The room temperature dropped. Zane’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He nuzzled the pup’s head.
“Hear that, buddy? We’re gonna get your mommy some ninja-level antibiotics. The kind that makes pee glow. She’s gonna be fine.”
Working in tandem, Casimir and I did what we had to do. Saline irrigation. Eighteen sutures. Sterile dressings secured with military precision. After her arm, each fresh wound we discovered fed the storm behind my sternum, and Cas cataloged them aloud until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Stop, Cas.”
“Someone did this purposefully.” His voice went arctic. “Systematically.”
“We all know it didn’t happen today,” Zane muttered.
“She’s breathing. She’s safe. That’s tonight’s win,” I reminded them as I taped the final bandage.
“We’ll need to check that one frequently.” Casimir’s gaze lingered on the weeping arm wound.
“Tomorrow,” I agreed. “Same with her ankle when she can give feedback. Cruor, am I glad she was unconscious for this!”
“Can tomorrow also include pants for her?” Zane stood slumped against the wall, the pup now snoozing on his boots. “Or at least a blanket from the neck down? Asking for my blue balls.”
Cas’ suture scissors hit the tray with apingsharp enough to match his glare.
“Don’t,” he hissed, stripping off his gloves.
Zane’s smirk didn’t reach his eyes; those were darting between the girl’s bandaged arm and the slow rise of her chest. He had a huge heart beneath all that bravado, and even though he tried to play it cool, everything about this situation was killing him as much as us. I could see it clear as day.
Usually, Cas would, too, but not right now.
Right now, Cas was hanging onto his sanity by a thread.
“Aw, c’mon, Captain Catastrophe. Once she wakes up, you can’t tell me you won’t be first in line to volunteer as tribute forphysical therapy.” Zane wiggled his eyebrows.
“Cas.” I stripped off my gloves and tossed them into the overflowing trash can. “He’s baiting you. For a reason.”
“You’re no better than me, Koa. Admit it. You’re already mentally redecorating our room to fit her aesthetic. Flower crowns and scented candles instead of,” Zane waved at the arsenal of scalpels and hemostats, “whatever war crimestheseare.”
Cas’ knuckle dug between his eyes. “If you don’t shut your—”
“Honestly,” Zane plowed on, faux-contemplative, “gotta say, seeing her sprawled like this? Makes me wish I was that pillow.” He gestured to where her head lolled against the cushions, curls spilling like molten gold. “Or the sheet.” A beat. “Hell, I’d be that bruise between her—”
The med shears clocked him square in the chest, and he reflexively caught them before they hit the floor.
“Bleeding night, bro!” He rubbed his sternum, the pup blinking awake with a yip. “That’s your solution? Assaulting my pectorals?”
“Yourmouthis the assault,” Casimir snapped. “We’re trying tohealher, asshole, not listen to your sexual fantasies!”
Zane’s grin turned feral as his hands turned into fists.
“Jealous I called dibs on the good parts? Don’t worry. There’s plenty of our beloved to go around.” His gaze dropped deliberately to the front of his jeans. “But if I don’t rub one off soon…”
Casimir lunged.
I caught his elbow, the heat of his fury vibrating through my grip.
“Let it go,” I advised quietly.
“He’svulgar.”
“And you’re missing what’s happening.” I kept my voice down, nodding toward Zane’s twitching shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on the shears, the sheer rage in his eyes that was heading to murder-death-kill level at breakneck speed. “Let him run his mouth. It’s how he vents. You know that.”
