"Phoenix. Phoenix, are you okay?” I run out to him.
My bare feet hit the icy ground and the cold shoots up through my legs. The frigid air punches into my lungs as I drop down next to him.
He's lying on his side, his face twisted in pain, cradling his left arm against his chest. Blood seeps between his fingers, bright red against his skin.
"I'm fine," he grits out, but his voice is strained and his face is pale.
”You're bleeding. Let me see."
"Jade, go back inside. You'll freeze out here."
"Let me see your arm, you stubborn idiot.”
Something flickers in his eyes, maybe amusement, though it's hard to tell with the way he's grimacing. He moves his hand away from the wound and I get my first real look at it.
Shit.
The gash on his forearm is deep, the skin split open where the axe blade caught him. Blood runs down his arm in steady rivulets, dripping off his fingers and spotting the snow beneath us.
"We need to get inside," I tell him. "Can you stand?"
"Yeah."
He can't. Not really. I have to duck under his good arm and wrap mine around his waist, taking most of his weight as we make our way back to the cabin. He's heavy and warm against me, even with the cold, and I try not to think about the last time I was pressed this close to him. We leave a trail of red drops in the snow behind us.
Inside, I dump him on the sofa and he goes without protest, which tells me he's hurting more than he wants to let on.
"Don't move," I say.
"Wasn't planning on it."
The bathroom has a first aid kit under the sink. Bandages, antiseptic, tape, the usual. I grab the whole thing and bring it back to where he's sprawled on the cushions, still shirtless and bleeding, but looking at me like I'm something he wants to devour.
I kneel beside him and open the kit. "This is going to sting."
"Just do it."
I pour antiseptic over the wound and he hisses through his teeth but doesn't make any other sound. Tough guy. The cut is deep but clean enough that it shouldn't need stitches. I press gauze against it and hold firm, waiting for the bleeding to slow.
He's so warm. I can feel the heat coming off him even though I'm only touching his arm. His chest is right there, rising and falling with each breath, close enough that I could reach out and touch it if I wanted to.
I don't want to.
I definitely don't want to.
"You should put a shirt on," I mutter, keeping my eyes on my work.
"When you're done."
"You're going to freeze."
"I'll survive."
I wrap his arm with the bandage, taping it off at the end. My hands are steady but my pulse isn't. Every time my fingers brush his skin, I feel it somewhere low in my stomach, a pull I don't want to acknowledge.
"There." I sit back on my heels. "Keep it clean. Don't be an idiot."
"Define idiot."
