Chapter 7

The dimly lit storage room that was hastily converted into a makeshift infirmary was quickly steaming up with the spirits vapor and some hot breathing done by the two fae present. Dyson, who had barely had time to throw on a pair of jeans, was leaning against the desk strewn with blooded cotton wads and tiny medical bottles and watching Tamsin's long-fingered hands move across the injured patches of his body. You could never be sure with the valkyrie and he welcomed the pain that was dampening his desire down to a controllable tingling in the region that was currently not that far south from her touch.

"You weren't followed here, were you?" she asked, her tone level and matter-of-fact.

"I didn't come straight to the hideout, zigzagged around for a while until I was sure they were not on my trail," the wolf replied, "You can trust my hunter's nose on that".

"Right now it's not exactly the part of your hunter's anatomy I am concentrating on," Tamsin snorted dabbing at a gash in the wolf's side with a spirit-imbued wad and smirked when he winced, "Too rough for you, aren't I?"

"What's this modern obsession with disinfectants," Dyson grumbled in response, "I've survived centuries without it, just washing out the wound in the nearest bacteria-infested pond and taking a rest in a tavern with mead and wenches."

"Oh, I do like me an experienced man," the blonde cocked an eye-brow and finished dressing the wound swiftly and efficiently rather than gently and caringly, "But we'd better settle for the modern ways and though mead and a wench are on me, I honestly can't promise you much rest."

She looked over his shirtless torso with its footpaths of bruises and lacerations that were already closing and passed a deliberately provocative languid hand down his flank, fingers splayed, until the tips touched the lowest patch of uncovered skin just above his jeans belt. Her other hand went busily on the same south trajectory down front and hit a sensitive spot much faster. Dyson fought to retain some self-control but it was a losing battle at the best of times, and now, with him injured and exhausted, was clearly not the best time. His good arm slipped around the slim waist, cupping her firm, keather-clad behind as if of its own accord, the injured left hand, hanging limply in a sling, a much-deplored nuisance.

The valkyrie's nimble fingers were ruining Dyson's remains of concentration as well as shunting aside, if not banishing completely, whatever painful sensations were lurking in all the bruised and fractured parts of his body as the main focus shifted to his nether regions.

"So, how did you manage to escape from the well-guarded, practically unassailable Doctor's Dungeon?" Tamsin's tone was as smooth as were the unremitting attentions she was lavishing on the man.

"If I told you a strange human girl, probably from PETA, took me for a dog in distress, opened my cell and let me go, would you believe me?" Dyson muttered through a gasp, which was not brought on solely by the unexpected turn in their dialogue.

"I would say you fuck better than you joke," Tamsin's breathing was becoming more ragged, but her cold blue eyes were not thawing one iota.

"Then help me with my pants and I'll get more convincing," the wolf smirked mischievously and his right hand abandon's the woman's behind and lay on the buckle of her belt.

"Tell me a better story of your escape first," the valkyrie jerked her hand from inside his pants and was in no hurry to grant his request. "I am just checking in case the good doctor managed to inject you with some eternal loyalty," she remarked, leveling him with a piercing gaze, "I am not a great fan of sleeping with the enemy."

"And how am I supposed to prove that I'm still in full possession of myself?" the wolf asked, a bit baffled as the consideration hadn't occurred to him, but understanding her wariness.

"Trick promised us a thrall-detection spell but hasn't yet come through, he says he needs more research," Tamsin shrugged her shoulders, her hands now planted on his chest, hot and tantalizing but unmoving, "But you can start by saying out loud and with true feeling that Lauren is an usurper and a cold-hearted bitch with split ends, too much mascara and a bad choice in frilly blouses."

Dyson couldn't help a chortle escaping as he duly repeated the suggested line and tacked on, "And that's what makes you so different, Tammy, you don't have split ends or frilly blouses."

That shrewd observation cost him a punch in the yet unbruised part of his ribs, which could still qualify as a joking one as no bones were cracked, and he added soothingly, "Ok, let's just say I hope you were smart enough to relocate and hide the Blood King when you knew I had been captured and I am not even going to ask where he is now."

"Of course my first priority was to relocate him," the valkyrie scoffed, "You could've broken under torture or been enthralled into betraying us."

"And that's coming from the girl whose delicious ass I saved covering her retreat at the peril of my own life," the wolf sighed mock-devastated, "In fact, you could've been captured and turned into a traitor just as well."

"No, I couldn't," the woman said with a deadpan expression that might have been taken for serious or tongue-in-cheek with equal degrees of probability, "I wouldn't have been caught ensuring your escape. My hide is too precious and I would've got it out of the jam first."

Dyson wasn't sure if that admission was supposed to rankle but it didn't, he knew the stakes and knew a war necessity when he saw one. But he wasn't about to pass up a chance of pushing the blonde's buttons when presented with a chance. In a 'two-can-play-this-game' move he worked the buckle of Tamsin's pants loose and directed his one-handed efforts at the blonde's most vulnerable spot, making up for . Tamsin's face didn't betray a flinch but the ice in her eyes started to melt under the onslaught of century-honed skill.

"You're definitely getting more convincing by the second," she said huskily.

"And that's just my one hand," the wolf's deep voice was fast nearing sultry as he kept working at the woman, "Can an enemy feel that good? Can a Lauren-thrall be that aware of your needs?"

Tamsin shuddered as a finger slipped inside her and clutched at his shoulders for purchase, her clear-headedness giving way to emotions too strong to deny. Soon enough she was teetering on the brink, seconds away from her climax but the wolf, not exactly in a charitable mood, was not yet about to give in to her. His hand froze mid-thrust and he slowly retracted his finger, his gaze openly teasing as he disengaged from his lover and leaned back against the edge of the desk.

"Bastard!" the valkyrie hissed, panting in frustration, "Manipulative clit-tease!"

"They tied me up but I shifted and wriggled out of the human-sized binds. While they were thinking of a way to make me shift back and inject me, I took a good bite of a less careful guard – too big to be clever and strong enough to suffer from conceit and he dropped the keys without noticing," Dyson delivered in his best reporting voice, "He was bleeding from a ruptured vein, I was quicker and more determined. Are you satisfied, my warrior princess, or are you still suspicious of my escape?"

Her eyes heavily lidded and her breathing still unsteady, Tamsin slowly shook her head, "No, I am not suspicious but I am not satisfied either."

"Well, we could work on that," Dyson quickly covered the short distance between them and their hot breath mingled, "if you are ready to help me with my clothes…"

While Tamsin was giving short shrift to his jeans, he allowed a rapid surprised thought to flash through his mind, fast clouding with lust. Why did he edit his story to the point of lying? Why didn't he want to share the truth about the odd human girl with his lover and his commander? Why did his loyalties seem to be locked in a tug of war with his instincts?