Carnal Urges (Queens & Monsters Book 2)

“Wait, Nancy. Start over. What is it called again?”

“Immunoglobulin A deficiency. IgA for short. It’s a genetic condition passed down from your parents.”

Breathe in for a count of four. Hold for a count of four. Exhale for a count of four. “But I don’t feel sick. Other than this stupid brain clot, I feel fine. I’m in perfect health. I have no symptoms of illness.”

“Most people with the condition have no symptoms.”

“Is there a cure?”

“No.”

Great. I have an incurable disease. At least a pregnancy would be over in nine months. “So what is it, exactly? What am I dealing with?”

“IgA is an antibody that’s part of your immune system. When you’re lacking it, you’re more prone to getting infections. The condition also seems to play a role in asthma, allergies, and autoimmune disorders.”

Confused, I frown at her. “I don’t get infections. And I don’t have asthma, allergies, or an autoimmune disorder. Or any other disorder that I’m aware of, except an unusual affinity for kale.”

She says casually, “Oh, only one in four people who have an IgA deficiency develop any health issues. It’s a silent condition that doesn’t cause any problems for most.”

I can’t be hearing this right. Didn’t she just tell me I had an incurable disease? “It doesn’t cause problems for most people?”

“Correct.”

“But if it does cause problems, I’m looking at stuff like…allergies?”

“Possibly, yes. Or more frequent colds, things like that. And, as in the case of your false-positive pregnancy test, it can interfere with certain blood tests.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

My voice rises. “So it’s not going to kill me?”

Nancy is shocked. “Goodness, no.”

Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “Do you think you could’ve started with that?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I did.”

“No, Nancy. No, you did not. You were all ‘incurable’ this and ‘genetic condition’ that. I thought I had cancer!”

“You don’t have cancer.” She pauses. “At least at the moment.”

“Okay, we really need to work on your bedside manner.”

“I’m simply trying to be medically accurate. At this moment, you don’t have cancer.”

“But if I did, it wouldn’t be caused by the IgA thing, right?”

“Right.”

When I don’t respond and only sit staring at her, she turns and quietly leaves the room.

I lie down on the bed, my central nervous system in overdrive. Between the brain bleed, the pregnancy scare, and Nancy’s inept delivery of the news about the IgA, I’ve got an excess of adrenaline flooding my system. Still, I somehow manage to fall asleep.

When I wake hours later, sunshine is streaming through the windows, and Declan is sitting in the chair beside my bed.

Staring at me with a strange, unwavering intensity.

Yawning, I prop myself up against the pillows and squint at him. “You okay?”

He makes a noise of disbelief and shakes his head.

“What?”

“You’re the one in the hospital bed, and you’re asking me if I’m okay.”

“Because you’re the one with a face like someone just told you your grandma died. What’s up?”

“It’s almost time for your next CT scan.”

“Nice try. What’s wrong, Declan?”

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chair. “Nothing’s wrong, lass.”

“Then why are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding from you. I’m sitting three feet away.”

“Don’t be a jackass. You know what I’m saying.”

He sighs heavily. “I never know what you’re saying. All I hear is an awful noise that does my head in.”

Worried, I stare at him. Though he won’t admit it, I know something’s wrong. He seems different. Depressed. Not his usual hair-trigger-temper, rigged-to-explode self.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Dunno. A few hours.”

“Were you able to sleep at all?”

“No.”

“Do you want to switch?” When he cracks open an eye to look at me questioningly, I point to the bed. “I can take the chair for a while if you’d like to get some rest.”

He opens the other eye and lifts his head. Now I’ve got two icy blue orbs glaring at me with piercing animosity.

Bizarrely, that makes me feel better. I smile. “Ah, look. The charmer has returned. Is it hard, living with all those different mean personalities in one body? Must get tense in there. Like an overcrowded prison.”

“Why the bloody hell are you worried about me? I’m your kidnapper.”

He seems really invested in the answer, so I think about it for a moment while he busies himself with trying to burn my face off with his stare. “Hmm. It’s not because I like you, because we’ve already established I don’t.”

He reminds me scathingly, “The feeling is mutual.”

“Exactly. How could you like someone who looks like a camel and smells like regurgitated grass? Unless you’re one of those weirdos who are into animals. You know. Sexually.”

I send him a look that implies I wouldn’t put bestiality past him. He sends me a look back that could liquefy steel.

“Listen, if it makes you feel better, let’s just say I worry about you because it’s in my best interest. If you die of a heart attack or take a bullet or whatever, what’s going to happen to me?”

Without missing a beat, he says sourly, “You’d take over my position, no doubt. Wouldn’t be hard, considering you’ve already recruited half my army to join your ranks.”

“Oh, come on. Kieran and Spider can’t be half your army.”

“No, but there are three more men posted outside that door who mysteriously joined your fan club in my absence. I’m sure it would be easy for you to convert the rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something about a moving little speech you made regarding Irish gangsters being better than Russian ones? And an emotional hug for Kieran?”

I say sheepishly, “Oh. That.”

“Aye. That. They found it quite captivating. They’re also impressed with how you’re handling the whole situation.”

“By situation, are you referring to my brain clot or you?”

“I’m not a situation.”

I laugh at that. “Believe me, gangster, you’re a situation with a capital S. You could turn Gandhi into a serial killer.”

He gazes at me for a moment, then his voice comes warm and low. “As could you, lass. As could you.”

“Look at us, finding so much in common. Pretty soon we’ll have something to talk about other than your inexplicable mood changes.”

A muscle flexes in his jaw. I can tell he’s fighting hard not to smile, and chide, “C’mon, show me those pearly whites. They’re literally the only good thing about your face.”

“God, I miss when you were asleep. It was so peaceful.”

“Hey, can we ask Kieran to do a food run for us? I asked Nancy to get me a protein smoothie, but she spaced.”

He says drily, “Does the infamous Tinker Bell charm not work on other women?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it does. Nancy’s just freaked out that she’s going to do something wrong and you’ll kill her.” When he doesn’t respond to that, I add, “Could be the threat you made on the doctor’s life. Just guessing.”

One of Declan’s dark eyebrows forms into a dangerous-looking arch. “Did she tell you that or did he?”

“Pfft. Like I’d tell you. I don’t want to be the cause of any attacks on my medical team.”

“You make it sound like I’m a rabid wolf.”

“I was thinking something less macho. Like a squirrel. With plague fleas.”

When I grin at his scowl, he stands and stares down at me. “You know what you need?”

“Yes. A hundred million dollars and a button on my bedside table that gives you a shock every time you ask me a stupid rhetorical question.”

He says darkly, “No. A spanking.”

My breath catches. My stomach flips. I stare up at him, my mouth suddenly dry and my heartbeat galloping.

He reaches out and takes my chin firmly in his hand. He runs his thumb over my lips. Eyes hot, he murmurs, “You like that idea.”

I manage to eke out a no that doesn’t convince either of us.

In a throaty, sexy-as-hell voice, Declan says, “Aye, lass. You like it as much as I do. You like being forced to give up control. Because it never happens.”

I’m bacon sizzling on a griddle. I’m a stick of butter melting under the summer sun. I’m a five-alarm fire that’s about to burn down the entire goddamn building.

“Look at you tremble,” he whispers, fingers tightening on my face. “Look at those eyes.”

Whatever he sees, he’s fascinated by it.

I’m sweating. It’s almost impossible to swallow or breathe. I feel frozen, pinned like a deer in headlights, too stunned to move, too hypnotized to run and save myself.

I don’t want to save myself.

In this moment, all I want is to let him run me over.

To let him break me, savage me, tear me apart.

I’ve never felt like this before in my life.

Blue eyes glittering, he licks his lips. When he bends toward me, I almost moan in relief. I need his mouth on mine like I need oxygen.

“Oh. Pardon me.”

The doctor stands in the open doorway, looking nervously back and forth between us. When we don’t say anything, he coughs discreetly into his hand.

“I had you scheduled for another CT scan, but I can certainly come back at a better time.”

When he turns to leave, Declan says, “No. We’ll do it now.”

His voice is rough. His jaw is hard. He straightens and cuts his burning gaze back to mine. He holds my chin for a moment longer, then drops his hand to his side.

I nearly topple off the bed onto the floor, but manage to keep myself upright.

“Be good,” he commands, his tone warning. Then he turns on his heel and walks out.

The doctor looks at me with raised brows. There’s a high possibility I’m going to punch him in the throat.

The entire time I’m having the CT scan done, all I can think about is Declan’s expression when he had his hand around my jaw.

I’ve never seen a man look so hungry.

Or so at war with himself.

The scan shows improvement of the blood clot, which makes Dr. Callahan glow with relief. I’m taken back to my room and given a meal of Jell-O, applesauce, and white rice. I tell the nurse’s assistant who brings it that I still have my teeth and my colon and ask her to take the tray away.

Then I wait for Declan to return.

He never does.

For the rest of that day, I’m left alone with only the occasional visit from Nancy checking my vitals to keep me company. I try to distract myself from thoughts of Declan by reading, napping, and watching TV, but nothing helps. He’s installed himself inside my head like a tumor.

The next morning, there’s another CT scan. The results are so good, the doctor says I can go home.

Home. Like I know where that is anymore. My apartment in Tahoe? In New York City with Natalie? At Declan’s impersonal bachelor pad?

He kidnapped me and cut me off from my life, leaving me drifting aimlessly in an inflatable raft with no paddles. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I have a curious sense that all it would take is one big wave to come crashing over me, and I’ll sink.

When I’m released from the hospital that evening, it’s Kieran who drives me. I ask where his boss is, but all I get is a shrug.

Something about that shrug unsettles me. The feeling grows stronger as we take a turn off the highway and start to drive in the opposite direction from where Declan lives in the city center.

Looking at the suburbs passing by, I say, “Where are we going?”

When he answers, his voice is grim. “Yer bein’ picked up by yer mate.”

I turn to him, heart pounding. “My mate? You mean Natalie? What’s happening?”

“Yer goin’ home, lass. That’s all I know.”

I stare at his tense profile, feeling like someone pulled a rug out from under me. “So Declan’s making you take out the trash, huh? You’re the lucky one who gets to clean up the mess he made?”

He glances at me and says gently, “Don’t be sore. I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.”

“Wasn’t happy? Well, god forbid the grand pooh-bah isn’t happy. Is that even a thing that ever happens, him being happy? I thought resting bitch face was the default mode for his entire personality!”

I realize my voice is too high. I also realize I’m shaking.

I’m so angry, I’m about to explode.

I’m being discarded. Without so much as a goodbye, Declan is discarding me.

Kieran wisely remains silent. For the next thirty minutes, I seethe next to him in the passenger seat as we drive farther on, out of the suburbs and into the country, until finally we pull to a stop off the side of a dirt road.

Kieran puts the SUV into Park but leaves the engine running. Without a word, he gets out and goes around to the back. He opens the rear door, removes several bags, slams the door shut, and walks down the dark road.

As soon as he’s out of range of the headlights, another pair of headlights turn on a few hundred feet away. I now see we’ve parked on one side of a wooden bridge that connects the dirt road. A stream runs beneath the bridge. A car waits on the other side.

My hand tightens around the door handle. My heart throbs like a jungle drum inside my chest.

Kieran returns. He settles himself into the driver’s seat. Without looking at me, he says, “Off you go.”

“What was in those bags?”

“Yer clothes.”

The clothes Declan bought me, he means. The clothes I asked him for, he bought me, and I barely got to wear before I went into the hospital.

I can’t imagine why he bothered.

My voice heated, I say, “I want you to tell him something for me. Tell him—”

“You can tell him yerself,” Kieran says quietly, nodding at my window.

When I look over, I see a figure materialize out of the shadows of the trees lining the road. The figure is tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a black suit. A lit cigarette burns orange against the night, glowing brighter when the figure lifts it to his lips for a drag.

It’s Declan. Without even being able to see his face, I know it’s him.

What is this feeling?

Don’t name it. Don’t you dare.

I open the door and hop out. Before I close it, I say, “It was nice knowing you, Kieran. Thank you for taking care of me. Tell Spider I said goodbye. I hope you both have a good life.”

He looks at me and smiles. He says something in Gaelic that I choose to believe is a farewell.

I close the door and walk toward Declan. When I’m a few feet away, I stop. Neither one of us speaks for a moment. Then I say, “I didn’t know you smoke.”

“I quit a while ago. I’ve recently taken it up again.” His voice is quiet. Steady. As unreadable as his eyes.

“So this is goodbye.”

He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Aye.”

“Great. I can’t wait to never see you again.”

Smoke billows out his nostrils like a dragon. He gazes at me, silent, cool as a cat.

I hate cats.

“Okay. Good talk, as always, gangster. I guess I’ll see you around.”

When I turn to leave, he says, “Wait.”

He moves closer. Pulling a cell phone from his coat pocket, he says gruffly, “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“A cell phone.”

“You have no idea how much I’d like to put out that cigarette on your eyeball.”

“Your cell phone, lass. The one I gave you that has my number programmed in.”

I take it from him, suddenly unsure. “Why are you giving this to me?”

There’s an odd pause. He glances away. “You never know when you might need to hurl scathing insults at someone. Might as well be me. Considering you’re so good at it.”

I peer at him through the shadows. There’s something strange in his voice. Something that’s making my heart trip all over itself.

“Who’s waiting for me on the other side of that bridge, Declan?”

He smokes. Tilts his head back and blows perfect smoke rings into the air. His silence is infuriating.

“Answer me, dammit.”

As if on cue, the driver’s door of the other car opens. Someone gets out and lifts a hand over their eyes, shading it from the SUV’s headlights, and I’m introduced for the second time in five minutes to a skill I never knew I had: identifying people solely by their silhouette.

“Stavros?” I whisper in horror. I whirl on Declan and demand, “You called Stavros to pick me up? Isn’t he your enemy?”

Gazing at me with those unreadable eyes, he says, “The word has gained a new flexibility for me of late. And who better than the father of your child to rescue you from the nightmare you’ve been living?”

The father of your child.

Oh my god. He left the hospital without talking to the doctor about my other test results. He doesn’t know about the IgA.

He doesn’t know I’m not pregnant.

I can’t recall the last time I was this angry. Honestly, I think I never have been.

I step toward him, shaking all over. “You arrogant, idiotic man. You think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t even know what’s best for yourself.”

He’s frowning at me. Scowling, actually. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you being so sure of your own infallibility that you’re blind. But here’s something I’ll leave you with. I haven’t been with Stavros since the beginning of January. We’re almost in March now. What makes you think I haven’t been with anyone else in between?”

He falls so still, he’s not even breathing. His lips part. He stares at me, shock registering all over his face.

I say softly, “You might want to verify the identity of the baby daddy the next time you decide to play matchmaker, gangster. See you around.”

I turn and run away as fast as I can, telling myself as I get closer to where Stavros waits for me that the water in my eyes and the pain in my chest has everything to do with overwhelming relief and nothing at all to do with the man I’m leaving behind me.