“He’ll be fine. He was only…” He takes a breath, his lungs expanding against my back in a stuttered sort of motion. “The bullet only grazed him.”
The horse comes to a halt in a small clearing, though I have no idea why Elliot would not keep moving if he thinks it is too dangerous to go back to Skalridge. If he intends to go to our next stop, we need to move quickly to arrive before night sets in. But I will not go quietly.
Now that we have stopped riding and the adrenaline is leaving my system, I can think more clearly. Fear is making way for irritation and curiosity. “Elliot, we need to go back. I need to know who would do such a terrible thing and put people at risk like that.”
“Fenwick.” His voice comes out breathy against my neck. “I think he’s…some sort of radical.” Elliot’s hands slip from my waist and the reins, and the next thing I know he’s on the ground, landing in a heap in the underbrush.
“Elliot!” I grab the reins as the horse shuffles nervously, and I guide him several feet away before he accidentally tramples the man lyingmotionless in the dirt. Then I slide from the horse’s back, landing hard but upright, and dart back to Elliot.
His entire right side beneath his jacket is covered in blood.
Swearing, I drop to my knees next to him and grab the handkerchief I put in my pocket this morning. It will not do much, but I have to stem the flow somehow. But first I need to find the wound, and he is not conscious to tell me where it is.
Choosing the bloodiest part of Elliot’s side, just below his ribcage, I ball up the cloth and press it against his body.
Elliot lets out a growl of pain that makes me jump back, my heart beating so swiftly that I fear it may stop. “What was that?” he snarls, curling in on himself. “Are you trying to kill me faster?”
I can only gape at him, even though I should probably be grateful that he is still very much alive. “What?”
He glares at me. “That hurt.”
He cannot be serious. “I am trying to keep you alive! You have lost so much blood already!”
“I haven’t lost anything. I know exactly where it is.” He gestures to his middle and shuts his eyes tight.
I sit back on my heels, clenching the bloody handkerchief in my fingers. “You are hilarious.”
“I like to think so.”
If he is alert enough to make jokes, surely he is not in any true danger. Although, he did fall off the horse—not a sign of good health.
“Elliot, you were shot.”
He opens one eye to look at me. “Oddly enough, I’m aware of that.”
“Why did you not say?” And how did I not notice?
Groaning, he slowly rolls to his back again and stretches out, one hand pressed to his hip. “It’s not that bad. I was more concerned about getting you away from the city. Give me that.” Taking the cloth from me, he struggles out of his jacket, then unhooks his shoulder holster.
When he starts unbuttoning his blood-stained shirt, I realize I have sat motionless for longer than I should, and I grab his trembling hands to stop him. “Let me.”
His eyes glow gold in the afternoon sunlight when he looks at me, and there is as much surprise in his expression as there is pain. “You don’t have to—”
“That bullet would have hit me if you had not been protecting me. Let me help you, Elliot.”
With his eyebrows pulling low, he seems to struggle with relinquishing control as he slowly pulls his hands from mine and lets them fall to the ground at his sides. “I need to know if the bullet is still in there.”
If by ‘in there’ he means in the muscle beneath his ribcage… Swallowing, I finish unbuttoning his shirt and push the soaked fabric aside, revealing the source of the blood. I have not spent much time around other people’s blood, and my stomach twists as I take the handkerchief and use it to soak up what I can and give myself a better view. At first, I try to keep my hands clean, but that is useless because I have to press the cloth to his wound to try to stem the flow.
“There is too much blood,” I whisper, hating that I am not strong enough to remain confident. Instead of a cool head and a plan, I have nothing but tears blurring my vision. Elliot was injured because of me. His pain is my fault.
“Hey.” Elliot curls cold fingers around my wrist, and when I meet his gaze, he lifts one corner of his mouth up in a smile. “I’m okay, Princess.”
“You’re clearly not.”
He chuckles, then winces. “No, probably not okay. But I’ll live. Unless the bullet is still inside me, in which case things are going to get more complicated.”
“I can’t see—”
