far, no longer in Paris, but…Germany. What the fuck was she doing in Germany? He stretched farther and found her running, running from someone. She was in danger and angry. He stiffened when he felt the first bullet enter her, the pain searing through her, then a second one. Still she ran, stumbling now. When she lost conciseness, he lost his connection with her. He found himself standing, ready to…to do what, he didn’t know, but he knew that she was in trouble, the little fool.
Tristan found Aaron in his study and told him that he was needed elsewhere for a few days, would he mind keeping an eye on Patrice?
Aaron just laughed and agreed to help him out. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the woman in Paris, does it? Pete said she’s a mean little thing.”
“It is, although I don’t know what could be so funny about it. I’ve only known her for a short time and she’s been in more trouble than I have had in all my life.” Tristan picked up his briefcase.
He kept it as close to him as most men did their wallet. Probably more so if he had to hazard a guess. Straightening his tie, he was ready to leave. “She’s my mate. I don’t want her to be, but there you have it. What am I supposed to do with her, I ask you? Why, I don’t even know what she is much less her proper name.”
“Not much you can do now that you’ve found her.” Aaron grinned at him as he offered up a suggestion. “I would suggest that you try talking to her. From what I’ve heard, she isn’t too happy when she’s pushed.”
Tristan thought that was an understatement and he left the building to find her. She was going to have to learn some ground rules. Somehow, though, he didn’t think she was going to like that any better than being pushed.
Tristan hid in shadows when he got to the place of their last contact. There was police tape encircling the area where she went down and the police were still milling about. Her blood was in a dark pool within the tape and his only means of finding her. It took him an hour to track her scent from the blood, as he had never tasted hers before and that made it slightly more difficult.
She was still alive and currently in a local hospital, the officer told him. He hadn’t actually told Tristan, but it was in his mind. The officer also thought she was very beautiful. For reasons Tristan didn’t want to think about, that pissed him off royally. He materialized there next.
Staying shadowed, Tristan went into her room, having followed her scent to the correct one.
She had a policewoman in the room with her, and was handcuffed to the bed by her right ankle.
Her arm was tied down by a soft cloth restraint with an IV in the back of her hand. There was bleeding a little from her surgery and there were staples holding the wound closed. Her left leg was propped up with a pillow and wrapped up as well. He could smell the gun residue there. She was still sedated, but only slightly now, having come from surgery an hour ago.
Tristan pushed the officer into going out of the room with the need for a smoke break.
Tristan could smell the tobacco scent all over the woman. He could also smell the beginnings of lung cancer, and promised himself when she returned he would stop her need for the nicotine once and for all. Stupid humans.
He stood over her for a few minutes just looking at her. This was only the second time he had seen her if he didn’t count taking her to his home in Paris, and the both times she had been unconscious. He’d have to claim her soon if he wanted to spend any time with her. At this rate, she wouldn’t last very long the way she got into trouble. It didn’t occur to him that he was planning their future and would have denied it if he’d been asked.
Putting his wrist to his mouth, he opened his vein for her again and put it to her mouth. She resisted harder this time, her body not as broken, nor near death, but finally gave in and drew him in when he closed off