The Last of His Kind(3)By: Doris O Connor
"Nay, no help. Just get me to the water."
What? The fever had clearly addled his brain, or maybe he was just like any other devastatingly good looking guy. All brawn and no brain.
"You can't go for a swim in this state. You'll drown. Besides the Loch is freezing this time of year. You'll die of frostbite before you have the chance to drown. We need to get you to shelter, and you need a doctor to come look at this wound."
"No quack." The deep growl of denial made Penelope jump, and the grip on her shoulder grew painful as he moved his hand to help him lever himself up.
"Fine, have it your way, but you need to rest. And you can't do that here." He groaned his assent, and a violent shudder shook his long frame. Penelope put an arm around his waist, and together, somehow they struggled to their feet, with the stranger leaning heavily on her. Penelope was not small, but he dwarfed her completely. Heat rose in her cheeks at seeing his huge, long cock hang down between his legs, and she hastily averted her eyes.
Jesus, what is wrong with you? The man is hurt, and you ogle his appendage?
She forced herself to look ahead instead. "My cottage is just round the corner. Let's try to get you there."
He groaned a pain filled acknowledgement, and after a small lifetime they finally reached her front door. By the time he collapsed onto her well-worn settee, every muscle in her body screamed its protest. Penelope threw the afghan over his naked form and sank to the floor next to him, completely exhausted. Now what was she going to do with her very own Adonis?
Fiery waves of pain coursed through his veins like liquid acid. The urge to shift consumed him, to seek the oblivion of the cool depths of the Loch, to leave this feeble body behind, but his muscles cramped and ceased to function. The poison invaded his system like marauding hordes of ants, trapping him inside the fragile human body he loathed, the air too thin to draw decent breaths into his lungs. His long buried human side screamed and shook as the fever raged within him, his arms wildly flailing, hands formed into claws, connecting with soft flesh. A feminine voice sang an ancient lullaby, one he hadn't heard in eons, the familiar Celtic words rolling somewhat awkwardly off the female's tongue, strangely comforting. A slight weight rested on his abdomen; cool hands brushed his sweat soaked hair off his face; blessed water cooled him down and soothed beyond compare. His head was lifted, and he drank the foul smelling brew thirstily, entranced by the soft voice urging him to drink. Foul as the liquid was, it soothed his parched throat, and his quivering muscles slowly unclenched. His body slipped into a heavy slumber, the urge to shift passing with every slowing exhale, and his lips curved into the semblance of a smile at the whisper of a kiss against his skin. The sweet essence of lavender filled his nostrils and soothed his troubled soul.
When Doric next woke up, the room was bathed in darkness, the flickers of the dying embers in the fireplace the only illumination. The chill of evening was in the air, bringing with it the promise of rain. He shifted slightly, careful to not disturb the woman, who'd fallen asleep with her head resting on his groin. One slender hand was still curled round the sponge she must have used to cool him down with, the bowl of water abandoned on the floor. Caramel strands of her hair had escaped her ponytail, and long eyelashes rested on delicate cheekbones, her glasses slightly askew across her face. She was the little girl he'd rescued all those years ago. It was beyond ironic that she now would appeared to have rescued him right back, as though he was the proverbial, fucking mermaid.
He ground his teeth and willed his breathing to slow down, as adrenaline surged in his veins, remembering his close call with the trackers. He'd been playing hide and seek with them for days. Normally he'd simply have dived for cover and waited them out – they all eventually gave up – but they circled too close to the old cottage for his liking. She wasn't his responsibility, and he really shouldn't care, but the age-old code of honor his kind lived by had him keep an eye on her. These modern ways of letting women live by themselves made sating his needs easier, but every one of his instincts told him that the men in that dinghy wouldn't care about a woman's pleasures. He at least left the women he used well satisfied. He didn't usually interfere in human's business, but she was different. Just like she had done twenty-five years ago, the slender woman sleeping peacefully against him hadn't told on him this time either. If she had he'd have woken up in a hospital. That's if he would have woken up at all. The nearest hospital placed him outside the curse's stipulated distance from the Loch. He swallowed the roar threatening to escape and winced at the pain in his hip, as he propped himself up on his elbows better to study the human.