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Authors: Sylvie Pepos
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in her
green eyes, Bridie turned on the tech, but Tina stepped between them.
"Dorrie's right. You'd better damned well know what you're going to give him isn't
going to stop his heart again!"
Bridget hesitated. She really hadn't thought of that. She looked from Dorrie to Cree.
"He is near burnout. We need—"
"He needs triso," Dorrie interrupted. "That's the only safe thing to give him right now."
"And just where the hell am I supposed to get that?" Bridget countered.
Dorrie smiled. "I think I can find some." With that, she turned and left the room.
Cree had been listening intently to the exchange between the women. He felt as though
he had been standing at ground zero when a megaton plasma bomb had exploded. His
entire being hurt and he was having trouble focusing. When Dorrie returned, and pushed
Bridget aside, he stared up at her blankly, unable to remember who she was.
"Make a fist for me, baby," Dorrie said. When he couldn't comply, she pulled a length of elastic tubing from her lab coat, lifted his limp arm and tied the elastic just above his
elbow, then slapped the vein in his arm until it rose. Satisfied with the accessibility of his vein, she uncapped the syringe with her teeth and proceeded to inject the purple-tinted
chemical into his vein.
"Don't let her leave me," Cree begged, trying to push up from the bed. He was too
weak and fell back.
"Bridie will stay with you," Dorrie told him.
By the time Bridget moved into place by the bed, he was fast asleep, his tired, pale face
even more heart wrenching.
So innocent-looking, she thought with a pang of regret. So vulnerable and so helpless
lying there. As dangerous as he was, in this condition, he looked defenseless. Idly, she
wondered if Reapers were allowed to dream or if they had been programmed not to. Her
gaze roamed over his face, taking in his finely sculpted features: the firm jaw and high
cheekbones; the dark brown eyes which—when not glaring murderously—were beautiful
and soft. The length of his thick lashes played a part in mellowing those demon eyes and
she knew of at least a hundred women who would kill to have lashes as long and sooty as
his. He had very sensuous lips, she realized, behind which startling white teeth hid. A
fine, straight nose gave his face a boyish cast that was very endearing. A wide chest,
firmly muscled and thick with a crisp pelt of dark curls. A rock hard, flat belly with
rippled abdominal muscles. Long legs, lean hips, a neatly curved rump and slender,
aristocratic feet. All in all, a very handsome man.
But a man no woman on FSK-14 would ever dare want. He was a Reaper, after all, and
the most deadly of his kind. His kills were rumored to be numbered in the thousands.
When he went into Transition....
"Bridget."
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She jumped, staring down at Cree as he whispered her name again. She watched him
turn over to his side and draw his knees up, looking more like a little boy than ever as he
flung his left hand off the edge of the cot.
She took his hand and laid it on the cot beside him. He was warm, too warm, and she
realized he was feverish again. Leaning forward, she stroked his lank hair back and felt
his forehead. His sweat made her palm slick. Studying his shoulder-length brown hair,
she envied him the thickness and sheen although at the moment, because it had not been
washed in nearly two weeks, it was oily and in dire need of a good combing.
"Bridget, don't leave me," he whispered again and she was intrigued with the slight Chalean brogue that reminded her so vividly of the Highland brogues of Scotland.
"I'm here, Captain," she answered though she knew he was talking in his sleep. Her
hand moved down his lean jaw.
Had she thought no woman would want him?
She caressed his cheek and acknowledged that there just might be one.
SUICIDE!
"The taking of one's
green eyes, Bridie turned on the tech, but Tina stepped between them.
"Dorrie's right. You'd better damned well know what you're going to give him isn't
going to stop his heart again!"
Bridget hesitated. She really hadn't thought of that. She looked from Dorrie to Cree.
"He is near burnout. We need—"
"He needs triso," Dorrie interrupted. "That's the only safe thing to give him right now."
"And just where the hell am I supposed to get that?" Bridget countered.
Dorrie smiled. "I think I can find some." With that, she turned and left the room.
Cree had been listening intently to the exchange between the women. He felt as though
he had been standing at ground zero when a megaton plasma bomb had exploded. His
entire being hurt and he was having trouble focusing. When Dorrie returned, and pushed
Bridget aside, he stared up at her blankly, unable to remember who she was.
"Make a fist for me, baby," Dorrie said. When he couldn't comply, she pulled a length of elastic tubing from her lab coat, lifted his limp arm and tied the elastic just above his
elbow, then slapped the vein in his arm until it rose. Satisfied with the accessibility of his vein, she uncapped the syringe with her teeth and proceeded to inject the purple-tinted
chemical into his vein.
"Don't let her leave me," Cree begged, trying to push up from the bed. He was too
weak and fell back.
"Bridie will stay with you," Dorrie told him.
By the time Bridget moved into place by the bed, he was fast asleep, his tired, pale face
even more heart wrenching.
So innocent-looking, she thought with a pang of regret. So vulnerable and so helpless
lying there. As dangerous as he was, in this condition, he looked defenseless. Idly, she
wondered if Reapers were allowed to dream or if they had been programmed not to. Her
gaze roamed over his face, taking in his finely sculpted features: the firm jaw and high
cheekbones; the dark brown eyes which—when not glaring murderously—were beautiful
and soft. The length of his thick lashes played a part in mellowing those demon eyes and
she knew of at least a hundred women who would kill to have lashes as long and sooty as
his. He had very sensuous lips, she realized, behind which startling white teeth hid. A
fine, straight nose gave his face a boyish cast that was very endearing. A wide chest,
firmly muscled and thick with a crisp pelt of dark curls. A rock hard, flat belly with
rippled abdominal muscles. Long legs, lean hips, a neatly curved rump and slender,
aristocratic feet. All in all, a very handsome man.
But a man no woman on FSK-14 would ever dare want. He was a Reaper, after all, and
the most deadly of his kind. His kills were rumored to be numbered in the thousands.
When he went into Transition....
"Bridget."
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She jumped, staring down at Cree as he whispered her name again. She watched him
turn over to his side and draw his knees up, looking more like a little boy than ever as he
flung his left hand off the edge of the cot.
She took his hand and laid it on the cot beside him. He was warm, too warm, and she
realized he was feverish again. Leaning forward, she stroked his lank hair back and felt
his forehead. His sweat made her palm slick. Studying his shoulder-length brown hair,
she envied him the thickness and sheen although at the moment, because it had not been
washed in nearly two weeks, it was oily and in dire need of a good combing.
"Bridget, don't leave me," he whispered again and she was intrigued with the slight Chalean brogue that reminded her so vividly of the Highland brogues of Scotland.
"I'm here, Captain," she answered though she knew he was talking in his sleep. Her
hand moved down his lean jaw.
Had she thought no woman would want him?
She caressed his cheek and acknowledged that there just might be one.
SUICIDE!
"The taking of one's
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