CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Dr. James Wilson remained unconscious hours after he had been placed in the upstairs bedroom where Carlisle kept all of his medical equipment. Carlisle ordered everyone out of the house, except House, who couldn't be persuaded, of course, to prevent them from the lure of the odor of blood.

The doctor gave Wilson morphine, a blood transfusion—he kept bags of every blood type in an air-tight refrigerator so it wouldn't affect anyone, especially Jasper—and fluids in an I.V. Then Carlisle spent an hour stitching up Wilson's deep, fatal wound in his back, and he seemed to be on the mend.

House sat by the bed at all times, never once leaving Wilson's side, nor speaking to Carlisle.

Only after Carlisle was finished and cleaned up after himself did Carlisle even look at House. "Greg, why don't you grab some fresh clothes and go down to the stream to clean yourself up."

"I . . . I don't want to leave him," House mumbled.

"You've got blood on your clothing. I'll be here with him and if he comes around, I'll holler for you."

House looked up at Carlisle, nodded and reluctantly left. Walking down the path to the water's edge, he had never felt so bad in his life. Sticking the knife in the electrical socket, having brain surgery to remember what happened with Amber, and all the other extreme things House did were to himself.

This—killing Wilson, was not something he never thought he would do.

Removing his clothes, he stepped into the slightly rolling waters of the stream, but it did nothing to wash away his regret.

And with every thought and with every regret he had, when he looked down at the back of his hand, all of that was gone. The smell, for the first time, assaulted his nostrils with a wicked vengeance and he tried his best to fight off the urge to taste it. He immediately dunked his hands in the cold water, although he didn't feel it.

Bringing his hands up, there was still a remnant of blood. Closing his eyes so he wouldn't see what he was doing, he licked his hand and . . . nothing. There was no burning in the back of his throat or the compulsion for more blood, but he knew he'd had to hunt later in the morning.

He smiled pleased with himself, stepped into water up to his waist and began to wash the blood off of his arms and legs. He kept his keen hearing tuned in to for any sounds of deer or elk in the area just in case he got hungry.

What a bizarre thing to think.

"Hmm, this is definitely a Kodak moment," a voice at the bank of the river spoke.

House turned around in surprise. "Woman! Do you have no shame!?"

"Nope. None," Tanya said with mischievous smile. "I think you might need someone to wash your back."

"Oh, great! Is Angelina Jolie in the neighborhood?"

Slowly and teasingly she removed her blouse and jeans and slid into the water, stepping beside him.

House's eyebrow rose and he grinned. "Don't have a washcloth," he stated.

"Don't need one," she said, her voice slightly seductive as she wet her hands and ran them over his back.

His body being tense from embarrassment, he slowly relaxed and allowed Tanya to wash his back. Yet now, there was nothing sexual about her hands caressing his body, although normally a few more minutes would have ended the washing in a good way.

There was something about her that he liked, for a vampire. Aside from the few hours of passionate and wild sex, he was drawn to her, yet he didn't know how, or why. She was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. He hated that he couldn't put a handle on it.

Concentrating on how good her hands felt on his back, he said aloud, "Demon."

"Fool," Tanya replied with a snicker.

Turning around and looking over her face, he said, "No, you're a Succubus."

She smiled. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"It isn't real."

"It was real this morning—all three times."

He frowned, like he had been played and did indeed feel like a fool. "I have to go," he muttered as he walked away and began to dress.

"Tell me I'm wrong," she said as she followed him then also dressed.

"No, Wilson's awake," he said as he walked up the incline.

"Wait!"

Walking to the manor with a fast pace, she said, "Greg, I didn't take what happened between us lightly."

House didn't reply.

"I know you are worried about Dr. Wilson, but I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't belong here."

"Neither do you," she stated.

He looked at her sharply. "This is all I have," he told her sadly.

"And you can have so much more."

They walked the rest in silence. Tanya only spent a few hours alone with House, but she knew he was someone to hold on to, even if he hadn't realized it yet. Maybe she was foolish—after all, even Edward didn't want her. But if there one thing about her, she was loyal. And she wasn't about to let go of House.

~~ * ~~

"Carlisle told me you kicked the crap outta me," Wilson mumbled then winced in pain.

House had just walked into the room and stood at the end of the bed.

"Yeah, well, Anoop got voted off American Idol. Uh, how are you feeling?"

"Like I got the crap beat out of me. What happened out there, House?"

House shrugged his shoulders.

"Dr. Wilson, we apologize for what happened to you," Carlisle said, who had been standing in the corner of the room to keep an eye on Wilson.

"Apparently Caius was pissed," House said nonchalantly.

"Is the pain gone?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Other than you, no," House told Wilson.

Wilson groaned in pain again. "I . . . the pain is bad."

When House didn't move, Carlisle stepped forward and injected the pain killer. "I'll leave you two alone," Carlisle said then left the room.

Wilson melted into the mattress and closed his eyes. "Hmm, good stuff," he mumbled.

"We'll talk later—maybe even feed you," House chuckled.

"Hmm-kay."

House closed the bedroom door and met Carlisle in the living room.

"What the hell did happen out there?" House asked.