He eyed my crimson hands and then his own. “That does look convincing.”
I’d never been squeamish about blood, but the metallic scent made my nose twitch. I also didn’t think I’d ever had so much blood on me before, especially blood that wasn’t my own.
“It’s so convincing I’m now worried you’re going to bleed out.” I pointed to the trail of blood snaking down his leg. “That’s not good.”
Kolt had used the pointed end of the spoon to cut into his flesh, and I hadn’t been able to watch him do it. The hiss he’d made had been enough to make meflinch.
The Vandar attempted to brush off my concerns. “It is fine. I have had worse.”
I made a scoffing sound. “You sure?”
Kolt did not answer, and I suspected he was going on instinct again. He might very well have been injured more severely than the cut he’d made on his own leg, but that didn’t mean I wanted him actively losing blood as we made our escape.
“Listen,” I said, making my tone as reasonable as possible. “If you’re dripping blood, you’re going to leave a trail. If we actually make it out of here, I don’t think we want the Zagrath to follow us by the drops of blood you’re dripping.”
He released a breath but gave a solemn nod. “You are right.” He glanced around. “But there is nothing to seal the cut.”
“We don’t need to seal it.” I lifted one of the leather straps of his kilt. “We just need to staunch the bleeding.”
A look of understanding crossed his face, and he grabbed the leather strip at the top and yanked it free. He looped it around his thigh, bending over to get a better look and almost tipping over.
“Here.” I took the ends of the leather from him. “I can do it for you.”
The Vandar didn’t argue with me. He leaned back and stretched his legs long before he hiked up his kilt.
As I got closer to tie the strip above the cut, I noticed that much more was exposed than his muscular thighs. It took me a moment to comprehend that the thick flesh etched with the same dark marks that swirled across his chest wasn’t another strip of brown leather dangling between his legs. My cheeksflamed with heat as I tried not to look while also attempting not to swallow my tongue.
“I’ll just…um…tie a cock…I mean knot. Knot! I’ll tie a knot.” I yanked the leather a bit too forcefully as I knotted it and jumped back as if my fingers had been on fire. “There, that should hold it.”
He tilted his head at me, his brows knitting together. “Thank you.”
Did he truly not realize that his shockingly gigantic cock was on display? Or did he not care? And did Vandar truly run around with those things just hanging? Wouldn’t that be a liability in a battle? Then again, maybe they could beat someone with it if they didn’t have any other weapons close at hand. Why hadn’t he mentioned this among our available weaponry?
A hysterical giggle threatened to escape my lips, and I pressed them together so tightly it hurt.
Kolt flicked the kilt back down, seemingly oblivious to my burning face and my urge to laugh uncontrollably. “We should go through the plan again.”
I took a breath to steady myself, thinking about what we were about to attempt. This was no time to be laughing about cocks as weapons, even if I would definitely remember to tell the rest of my friends about it later.
“You’re going to scream for help, and I’m going to wail as if I’m dying. When they come running, we’re going to say that I cut myself on the bench.”
He nodded, reaching back and smearing some blood across the edge of the metal. Then he glanced at my shirt. “It won’t makesense that you got cut deeply enough to bleed and not have torn your shirt.”
“You’re right.” I cursed under my breath but didn’t have time to act before Kolt reached for my shirt and tore at the fabric.
My breath hitched in my throat as the fabric split. Okay, I’d enjoyed him ripping my clothes way too much.
You dislike brutish guys, Skye. This is not a turn-on for you.
Now I just needed to repeat that a few thousand more times and maybe my heart rate would return to normal.
Kolt dragged his bloody hands over my pale skin. “That’s better.”
I draped the fabric so that my entire stomach wasn’t exposed. “We don’t want them to see enough to realize that there’s no actual gash.”
He helped me rearrange the ripped fabric, his fingers skimming over my flesh with an exquisite tenderness that made me forget to breathe. If we didn’t pull off this plan soon, I was going to actually need medical attention because I was going to pass out.
“We should probably do this before they send in a group of guards with breakfast,” I said, my voice cracking.
