“Aria, don’t run! Whatever you do, don’t fucking run.”
I freeze, ignoring every instinct to turn and flee. In my peripheral vision, I see Thorne scrambling toward me, leaving a smear of blood in the snow. The mountain lion crouches, a cat preparing to pounce on a mouse.
“I don’t fucking think so.”
Thorne’s voice is a deep roar as he throws himself in front of me, forcing me backward. I tumble to the ground, flat on my back, heart pounding as I watch Thorne smack the wooden handle of his axe against the lion’s face. He uses it as a club, forcing the animal back.
“Get the fuck away from her,” he snarls, “or I’ll slice this axe into your damn neck.”
The lion hisses, growling at Thorne. But it looks dazed from the hit, cowering as Thorne lifts the axe again in warning. It starts to retreat, keeping low to the ground. Then it turns tail and lopes away, growling in frustration as it disappears into the forest.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
My stomach roils as I look up at Thorne. Blood flows from the ragged tears in his shirt, seeping down his slashed arms. Fat droplets fall to the ground, turning the snow red.
“Are you alright?” he asks, pulling me to my feet. “You hurt?”
I can’t speak. All I can do is gawk at him, still too shocked to move.
“Aria, answer me. Are you hurt?”
“Am I hurt?” I shake my head incredulously. “AmIhurt? Thorne, look at you!”
“I’m alright.” He glances dismissively at his bloodied arms. “Looks worse than it is.” Then he shoots a glare back at the spot where the mountain lion disappeared. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
He wraps an arm around my waist as we climb the porch steps, like he’s trying to support me in case I collapse.
This man seems seriously confused about who is actually injured here.
As we head inside the cabin, I instinctively lock the door behind us.
“Worried it’s gonna break in, princess?” Thorne asks, raising an eyebrow.
I stare at him in disbelief, watching as blood drips from his sleeve, splashing onto the floor. I swear I’m about to lose it. This man just got attacked by a mountain lion. How the heck is he so freakin’ calm? He’s acting like this is just a regular Monday.
“You didn’t answer me before,” he says, scowling at my silence. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t answer because it’s a crazy question!” I snap. “It’s like…like getting hit by a car and then asking someone if their ingrown toenail hurts.”
“Aria, I’m fine?—”
I jab a finger toward his arm. “This is not fine, Thorne! You’re hurt.” I draw in a shaky breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “We need to get you cleaned up.”
I press a hand against his broad back, trying to make him move. It’s like trying to shift a mountain, but grudgingly, he lets me steer him into the bathroom. I drag a couple of chairs in after us while Thorne watches me, his green eyes glinting with something I can’t decipher. He doesn’t sit down. Instead, he starts unbuttoning his plaid shirt, tossing it aside. He’s wearing a thick undershirt, rusty with blood, and he pulls it up over his head.
I gulp. His broad chest is crisscrossed with shallow scratches, bleeding red against his dark tattoos. Blood smears against his thick muscles, but only a small amount. There are a couple of scratches on his biceps, one on his shoulder, a few on his hands.
Most of the damage is on his forearms.
They look like they took every hit meant for his throat. There are scratches all the way from his elbow to his missing fingers, but most of them are shallow, as if the claws kept catching fabric instead of skin. It must have helped that Thorne was fighting like hell the whole time. He never gave the lion a chance to bite.
The source of most of the blood quickly becomes obvious. There’s a gash on his left arm, at least five inches long. It’s deeper than the others, dripping blood onto the bathroom tiles. I grimace as I look at it.
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
Thorne shrugs. “No truck.”
“Then I’m calling an ambulance.”
