Just One Touch (Slow Burn #5)(4)

His mouth fell open in shock and for a moment he was rendered incapable of movement. Then the strength left his legs and he collapsed like a deflated balloon, hitting the ground with a thud right beside the woman, who was sprawled on the concrete a mere foot away.

"No. No!" the woman said hoarsely. "No, no, no!"

Her face appeared over his, concern and agony making her features starker than before. A sense of shock-and failure-assaulted him as he felt his body begin to shut down. After everything he'd encountered and fought against over the past few years, this was the way he was going out?

"Listen to me," he rasped, startled when his voice came out as the merest thread of a whisper. "Get in my SUV. The keys are in it. Haul ass out of here. Get yourself to safety. There's no helping me. I'm dying."

"No!" she denied. "I won't let you! I won't!"

She scrambled to him and suddenly her face hovered over his, her blue eyes flashing nearly silver as her hoody fell back, and a cascade of curly pale hair blew around her neck as wildly as her hands ran over his bloody chest.

"Go," he croaked, coughing and then choking as the metallic taste of blood coated his tongue.

Then she closed her eyes and her forehead creased in agony, and he gasped when her palms pressed deeply against his chest. It was like being hit by lightning. An electrical charge. His heart stuttered, then paused and his vision went blurry, her delicate features growing dimmer.

He stopped fighting the inevitable-death. He relaxed, expecting the end to come at any moment as coldness reached the inner core of his body. But then the most amazing sensation jolted him to awareness. Warmth. The most beautiful warmth he'd ever felt in his life slowly seeped into his veins, carrying with it the whispers of hope, of a new beginning,

He tried to speak, to protest, to ask if this was the end, but all he could do was gasp as his vision cleared once more and he saw the unbearable strain etched into every facet of her face. 

Never had he felt a more wonderful sensation. Being warmed from the inside out. His laboring heart and lungs seemed to relax and still, and there was no pain, only . . . a resurgence. As if a surgeon had his hands inside Isaac's chest, meticulously repairing the mortal damage done by the bullet.

He lifted his hand, shocked that he had the strength to do so. He greedily sucked in sweet, life-giving breath and marveled that not only was there no pain, but that what he felt couldn't be described. No drug, no narcotic or pain-relieving agent could ever produce such a wonderful feeling.

He reached for her wrist, shackling it with his fingers, unsure of what she was doing but knowing she had to stop. She was in danger. The shooters were still there. Could be coming for her even now.

Her eyes flickered open the instant he touched her and his own eyes widened when he saw the turbulent whirl of flashing colors that made the once pale-blue orbs undetectable.

"Don't," she gritted out between tightly clenched teeth. "I am not finished. You must let me finish. I will not let you die."

He let his hand fall away, numb with shock over what he was witnessing-no, experiencing. He'd thought by now nothing could shake him, catch him off guard, that nothing unbelievable was ever so in the world he lived and worked in. But never had he imagined such power, such an ability. Surely only God had the power over life and death?

But no, that wasn't true. Men and women killed one another every day. Humans decided death far more than they ever decided life, and yet this woman . . .

His entire body shuddered and the upper half jolted upward as if he'd been defibrillated. He felt the cold concrete through his blood-soaked jacket and realized that he was warm. Alive. Whole. And breathing.

He stared at her in awe, only to see utter despair wash through her soulful eyes. Her hands fell away and she pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them as she rocked back and forth, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Realization was swift. By saving him-healing him-she'd given up any opportunity to run, to escape. The resignation on her face broke his heart even as he lay gasping in wonder at being alive. He cautiously ran his hand over his chest and drew it away to see the smear of blood on his palm. But it came from his clothing. No longer was he bleeding. No longer was there a gaping wound in his chest. But there was residual weakness, or maybe he was just in shock-who wouldn't be? He was in no shape to haul himself and her into his vehicle and make a getaway. He'd just end up getting them both killed, or rather himself killed again. Her only shot was to get the hell away and leave him behind.

He reached over and snagged her ankle, shaking her gently to gain her attention. She glanced up at him with dull eyes and he gestured to his SUV.