Chapter 9 #3
I continue across the top lines of his torn flesh until the cloth is covered in blood. As I start the whole process again with a new, clean cloth, I adjust to that tightness in my chest. It’s a claw mark, half an inch or more deep in some places. This is because of me.
Be lucky if he can walk when he gets back.
Jocko wasn’t exaggerating like I expected. An odd shiver runs down my spine. How did he stay so calculated all night?
He flinches away when I touch the deepest part across the muscles of his stomach, and my gut clenches.
I can’t hurl on his damn feet. The cuts are too deep, but I can’t sew him back together.
If I heat the solution, it could help, but he’s going to have a lot of questions.
On the other hand, leaving him like this is cruel.
“Don’t move.” I pick up the saline bottle and the remaining cloths, carrying them to the open ensuite and turn on the water. Washing my hands, that scent hits my nose. I turn the soap bottle and see cedarwood spelled out in cursive. So not the time to be happy about naming it.
Refocusing, I tilt the bottle and angle my fingers through the bottle’s opening into the solution.
I’ve never done this before. The heat flows from me and my hand burns to my fingertips with nowhere for the magic energy to go, so it hurts even more.
I hold out long enough for steam to rise out of the bottle, then place the straw cap back on.
I switch off the tap and grab the cloths.
“Aloka.” He bares his teeth as I approach again. “I told you to get out.”
‘Cause we listen to each other around here?
I give him a what-else-are-you-going-to-do? look while I wave the bottle in my hand. “Could you lay down? I might get your sheets bloody though.”
His eyebrows raise as he looks down at me.
“Just do it, or I’m going to scratch you myself.”
He laughs, and pain shoots across his face. I’ve never heard him laugh. It’s raw, like his vocal cords aren’t used to it. “Oh yes, your human nails are terrifying.”
I smile, knowing he’s come back a bit to a version of himself I haven’t seen.
He grabs a huge towel off a nearby chair and throws it onto the bed before laying down. I climb up and try to ignore the fact that we’re both in a bed together. He’s in pain and I have to help.
I kneel, annoyed I didn’t think to get out of my dress, and slide closer until my knee just touches his hip. “This is going to be hot.”
“Why would it be hot? You didn’t fill the sterile bottle with hot tap water did you . . . ?”
“No questions. You might want to bite down on something.”
He shakes his head no, and I place cloths beside him on the bed.
Angling myself so I’m leaning over him, I start to pour the solution out, beginning along the far side of his chest. I brace myself on his legs with my other hand, trying not to touch the wound. If I couldn’t see deep into the layers of his flesh, it’d be hot in another way.
His lungs deflate as he holds his breath.
“Keep breathing.”
In an instant, they fill again.
I get closer to the middle of the gashes. It might need stitches, but I have no idea what his plan is. Even if wolf blood heals faster, he still needs proper medical attention.
Over the wound, the steaming liquid pours out, and a scream escapes Stark. He starts panting heavier. “I’m on fire, Red.” Sweat beads form on his chest above the wounds.
“Red?” I touch my head, ensuring the headband is still in place.
“The color. It suits you, and . . .” Another scream. My heart fractures.
“I’m almost done.” I speed up and soak the rest of the wounds, then climb down for some bandages. Stark doesn’t move.
When I get to the edge of the bed, the redness of the wounds is already fading. Well, it’s doing something.
“Sit up, please.”
He grunts and sits up, hanging his long legs off the edge, feet braced on the floor.
The top of my head while standing is still below his chin.
I layer gauze into a large pad, then lay it across before wrapping it with a roll.
My fingers brush his skin as I lean around him, and that tingling feeling comes back.
I rip some tape and secure it, smiling to myself.
He shouldn’t be too mad I helped him, though that foreign burning feeling will be a shock and uncomfortable for a while.
I have no idea how it feels when you don’t do it to yourself. Not that he could.
He lays back down as I clean up the rest of the pads and drain the saline bottle in the sink for extra precaution. The magic would have evaporated or melted the bottle at some point.
Stark is propped up against a pillow when I come back, his hands over the bandage. It has got to be blazing. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just get out,” he groans, and I want to resist, but do what he asks.
I have no idea if his legs are hurt or not, but it’s something.
I close the door and lower myself to the floor in the hallway, listening to each of his breaths. My body complains about the hard floor, and I shift my weight, leaning back further. Until his breathing slows, I’ll stay here. Just to make sure I didn’t make it all worse.