I sling my arm around his waist, the other dragging Haven to my side. She comes willingly when I tug her forward, both letting me guide them into my home.
The cold from their bodies seeps into mine, like I’m handling a pair of frozen carcasses. If I don’t get them warmed up, that’s exactly what they’ll be.
“They came to you first. They need you,” Good Wolf says. “This is what you wanted.”
“They came to you because they didn’t have a choice.” Bad Wolf chuffs angrily. “That’s not love. That’s survival.”
I get them inside, forcing them to perch on the edge of the coffee table nearest the fire. Then I hurry back to the sliding door and shut it against the furious storm outside.
Haven stares silently into the tranquil flames, shuddering violently every few seconds. Kai stretches out his injured leg, hissing as he peels back the torn fabric by his thigh.
“How’d you get that?” I snap, knowing I should prioritize first aid, but too desperate to know what fresh hell these two have gotten themselves involved with.
“Got shot,” Kai mutters through clenched teeth.
“Shot? Who the fuck shot you?”
Kai huffs out a laugh, then winces. “Ezra.”
I was halfway to my bedroom’s en-suite bathroom to fetch the first aid kit. I stop, spinning back to face him.
“Did you say Ezra?”
He grimaces at me. “It’s…complicated.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, hurrying into the bathroom and snatching the red kit out of the cabinet. I grab the cashmere throw off my bed on my way back to the living room.
Kai is pushing hair out of Haven’s face when I come back, tilting her head to peer into her eyes. I hand him the blanket, and he tosses it around her shoulders, wrapping her up like a burrito.
A shivering, dissociating burrito…covered in blood.
“Is she hurt?” My stomach tenses at the thought that there might be a bullet lodged somewhere inside her body.
“I don’t…I don’t think so.” Kai tries to resist when I push his shoulder to straighten him up so I can get to his leg. “Seriously, Rooke, it’s fine. We need to make sure she’s?—“
“She’s not the one bleeding onto my Aubusson rug,” I snap as I zip open the first aid kit on the coffee table. “Now take off your fucking pants.”
Kai tries to laugh, but the sound is too pained and strangled. “Jesus, buy a guy a drink first.”
When my gaze slides up to his eyes, his attempt at a smile fades.
“Pants.”
He tries to stand, but his legs wobble too much. I grab his belt, yanking it open with two swift tugs, and ease the slacks down his legs.
“That blanket was for both of you,” I tell him when he shivers violently.
“She needs it more.”
I shake my head, but I don’t argue. Kai’s at least lucid—talking, breathing, being a cocky shit.
Haven is a silent, unmoving ghost haunting my peripheral vision.
Kai’s injury isn’t as bad as I feared. The bullet clipped his thigh, leaving a shallow trough through the flesh. It needs to be cleaned and bandaged, but the bleeding has already slowed enough that I doubt he’ll need stitches.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn him.
“Good.” When his eyes meet mine, they’re swimming in guilt. “I deserve it.”
