Page 13 of Kidnapping of a Myth

Eamon toreat her shirt like a man possessed. He was deaf to her screams, blinded by his panic, and she captured his face and yanked his gaze to hers.

“Eamon!” Bel shouted so loud that he jerked as if waking from a trance. “It’s not my blood.”

He froze, scanning her with a new perspective, and as if suddenly realizing it was his body in pain, he fell back onto his heels. He knelt on the torn earth, eyes glazed as he stared at her bloody sweatshirt, and Bel slowly crawled toward him, tears streaming down her face.

“It’s not mine,” she repeated, watching it dawn on him that the blood was pouring from his veins and not hers. He’d saved her. Besides the bruises on her back, she was uninjured, butterror still clogged her throat. The crimson on her shirt and Eamon’s torso wasn’t the result of a small wound. The way he was bleeding heralded death, and she might be unharmed, but he wasn’t okay. No one could survive that much blood loss.

“Are you hurt?” Eamon asked, kneeling before her as if he didn’t remember where they were.

“Eamon…”

“Did I get to you in time?” His words sounded wrong. His normally rough whiskey tone had vanished, replaced by the whisper of a dying man.

“You got to me in time,” she sobbed as she stood on unstable legs. He nodded, grunting softly at her confirmation, but Bel didn’t care that she was okay. Not when Eamon’s body bled so dangerously. She knew she shouldn’t look at his back. She didn’t want to see why he was bleeding out, but her feet moved of their own accord. She couldn’t stop them, and then she was behind him, the horror of the wounds carved into his back forcing her to double over.

She gagged at the sight, sobbing uncontrollably as she struggled not to vomit. Her body shook. Her skin flushed cold. Someone had tried to blow her up. A madman had tried to kill her with an Improvised Explosive Device, but instead, he’d killed the man she couldn’t live without.

“Hey.” Eamon’s broad palm slid around her thigh and pulled her away from his back. “Isobel, calm down. I need you to breathe for me.”

“I have to get you to the hospital.” She broke free of his hold and shoved her hands under his arms, trying not to gag at the blood coating her fingers, but it was impossible. The torn flesh pressed against her breast made her choke. “Get up. Please, get up.”

“Isobel.” He resisted her.

“You need a hospital.” She pulled, but to no avail.

“No.”

“Get up!” she screamed. “Please, Eamon. I can see your entire rib cage where your back should be. Your organs are… Those are your lungs. I need to take you to a hospital.”

“No hospital.”

“You can’t die on me!” She yanked on his arms, but in one swift motion, Eamon grabbed her waist and tugged until she collapsed on his lap. He drew her against his slick chest and cupped her head with a broad palm, his inescapable hold containing her hyperventilation.

“I’m not dying on you,” he groaned into her hair. “I’m incredibly hard to kill, and an IED is not what takes me out. Trust me. It just… it hurts like hell, and I feel… I’m going to need you to help me sit against that tree.” He almost fell backward, but Bel caught him before his destroyed back hit the ground.

“Please let me take you to the hospital,” she sobbed.

“No. It would raise too many questions.” He blinked as he struggled to keep his eyes open. “Tree, Isobel.”

Bel launched into action, dragging the massive man across the dirt until he leaned against the thick trunk. He grimaced at the contact, but before she could fuss over him, he captured her hand and pulled her back into his lap. His arms wrapped around her as she cried, and even though he was the one suffering, he comforted her as her emotions raged uncontained. For minutes, all she could do was cling to the man who should’ve died, but it seemed not even hell could claim Eamon Stone. He held her possessively against his chest, his embrace a signal to all. Isobel Emerson was his, and he protected what belonged to him at all costs.

“I’m serious, Isobel. I’m hard to kill.” Eamon buried his nose in her hair as she shook. “There’s a reason I’m one of the last of my kind left alive. In the first ages, men tried to eradicate us because they understood how strong we became the longer welived. I’ve been alive long enough to become nearly invincible. An IED blast isn’t a death sentence for me, and a hospital would only cause problems. I’d heal by the time we arrived, so just sit with me. Let me feel your heartbeat. Let it assure me I got to you in time.”

“Someone almost blew me up,” Bel sobbed into his chest. “I… I don’t know how to process that. I don’t know how to process your appearance right now. Your ribs… I can see them and your lungs. I can’t lose you. Please tell me I’m not going to lose you.”

“My little detective, you’ll have to try a lot harder than this to get rid of me.”

“I never want to be rid of you.” Her fingers dug into his chest as if her grip could forever bind them as one. “There must be something I can do to help.”

Eamon didn’t answer, and panic constricted her chest when she registered his unconscious face.

“Eamon!” She shook his shoulders. “Eamon, no. Please.”

“Hmmm,” he grunted as his eyes fluttered open. “Sorry, I’m tired.”

“Then tell me what to do. How do I help you?”

“You can’t. I just need to rest.”

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