulse now, though I can’t figure out how. I also don’t know how Calan got that bullet out of her without any more blood loss. Just keep an eye on her, Nicholas. If her pulse goes thready, I want to know immediately.”

  Nicholas nodded, shooting a worried look at his old friend, whose face was now bluish-gray and beaded with sweat. “Her pulse seems light but steady. What about Calan?”

  “Faint breathing. Airway is open.” Izzy dug in his bag and pulled out a syringe. “He’s going into shock. I’m giving him fluids.” When he inserted an IV line, the Scotsman’s eyes fluttered briefly, but he showed no other response.

  Izzy pulled out an aluminum thermal blanket and spread it loosely over Calan. “Someday you’ll tell me what went on out here. For now let’s pray he can hang on until that chopper finds us in the fog. There’s not much more I can do.”

  Over their heads came the drone of motors and the dull thump-thump of a chopper banking over the marsh.

  “About time,” Nicholas muttered. “But Calan is still losing color.” He frowned as his friend fought for breath.

  Kiera’s eyes opened. She gasped and tried to sit up. “Maddy—”

  Nicholas held her still. “Your sister is safe. You’re out of danger, Ms. Morissey.”

  “Calan?” She was looking over Nicholas’s shoulder, her eyes dark with worry. “I saw some kind of animal. The car exploded, but Calan never came back.” She gave a sharp gasp when she saw Calan, ashen-faced. “No…” She glanced at Izzy and then at Nicholas Draycott, flinching a little when she saw his face clearly. “You—he said you were his friend. Help him. Do something. I—I can’t lose him. I won’t.”

  The motors droned loudly and a helicopter appeared through the fog. The big skids had barely touched down when two men in dark uniforms jumped out and ran toward them.

  “Nicholas Draycott,” the Englishman called out. “This is Ishmael Teague. We’ve got three casualties here for immediate evacuation.”

  “Yes, sir.” Two more men appeared, carrying a stretcher.

  “Where is my sister?” Kiera asked hoarsely.

  “She’s waiting near the car.” Izzy Teague removed his stethoscope and gestured for the team to lift Calan onto the stretcher as the casualty with top priority for treatment.

  “But her medicine—”

  “She’ll be fine until we reach the E.R. But you need to relax now. You’ve been through a major ordeal.”

  Kiera put one hand lightly on the bloody, torn shirt that Nicholas had rebuttoned at her chest. “I remember gunfire. Then I hit the ground and everything hurt at once. My heart seemed to tear.” She ran a hand over her face. “I’m so tired.” She shook her head, trying to see Calan as he was carefully settled on the stretcher. “What’s wrong with him? Please—I need to know.”

  “You’ll have answers soon,” Nicholas said. “We all will.” He stood back as Kiera was lifted onto the next stretcher. Her eyes closed.

  Nicholas stood back next to Izzy. “How bad is Calan?” he asked quietly.

  Izzy closed his bag, his expression grim. “I won’t speculate. His heart appears to be in serious arrhythmia. That could lead to cardiac arrest.” He shouldered his gear bag. “Praying is never a bad idea.”

  KIERA WAS CAUGHT in restless dreams of gray cement rooms with roofs that collapsed all around her.

  Cold bit into her skin. All her energy seemed to be draining away from a deep red hole at the center of her chest. No matter how hard she pressed, the energy kept pouring out over her hands.

  She tried to sit up, desperate to ask about her sister and the man she loved, but the fog was everywhere. No one heard her.

  She whispered Calan’s name, her hands searching blindly. Then the fog swallowed her.

  THE SMALL HOSPITAL was not prepared for a sudden influx of patients, but the capable staff went into overdrive. The wounded attackers had all been transported into military custody. Maddy and Kiera had adjoining rooms and were receiving around-the-clock care. Calan was downstairs in a separate wing, in intensive care.

  Maddy’s energy had come back first. After checking on her sister and Calan, she called her family back in France, and then tracked down Nicholas Draycott. Their confrontation quickly turned into an emotional interrogation. The Englishman’s answers did not completely satisfy her, but they painted a far different picture from the one her mother had presented in the weeks before her death.

  It became clear to Maddy that Nicholas Draycott was not quite the villain she had believed. Doggedly Maddy demanded answers about the estate manager who had handled the viscount’s affairs during his absence. This was the man who had truest blame. Once Nicholas heard the whole story, in Maddy’s version, he placed a phone call to the man he had not seen for over ten years.

  There was no answer at the man’s house in London. His telephone number in Kent was out of service. Nicholas assured Maddy that he would get to the bottom of the ugly business. What he did not tell her was that if the story proved true—and he was quickly coming to believe that it was—his retribution would be swift and fierce.

  Meanwhile, he saw to it that all three of the patients had constant attention. It was his greatest wish to see them all back at Draycott Abbey, recovering in the quiet beauty that had helped him back to sanity so many years before. It would be a safe haven now that the brigadier’s team had everyone from the church in custody. An additional group of terrorists had been tracked down in London.

  In every sense, the threat against Nicholas and his family appeared to be over. But he had arranged for private protection officers for his wife and daughter in case any of the splinter-group Croatians and their British collaborators had managed to escape the brigadier’s net.

  Kacey Draycott had arrived at the hospital within a day of hearing about their recent danger. Equipped with an armful of magazines, fresh flowers from the abbey’s garden and a basket filled with Marston’s best pumpkin walnut scones, she set about charming Nicholas’s newfound relatives.

  Nicholas was still reeling from the discovery that his sister had died only several months earlier. To that was added the shock of learning that he had three nieces with every reason to hate him. Since duty and family bonds were the most important things in Nicholas’s life, the discovery had taken him to the edge of despair.

  Kiera still slept, drained after her ordeal. She did not know that Calan was in critical condition. The exact nature of his heart arrhythmia remained a mystery to the cardiac staff. It was Kacey Draycott and not her husband who was at Kiera’s bedside when she came awake.

  Kacey rang the call button as Kiera blinked and looked around her. “Where—” She sat up with a gasp, yanked back the sheets and tried to stand up. “Where is Maddy? My sister—”

  “She’s fine. I’ll get her for you.”

  Kiera released a long breath and nodded. “Calan—I have to find him, too.”

  “Take it easy. He’s right downstairs, Kiera.” Kacey spoke calmly. “You can see him in a few minutes. The doctor’s with him now.”

  Kiera stared at her. “You’re a nurse?”

  “A friend. Tell me anything you need, and I’ll get it. Coffee, tea. Magazines. A computer to write e-mails or a cell phone.”

  Kiera closed her eyes. “Calan. I need to see him now.”

  When she tried to stand up, Kacey Draycott crossed her arms, a look of determination on her face. “I’ll check to be sure he can have visitors. Then I’ll go find a wheelchair to take you there. It’s that or n
othing. You won’t last five minutes if you try to walk.”

  “Says who?” Impatient and angry, Kiera swung her legs over the side of the bed—and swayed dangerously. She closed her eyes and sat down. “Tomorrow I’ll walk,” she muttered.

  “I’m glad that much is clear. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ve left you a Thermos with tea beside the bed, along with Marston’s homemade scones.”

  But Kiera didn’t hear. Her eyes closed in exhaustion. She sank onto the bed, dropping back down into restless dreams.

  NICHOLAS DRAYCOTT and Izzy Teague were pacing impatiently in the hall when Kacey went outside.

  “How is she?” Nicholas demanded. “We heard the call button. A doctor is on the way now.”

  “She woke up and seemed completely lucid. Exhausted, of course. Stubborn, too. Not surprising, given her Draycott blood.” Kacey stepped back and watched a doctor and a nurse stride into Kiera’s room. “She was demanding to see Calan.”

  “He’s still unconscious,” Izzy said quietly. “He’s not allowed to have any visitors yet.”

  “I wasn’t going to tell her that. She was agitated enough without more bad news.” Kacey glanced at her husband. “He’s still the same?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Izzy rubbed his neck. “His heart arrhythmia hasn’t responded to any treatment so far. Nicholas was right to send for a specialist from London. To get him to come all the way out here must have meant pulling a whole lot of strings.”

  “It was a small thing to do,” Nicholas said flatly. “Calan was hurt because of me. I put him in this dangerous situation. I never should have gotten him involved.”

  Izzy’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on just a minute. If you’re trying to take the blame for what happened to your friend, you’re making a big mistake. It was his choice to help you, just as it was his choice to do whatever it was he did to save Kiera’s life.”

  “I keep telling myself that. It doesn’t make me feel the slightest bit better,” Nicholas said bitterly.