Page 8 of Bear with Me

“How many days?” she asked then motioned for Brock to give her the rest of the water.

“Today’s six,” Brock murmured as he helped her finish the cup.

“Helen?”

“Fine. She made it back to her sister’s cabin and got out word of the attack. Several hunters tried to get to them, but Sam and Helen’s brothers kept them all safe,” Brock answered. He kept running his fingers over her skin, from elbow to shoulder then across her collarbone before traveling the same path in reverse.

“The women?” She focused on Jensen.

“Two were killed.”

He didn’t offer the hows or whys, and it really didn’t matter. They were gone, and she knew who to blame. The same group of purist bastards whose attack had led to a thirteen-year-old girl losing everything.

As if he sensed her emotions, Brock lowered his head and pressed his lips to her temple. What the hell was going on? This definitely wasn’t the Brock she knew. Had she woken up in an alternate reality?

She reached to touch Jensen then startled when Brock growled beside her. Jensen was there. Brock was a solid presence at her side, his heat bleeding into her skin and warming her up. Still, she pinched herself and yelped when it hurt more than she’d expected.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brock commanded, glaring at her.

“It is you,” she whispered, which made Jensen laugh.

“What does that mean?” Brock demanded. “Of course, it’s me.”

“You’re acting strange. You’re…touching me.” She turned to Jensen and whispered, “Did he get hit in the head? Is it Brock-Brock or head-trauma Brock?”

“He took a knife to the thigh, but his head is fine. Better than it’s been in a while,” Jensen told her, which only made her more unsure of what was happening.

She turned to Brock again, dropping a hand to brush over his thigh, rubbing her finger over it in search of the wound. Instead, the backs of her fingers met another bulge. One she’d noted several times but never been allowed to caress. This time, Brock didn’t shy away. Instead, his legs shifted as if he were giving her more room to indulge her curiosity.

“None of that,” Jensen tutted as he moved across the room and opened a drawer, removing a needle and several vials she knew he’d fill with her blood. “She’s just woken. Her bear still needs time to help her heal fully. Whatever you have in mind can wait,” he ordered with a glance toward his brother.

Brock returned Jensen’s glare, a rumble rising in his chest.

“This is where you say something cutting and run away,” she murmured, pulling Brock’s attention back to her.

“I don’t run away.”

Jensen seemed to choke on a laugh before heading toward her again, with more than the needle and vials in his hands.

“What’s all that for?” she asked.

“I need to do a full exam, now that you’re awake,” Jensen said. “I’ll help you undress and redress as we go.”

“Fuck, no,” Brock snarled.

“I’m a doctor,” Jensen reminded, but Brock practically vibrated beside her.

“I’m fine,” she said, her gaze bouncing between the brothers. What the hell was going on?

“You almost died, Jemma. Were unconscious for five days. You’re not fine. I need to check your wound and make sure it’s healing as it should. I need to check your heart and lungs, both of which attempted to fail from the poison in your system. I need blood to see how much is left in your system and how much your bear has been able to do so far. And a urine sample. Think you can give me one yet?”

She blinked as she slowly processed everything Jensen said. Her bladder throbbed with the need to empty, now that he’d made her aware of it. She opened her mouth to ask how they’d seen to that need while she’d been unconscious but snapped her mouth closed, certain she didn’t want to know.

“Yes, I’d love a few minutes in the bathroom,” she finally muttered.

She was gearing up to gain her feet when Brock stood and swept her up against his chest. She squealed, actually fucking squealed, as his arm slid under her buttocks, her naked buttocks. What the hell was she wearing?

“Oh my God,” she whimpered. “Where are my clothes?”

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