Part 37 (1/2)

The jingle of her horse's bridle snapped her attention back to the present. She cursed herself for drifting. A moment's distraction could easily lead to death out here. Stumbling between a bear sow and her cub. Crossing paths with vicious whiskey runners. A thousand ways to die. So when her awareness suddenly p.r.i.c.kled once again, Astrid did not dismiss it.

A rustle, and movement behind her. Astrid swung her horse around, taking up her rifle, to confront who or whatever was there.

She blinked, hardly believing what she saw. A man walked through tall gra.s.ses lining the pa.s.s trail. He walked with steady but dazed steps, hardly aware of his surroundings. He was completely naked.

”Lesperance?”

Astrid turned her horse on the trail and urged it closer. Dear G.o.d, it was was Lesperance. She dec.o.c.ked her rifle and slung it back over her shoulder. Lesperance. She dec.o.c.ked her rifle and slung it back over her shoulder.

He didn't seem to hear her, so she said again, coming nearer, ”Mr. Lesperance?” She could see now, only ten feet away, that cuts, sc.r.a.pes and bruises covered his body. His very nude, extremely well-formed body. She snapped her eyes to his face before they could trail lower than his navel. ”What happened to you?”

His gaze, dark and blank, regarded her with a removed curiosity, as if she was a little bird perched on a windowsill. He stopped walking and stared at her.

Astrid dismounted at once, pulling a blanket from her pack. Within moments, she wrapped it around his waist, took his large hand in hers, and coaxed his fingers to hold the blanket closed. Then she pulled off her coat and draped it over his shoulders. Despite the fact that the coat was quite large on Astrid, it barely covered his shoulders, and the sleeves stuck out like wings. In other circ.u.mstances, he would have looked comical. But there was nothing faintly amusing about this situation.

Magic still buzzed around him, though somewhat dimmer than before.

”Where are your clothes? How did you get here? Are you badly hurt?”

None of her questions penetrated the fog enveloping him. She bent closer to examine his wounds. Some of the cuts were deep, as though made by knives, and rope abrasions circled his wrists. Bruises shadowed his knees and knuckles. Blood had dried in the corners of his mouth. Nothing looked serious, but out in the wilderness, even the most minor injury held the potential for disaster. And, without clothing, not even a Native inured to the changeable weather could survive. He was in shock, just beginning to shake.

”Lesperance,” she said, taking hold of his wide shoulders and staring into his eyes intently, ”listen to me. I need to see to your wounds. We're going to have to ride back to my cabin.”

”Astrid...” he murmured with a slow blink, then his nostrils flared like a beast scenting its mate. A hungry look crossed his face. ”Astrid.”

It was unexpected, given the circ.u.mstances, yet seeing that look of need, hearing him say her name, filled her with a responding desire. ”Mrs. Bramfield,” she reminded him. And herself. They were polite strangers.

”Astrid,” he said, more insistent. He reached up to touch her face.

She grabbed his hand, pulling it away from her face. At least she wore gloves, so she didn't have to touch his bare skin. ”Come on.” Astrid gently tugged him towards her horse. Once beside the animal, she swung up into the saddle, put her rifle across her lap, and held a hand out to him. He stared at it with a frown, as though unfamiliar with the phenomenon of hands.

”We have to go now now, Lesperance,” Astrid said firmly. ”Those wounds of yours need attention, and whatever or whoever did this to you is probably still out there.”

He cast a look around, seeming to find a shred of clarity in the hazy mora.s.s of his addled brain. Something dark and angry crossed his face. He took a step away, as if he meant to go after whoever had hurt him. His hands curled into fists. Insanity. He was unarmed, naked, wounded.

”Now,” Astrid repeated. Astrid repeated.

Somehow, she got through to him. He took her hand and, with a dexterity that surprised her, given his condition, mounted up behind her.

G.o.d, she didn't want to do this. But there was no other choice. ”Put your arms around my waist,” she said through gritted teeth. When he did so, she added, ”Hold tightly to me. Not that tight,” she gasped as his grip turned to bands of steel. He loosened his hold slightly. ”Good. Do not let go. Do you understand?”

He nodded, then winced as if the movement gave him pain. ”Can't stay up.”

”Lean against me if you have to.” She mentally groaned when he did just that, and she felt him, even through her bulky knitted vest, s.h.i.+rt and st.u.r.dy trousers. Heavy and hard and solid with muscle. Everywhere. His arms, his chest, his thighs, pressed against hers. Astrid closed her eyes for a moment as she felt his warm breath along the nape of her neck.

”All set?” she asked, barely able to form the words around her clenched jaw.

He tried to nod again but the effort made him moan. The plaintive sound, coming from such a strong, potent man, pulled tight on feelings Astrid didn't want to have.

”Thank...you,” he said faintly.

She didn't answer him. Instead, she kicked her horse into a gallop, knowing deep in her heart that she was making a terrible mistake.

And in December, STRANGER brings the adventure back to London...

He protects the world's magic-with his science.

But even the best scientists can fall prey to the right chemistry...

LOOKING FOR TROUBLE.

Gemma Murphy has a nose for a story-even if the boys in Chicago's newsrooms would rather focus on her chest. So when she runs into a handsome man of mystery discussing how to save the world from fancy-pants Brit conspirators, she's sensing a scoop. Especially when he mentions there's magic involved. Of course, getting him on the record would be easier if he hadn't caught her eavesdropping...

LIGHTING HIS FUSE.

Catullus Graves knows what it's like to be shut out: his ancestors were slaves. And he's a genius inventor with appropriately eccentric habits, so even people who love him find him a little odd. But after meeting a certain redheaded scribbler, he's thinking of other types of science.

Inconvenient, given that he needs to focus on preventing the end of the world as we know it. But with Gemma's insatiable curiosity sparking Catullus's inventive impulses, they might set off something explosive anyway...

Now was her chance to do some investigating. Surely she'd find something of note in his cabin. A fast glance up and down the pa.s.sageway ensured she was entirely alone.

Gemma opened the cabin door.

And found herself staring at a drawn gun.

d.a.m.n. He was was in. Working silently at a table by the light of one small lamp. At her entrance, he was out of his chair and drawing a revolver in one smooth motion. in. Working silently at a table by the light of one small lamp. At her entrance, he was out of his chair and drawing a revolver in one smooth motion.