And why should she? He was born of the same stock as the creature that had terrorized her in Alaska. The way he looked right now, Brock figured it was a small wonder she didn't leap up from the table and try to fend him off with one of Tess's neatly arranged scalpels.
But as he gazed down at her, Jenna blew out a soft breath. Her eyes drifted closed. He felt the strong pound of her pulse beneath his thumb ...
then the first piercing jolt of pain as Tess began cleaning and tending Jenna's wound.
Brock concentrated all his focus on keeping her comfortable, wrapping his talent around the acid burn of antiseptics and sharp, probing surgical instruments. He swallowed Jenna's pain, idly aware of Tess's efficient work as she retrieved the bullet from deep within the muscle of Jenna's thigh.
"Got it," Tess murmured. The chunk of lead clattered into the basin of a stainless steel bowl. "That was the worst part. The rest of the procedure will be a piece of cake."
Brock grunted. He could bear the pain easily enough. Hell, a gunshot wound and patch-up was standard issue just about every night for one or more of the warriors coming off patrol. But Jenna hadn't signed on for this shit, ex-cop or not. She hadn't asked to be part of the Order's battles, though why that should matter to him, he didn't know.
He was feeling a lot of things he had no goddamned right to feel.
Hunger still stirred in him like a tempest, rising up from two powerful, equally demanding sources. Giving in to either one would be a mistake, especially now. Especially because the object of his twin desires was a woman the Order needed to keep safe. To keep on their side, at least until they could determine what she might mean to their war with Dragos.
And yet he wanted her.
He felt protective of her, even though he knew he was unsuitable for the job, and even though she seemed to balk at the idea of needing help from anyone. Lucan had made her his responsibility, but Brock could hardly deny that she'd become his personal mission even earlier than that. From the moment he first laid eyes on her in Alaska, after the Ancient had tormented her for days in her own home, he'd been emotionally invested in keeping her safe.
Not good, he chided himself. Bad fucking idea, letting himself get personally involved where his business was concerned.
Hadn't he learned that lesson the hard way back in Detroit?
Getting personally invested in any mission was the fast lane to failure.
Minutes must have passed as he contemplated the years that stood between that dark chapter of his life and the place he stood now. He was dimly aware of Tess operating in attentive silence, Renata standing by with the needed instruments and supplies as they were requested. It wasn't until the final suture was in place and Tess had walked to the sink to scrub up that Brock realized he was still touching Jenna, still caressing the line of her carotid with the pad of his thumb.
He cleared his throat and pulled his hand away. When he spoke, his voice was a raw scrape of sound. "Are we finished here yet, Doc?"
Tess paused at the sink, turning to look over her shoulder at him.
"What about your injury?"
"I'm good," he said. He had no intention of sticking around any longer than necessary, and besides, his Breed genetics would heal him in no time.
Tess gave him a faint shrug. "Then, we're finished."
On the table beside him, Jenna's gaze found his and held, steady and strong. Her lips, still pale and bluish from shock and cold, parted on an expelled little puff of air. Her throat worked as she swallowed and tried again. "Brock ... thank--"
"I'm out of here," he snarled, knowingly harsh. He took a step back from the table, then, with a self-directed curse, he pivoted on his heel and stalked out of the infirmary.
Chapter Seven
Brock swung the black Rover out of the Order's estate and headed into the night alone. Normally the warriors ran their patrols in teams, but, frankly, he was feeling like piss-poor company--even for himself.
His veins were throbbing with aggression, and the hunger that had sunk its claws into him in the infirmary with Jenna wasn't doing anything for his attitude, either. He needed to feel the pavement under his boots and a weapon in his hand. Hell, at the rate his night had been going thus far, he'd even welcome the nut-freezing chill of the early December wind that he normally despised.
Anything to distract him from the need that was raking him raw.
To help on that score, he pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his fatigues and speed-dialed Kade.
"Sunshine Cleaning," the warrior answered wryly. "How are things back at the ranch?"
Brock could only growl.
Kade chuckled. "That good, huh? When's the last time someone brought a bleeding human into the compound? Or any human, for that matter."
"Things were a bit tense for a while," Brock admitted. "Fortunately, Tess stepped in and patched Jenna up. She's going to be okay."