The heavy fire door slammed shut. The echo snapped up the twelve-story concrete shaft.
Elara dropped the flashlight. It clattered against the metal grating, rolled twice, and flickered out.
"Perfect," she wheezed.
She smacked the heavy metal casing against her thigh. The beam sputtered back to life, casting harsh, swinging shadows against the peeling yellow paint.
Julian was already two flights up. He wasn't walking. He was dragging himself. His right hand was clamped over his left shoulder. The neon-green fabric was soaked black.
Elara grabbed the heavy cardboard box of files and limped after him.
By the fourth-floor landing, the adrenaline crash hit. Elara's bad knee buckled. She dropped the box onto the concrete with a dull thud.
She grabbed her own left shoulder. It was burning. A sharp, phantom tearing sensation that made her vision swim. The Mate Bond.
Julian stopped on the stairs above her. He leaned his uninjured shoulder against the cinderblock wall. His chest heaved. He looked down at her, his jaw set in a tight, furious line.
"Stop broadcasting," he rasped.
"I'm not doing it on purpose," Elara gasped, pressing her palm against her blazer. "You're the one bleeding."
"I heal."
"You're leaking." Elara pointed the flashlight beam at the steps. Three dark, thick drops of blood stained the concrete. "You're leaving a DNA trail in a federal building, Thorne. That's a Class-C felony. Sit down."
Julian didn't move. His golden eyes flashed with raw, aristocratic defiance in the dark. A billionaire predator, bleeding out in a public stairwell, absolutely refusing to take orders from a civil servant.
"I said, sit." Elara climbed the last few steps to his landing. She set the flashlight on the floor so the beam pointed upward, illuminating the dust motes in the air.
Julian sneered, opening his mouth to argue, but his legs gave out a fraction of a second later. He slid down the wall, hitting the metal grating with a heavy, undignified grunt.
Elara knelt beside him. She reached for the ruined collar of the dental shirt.
"Do not touch me."
Julian's hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist. His grip wasn't bone-crushing like before, but it was absolute. His skin was fever-hot.
Elara froze. The physical contact sent a jolt of static electricity straight up her arm. It felt like grabbing a live wire.
Julian's pupils dilated instantly. He snatched his hand back as if she had burned him.
He hated it. He hated the biological tether forcing his wolf to acknowledge her. He hated that the static shock felt... grounding.
"I'm not trying to hold your hand, Julian," Elara said, her voice flat, exhausted. "But if you bleed to death, my credit score permanently locks at 140. Move your arm."
Julian glared at her, breathing heavily through his nose. Slowly, he lowered his right hand.
The rebar had torn through the cheap cotton and sliced deep into the muscle. It was an ugly, jagged wound.
Elara didn't have a first-aid kit. She had a navy-blue silk neck scarf she bought on clearance at TJ Maxx.
She unwrapped the silk from her throat. She didn't cradle his head. She didn't look deeply into his eyes. She leaned in and pressed the folded silk directly against the bleeding gash. Hard.
Julian hissed, his head snapping back against the concrete wall.
"Sorry," Elara muttered automatically. It was the exact same deadpan tone she used when accidentally bumping into someone at the water cooler.
She pulled the edges of the torn neon-green shirt tight over the silk pad, tying the fabric together into a crude, ugly knot to keep the pressure on. Her knuckles accidentally brushed his collarbone. He flinched violently, turning his face away.
"You are terrible at this," Julian ground out, staring blankly at the dark ceiling.
"I'm an accountant, not a paramedic." Elara sat back on her heels. She wiped a smear of his blood off her thumb onto her skirt. "Can you walk? We have eight more flights."
Julian stared down at the crude knot on his shoulder. It was humiliating. He was bound with cheap human silk and a dental convention shirt.
He didn't say thank you. He just grabbed the rusted metal railing and hauled his massive frame upward, his muscles shaking slightly with the effort.
"Bring the files," he ordered, not looking back.