“Oh, for the love of the eternal night!” Zane stage-whispered to the pup. “They’re debating modesty while Death’s doing the cha-cha on her pulse. Real classy, guys.”
“Three seconds to decide, Ko. You strip her, or I do.”
Her breathing hitched in a tiny, wounded sound that unraveled my resolve. I caught Casimir’s wrist mid-reach.
“Together. Slow. Gentle. No sudden moves.”
“And scene!” Zane made jazz hands. “Next onBrotherly Love Triangle:Code Blue in the ER!”
“You.” Cas pointed his middle finger at Zane. “Babysit that animal like a good boy.”
“Joke’s on you. Furball cuddles are my kink.” Zane squished the pup against his chest. “C’mon, tail-wagger. Let’s watch the perverts work.”
“She’s not exactly in a position to consent,” I murmured. “I don’t like it, but Cas is right. We have to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Sure, okay, Ko.” Zane snorted, his usual smirk creeping back. “You just want justification to see her naked—”
“Zane!” Casimir growled, his expression morphing from annoyed to angry. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll duct tape you to the ceiling!”
“Oh, yeah, likethat’sa punishment.”
Ignoring their bickering, I reached for her other worn-out shoe. Like its partner, the sole was nearly gone, the fabric frayed.
Seeing it, Cas went nuclear.
“What isthat?” Dropping the shears, he snatched the shoe. “Damnation! This isn’t footwear! This is a podiatric abomination with aglets! Look at her blisters! They’re bleeding! Do you comprehend the sepsis risk from this mold-laden—”
“Cruor, Cas. They’re just shoes,” I muttered.
“Just shoes?” he roared, brandishing the canvas sneaker like evidence in a trial. “Proper footwear is fundamental to operational readiness! Arch support impacts mobility! Traction affects escape velocity!”
Cas wasn’t ranting about tread patterns and mold. No, this was his heart screaming in rage because our girl had been hurting long before crashing into our lives.
We had all just entered a new world and would need time to navigate it, but Cas? Cas was going to attack love like it was a battlefield. I could already imagine the exhaustive supply lists, the endless observational reports, the micromanaging of her favorite lip glosses, the intense hovering…
He’d have a full tactical manual, some shit like “Maintenance Guidelines for the Care of One (1) Beloved,” compiled by the end of the month.
I almost felt bad for her.
As he stormed off, I slipped off her threadbare socks and went to drop them with her shoes—shoebecause Cas had marched off with the other one—but Zane slung out one arm, holding a small trash can. With a nod, I dumped her socks in it, then tossed her shoe in there, too.
“Think he’ll sanitize the whole house?” Z set the trash can down next to the bed.
“Count on it,” I grunted. “By dawn, every surface will smell like bleach.”
#
Before I got any further undressing her, Cas strode back into the room, surprisinglynotbrandishing cleaning supplies. Instead, his green eyes raked over the girl.
“All right,” he said evenly. “Let’s get to work.”
He wielded the shears like he was dismantling explosives, sliding them through the worn denim with extreme care. The left knee gaped open. Not some designer distress, but a tear from hard use and wear.
“These aren’t clothes.” His jaw muscle jumped. “They’re crime scenes.”
Ignoring him, I peeled her jeans away from milky thighs mapped with bruises. Fresh ones bloomed violet over older yellow smudges in a brutal timeline etched on her pale skin. Cas’ fingers brushed her swollen ankle, and she whimpered.
He froze.
