She went down too quickly to catch herself, or at least catch herself with an arm or a hand. Instead, she hit the console hard, bounced, and nearly sanded her face off on the belt because the stop key she had so carefully put in the machine was not attached to her clothing.

So the treadmill just kept running.

For a second, she was too stunned to move—but then a shot of burning pain was enough to get her flipping over from wherever she’d landed. God, the nauseating stink of toasting flesh made her nose crinkle.

That was when she saw the shitkickers.

Right next to her face.

Abruptly, there were all kinds of people talking above her, and she tried to track what they were saying, but something was in her eyes. And her head hurt. Why did her head hurt?

“…Doc Jane, right away.”

“…stretcher?”

“Fast. Hurry!”

Flopping around with her hand, she tried to get the sweat out of her eyes so she could see better.

Not sweat. Blood: When she looked at the palm she’d passed over her face, it was smudged with bright red blood.

Oh, crap. She’d hurt herself fairly badly.

And all because she’d been being a chick.

Damn it.

When Paradise went down across the weight room, Craeg nearly threw the barbell off to the side to run over to her. But you didn’t do that with six hundred and eighty pounds—not unless you wanted to hurt yourself, or hurt somebody else.

With as much control as he could spare, he moved forward one step and relied on the Brothers’ help getting the load back on the supports. Then all three of them hightailed it over. Craeg went for the stop key, yanking it out—because she was way too close to that goddamn band, her crumpled body half on, half off the fucking piece of shit.

“Paradise?” he said.

As Butch knelt down beside her, Craeg nearly yanked the guy out of the way, but that was ridiculous. For one, the Brother was a teacher. For another, there was no bigger announcement that Paradise and he were up to something than if he went all territorial over her in an emergency fucking situation.

“Paradise?” Craeg repeated. “Paradise…”

She sat up when she heard him say her name, and then she turned to look to him—oh, God. There was blood. So much … fucking hell, he was going to pass out.

The Brothers barked commands at each other and then Tohr left to get help. Which meant there was a space next to her to fill, and Craeg’s body took advantage of that before he had a conscious thought to move.

“I’m fine,” she said, batting at hands and sitting up. “I just feel stupid. I don’t need help.”

Ripping off his shirt, he wadded it into a ball and pressed the fabric to the leaker over her eye. “Shut up,” he muttered as she started to argue with him. “You’re going to the clinic. You probably need stitches.”

“It’s only a little cut.”

“What exactly do you think all this red stuff means.”

“No reason to get hysterical—”

“I’m not the one arguing with…”

They went back and forth, terse words crisscrossing and canceling one another out. It wasn’t until they paused to take a breath that he realized everybody in the weight room was staring at them with a collective well-isn’t-this-news.

Shit.

Whatever, he needed to make sure she consented to treatment first. Then he’d worry about all the conclusions that were being jumped to.

And yes, he was the one who picked her up and put her on the gurney.

And yes, if any other male, including her little buddy Peyton over there, or either of the Brothers, had touched her, he would have bitten the male’s arm off.

Out in the corridor, she was still fighting with him, and he knew it was because she had scared herself and was burning off the fear.

“Ridiculous.” But at least she was holding his shirt against her face. “I just need to rinse my face off and it’ll stop.”

“Yeah, ’cause a little water’s really going to help that two-inch slice up there.”

“This is overkill!”

“And you went to med school when?”

As they came up to the clinic door, he intended to go in there with her, but Butch stepped in front of him. “You need to go back to class.”

Craeg opened his mouth to argue—and that was when he knew he’d lost his damn mind. He’d properly met the female, what, four nights ago, tops? This was inappropriate.

Even so, his head shook back and forth. “I’m not leaving.”

“They’re going to have to examine her,” Butch countered. “All of her, if you get my drift.”

Craeg cursed and took one last glance through the slowly closing door as Paradise transferred herself from the gurney to the exam table. As if sensing he was no longer with her, she glanced up in confusion, looking for him.

“I, ah…” Craeg cleared his throat. “I’d like to see her after she’s finished.”

“If that’s cool with her, you got it.”

Craeg nodded and commanded his feet to do an about-face and head back in the weight room’s direction. It was a good half minute before they responded, and talk about sluggish—his legs took their damn sweet time getting him back where he needed to be.

And what do you know, Peyton was waiting outside the weight room for him.

Muttering under his breath, Craeg braced himself to fight the guy again.

“When did it happen?” the guy demanded.

“When did what happen.”

“You and her.”

The other male was staring up at him with a strange calmness that could have meant acceptance or preparation for attack. Funny, those perfect J.Crew looks and that aristocratic entitlement attitude, coupled with the whole fancy background, made the guy a much better eHarmony candidate for a female.

And yet Paradise, for some reason, had chosen Craeg.

She had to be nuts.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Craeg said.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, okay? You’ve bonded with her.”

“The fuck I have.”

Peyton’s blue stare made a trip around the world. Then he frowned. “Wait, you’re serious.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You honestly don’t recognize it. You’re not aware that your bonding scent’s been triggered—or of the fact that you bared your fangs at all of us when we went over to help her. You are honestly fucking unaware of all that.”

Craeg blinked like a cow for a little bit. Then he looked to the left of the guy and measured the distance between his own forehead and the concrete block wall. Maybe if he hit his skull hard enough, he could cause sufficient brain damage that his short-term memory would give him a break and he could forget he’d ever met that female.

Peyton started to laugh. “You know, I want to hate you, I really fucking do. She’s one of the best females I’ve ever known. Instead, I feel bad for you.”

“Why’s that,” Craeg snapped.

“Because you’re so far gone and you’re still fighting it. This is going to be fun to watch.”

“So glad I can amuse you.”

Peyton had the gall to clap him on the shoulder. “You’d better take care of her properly—or I will hunt you down and kill you. Slowly.”

Craeg stepped back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you don’t.”

Peyton was still laughing as he turned away to open the door.

Craeg caught hold of the guy. “How do you know her?”

There was a pause. “She works at the audience house.”

“That’s how I met her, too.”

“Just so we’re clear, sometimes I think I’m in love with her, too.” Peyton rolled his eyes again. “God, will you stop with that?”

“With what.”

“You’re snarling at me.”

Huh. What do you know. His fangs had dropped and his upper lip had curled back. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re not bonded. Not at all.” Peyton crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, before you go Cujo on my ass, I’ve never even kissed her. It’s not there for her. Toward me, at any rate. Just as well—I’m a total fucking asshole—and she’s right, I got a couple of bad habits. Anyway, remember what I said.”