Daughter Of The Dragon Princess(13)

"You knew her?"

"Shula was my mother."

"So, I'm not just a princess I'm descended from a goddess. Great," she  muttered. "So much for being normal." If she believed it. She'd given up  on fairy tales long ago and this sounded like a complete goddamn fairy  tale.

"That was your second answer," Mal said. "Get out of the car."

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she bit back the rest of her  questions. In the dim light, she could see the lines of pain etched on  his face. The sleeve of his black shirt was dark with blood and the  coppery scent hung on the air. She should examine the wound. Or better  still, get a doctor to examine it, but how likely was that to happen?  With an audible sigh, she climbed out.

"We should sort that arm out. Do you have a first-aid kit in the car?"

He opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, and then glanced down at his  wrist where dark blood still oozed from the cut. "In the back."

Lily walked around, and opened the trunk of the car. Her eyes widened.  It was like an arsenal in there. There was even what looked like some  sort of machine gun. Moving it gingerly out of the way, she finally  caught sight of a green box with a red cross on the top.

After tucking the box under her arm, she was about to shut the back when  she spotted her handbag pushed into the corner. She pulled it out and  looked inside. The gun was gone. Cole had taken it, but her cell phone  was still there. Sliding the bag over her shoulder, she studied the  weapons. Guns were a mystery to her, but even so, she reckoned she could  manage to pull the trigger. Selecting a small pistol, she shoved it  into the waistband of her jeans and slammed the trunk closed.

She glanced across to where Mal slumped against the bonnet of the car.         

     



 

"You stay here," she said. "I'll go see if I can get us some rooms."

"I'll come with you."

"You can't." She waved a hand at his arm. "They'll take one look at you and call the cops. No, I'll be better alone."

Ignoring her, Mal pushed himself up and stretched. He disappeared for a  few seconds and came back pulling on a black leather jacket that covered  the bloodstains on his chest and arm. Then reaching into the car, he  picked up the gun and slipped it into his pocket. He peered at her,  amusement flickering across his face.

"What?" she asked.

"You might want to take the vest off," he murmured, his eyes sliding over her body.

She glanced down at the bulletproof vest he'd given her earlier and  realized she didn't want to take it off. The vest made her feel safe.  But it was rather noticeable. She shrugged out of it, and tossed it on  the seat of the car before slamming the door.

"Right then," she said. "Lead the way."



Lily ground her teeth as she shoved in the key card, and pushed open the door of the hotel room.

Hotel room, singular.

A huge king-size bed dominated the room and she paused in the doorway,  scowling. She had planned on patching him up, then heading to a room of  her own, occupying it only as long as it took to make sure Mal was  asleep, and then taking off as fast as she could go. He obviously had  other plans.

At the reception desk, when she had opened her mouth to argue, he had  slipped his hand into the pocket with the gun. She was still sure he  wouldn't hurt her. Unfortunately, she wasn't as convinced he wouldn't  shoot the young guy behind the desk and she'd given in. Ungracefully.

After dumping her handbag and the first aid kit on the bed, she eyed him cautiously. "Sit," she said.

He perched on the edge of the mattress, his expression wary, but he  remained acquiescent while she unbuckled both shoulder holsters and  placed them on the bed next to the first-aid kit. He also didn't argue  as she unbuttoned his shirt, just shrugging out of it when she was done.

Crimson stained his chest, but he didn't seem to be bleeding from  anywhere else. She traced her hand over a gunshot wound in his shoulder.  It was healing already. "How?"

He shrugged. "I heal fast."

She rested a hand on the hot skin of his chest and gently urged him  around so she could see his back. Another wound marred the skin of his  shoulder, presumably, where the bullet had exited and a further one in  his right arm. Both were well on the way to healing. In fact, the only  damage that seemed to be causing problems was the self-inflicted cut.  She pulled his right hand away from where he was holding the injured  wrist in a vice-like grip. The wound appeared angry, the skin around it  inflamed, and blood seeped from the open cut.

"Why isn't it healing like the others?"

"It was used for magic. Those wounds never heal fast. That's why we resist it unless necessary-it costs us."

"I have to clean the cut."

"No, we're immune to infection. Just wrap it up tight. It will heal once I'm rested."

Her turn to shrug, but she wasn't going to argue. She was just getting  to the stage where if Mal told her that pigs could fly, she'd search the  sky for them. She opened the first-aid box and selected a bandage.

"Here," she said, "give me that." She took his arm and wrapped the bandage around his wrist.

"Tighter," he muttered.

She pulled it hard, then waited while he flexed his fingers and nodded.

"Good," he said. "Now get some sleep."

"I'm not sleeping in here with you." There were two beds but they were way too close together.

"Then be quiet while I sleep."

She stomped into the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, and rammed the bolt home.

When she came back out, Mal was still seated, his back against the wall,  his long legs stretched out in front of him, his gaze fixed on her.

"So what happens now?" she asked.

"Now, I contact Vortigen and we set up another meeting. I hand you over, and that's it."

She glared at him. "You still plan to go ahead with that? To hand me over to the ‘something worse than death' guy?"

"I have no choice. And I shouldn't have said that to you, it was-"

"Fucking insensitive," she interrupted.

"-not wise." He ran a hand through his hair. "This is not just about you or me, and I don't have a choice-nothing's changed."

"There's always a choice." She rubbed at the tightness in her chest. To  her, everything had changed. Her whole life turned upside down. Mal had  protected her tonight, and for a while, she had managed to forget that  it was because he had an agenda. And handing her over in one piece, to  some fuckwit asshole, was right at the top. He didn't care about her.  She turned away, not wanting him to see the tears she blinked from her  eyes. She was tired, that was all.         

     



 

Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, she peered at him through her  lashes. It was some consolation that if she felt awful, he looked it.  His eyes were dull, his skin pale beneath the golden tint.

He swung his legs around, stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. A  minute later, she heard the shower run. She could make a run for it now,  but first she wanted more answers. Also, it would be better to wait  until he was asleep. She would have more time, and at least he couldn't  cuff her again. The cuffs were still back at the farmhouse, though  knowing Mal he'd probably have a spare pair somewhere.

The bathroom door opened, steam billowed out. Mal emerged dressed in  nothing but a small towel wrapped around his hips. His body was long and  lean, his ribs visible under the taut skin. The mark glowed like a  living thing across his shoulder.

She waited until he sank down on the bed, rubbing his dark hair with another towel. "Tell me about my father."

He glanced at her, his eyes wary. "There's nothing to tell. I've told you what I know-he was a sorcerer."

"You're lying, you know more."

"Drop it."

"No. I waited my whole life for my mother or father, for somebody,  anybody, to come and claim me. It never happened. Now here you are, and  you have all the answers. You know who my father is."

"Your father is dead."

She could hear the truth in his voice, but she refused to accept it. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure."

She jumped to her feet, fists clenched at her side. She was pathetic.  Ever since Stark had mentioned her father the night before, she'd been  living in some fairy-tale dream world where she was reunited with her  family and they all lived happily ever after. Now she was finding it  impossible to let go of that dream. "You can't know."

He studied her, head cocked to one side, his golden eyes hard as metal. How could eyes that color be so cold?

"I can, because I killed him." He looked away from her as though the conversation was over.

Shock slammed into her. She pressed a finger to her forehead trying to make sense of his words. "Why?"

He didn't answer. Lily slipped her hand behind her, and fumbled for the  pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She pulled it out and  aimed it at his back. He stood slowly then glanced down at the gun in  her hand.