A trickle of warmth came out. Not heat, exactly. Just less cold. Enough to take the edge off the bone-deep chill that had settled in my studio since I’d dragged him inside.
Small mercies.
Turned back to Xavier, antiseptic-soaked gauze in hand, and bent over the rib injury. Kept the covers tucked around his lower half. His system couldn’t afford to lose more heat. Not after what he’d been through.
Then... those dark irises were staring at me.
No warning. No gradual surfacing. One second unconscious, the next aware.
His palm shot up, fast despite the damage, and grabbed my wrist.
Flinched. Couldn’t help it.
Not hard. Not threatening. Just... holding.
Fingers wrapped around my wrist, thumb pressed where my pulse jumped. Gentle grip for someone who’d reached for a weapon earlier with lethal precision.
My heart kicked up. Blood rushed to my cheeks. Completely inappropriate timing, Clare.
Those dark irises searched my face, trying to understand. Trying to place where he was, who I was, what was happening. Lost. Confused. Scared underneath the wariness.
Something in my chest twisted.
“It’s okay.” Kept my voice steady despite my racing pulse. Despite the fear that spiked cold when he’d grabbed me. “Just cleaning the injury. You’re safe.”
The word reached him. Something in his expression cleared slightly, recognition without memory, instinct connecting dots his conscious mind couldn’t.
The grip loosened. Didn’t let go entirely. Just... softer.
Held mine for another heartbeat. Then they fluttered closed, and he was gone again, palm sliding off my wrist to fall slack on the mattress.
I realized I’d been holding my breath.
Released it shakily. Tremors again.
“Right.” Fingers finding his pulse. Still fast. Still irregular. “Safe. Safe from everyone except the woman committing felonies to keep you breathing. The woman who has no idea what she’s doing.”
My heart hammered, but I forced steadier coordination to work. Years of ER training: panic later, work now. Push through. Deal with it after.
Cleaned the rib injury with methodical efficiency. Or tried to. My coordination was off, exhaustion making movements clumsy. Applied proper bandages. Checked the shoulder joint.Swollen but holding. The head gash looked better with real supplies. Reinforced it, making sure infection couldn’t set in.
Talking helped my nerves. Filled the silence with something other than my racing thoughts and the voice screaming that I was in over my head.
“You’re in my apartment. Industrial district. No one knows you’re here. Police searched the area, but the snow covered our tracks. For now.”
For now. They’d be back. They were always back.
Industrial district. Classy. Nothing said “illegal medical facility” like a studio with a broken radiator and bloodstained floors.
Moved over his torso, checking each injury systematically. The fever was climbing again despite the antibiotics. His system fighting too many battles at once.
What if the antibiotics weren’t enough? What if I’d grabbed the wrong ones? What if...
His breathing changed. Faster. More distressed.
Looked up just as those dark irises snapped open, completely different from before.
Not confusion. Terror.
