Nope, nothing. No colors, no energy bouncing around his body. To think, auras had once been as visible to her as someone’s nose.
The cold bit through her nightgown, and she shivered, wondering how he had managed to make it without dying. Who was he? A vacationer? Ski season had just begun, though the nearest resort was a ways off. Perhaps a winter fisherman? He had said he tried to get help…would the bad guy have tried to call the cops?Have you forgotten who the cops are here?Genevieve shook off that thought. She couldn’t in good conscience just leave the guy on her doorstep to die a painful death. Besides, she was tougher than she looked and he was in no shape to do any lasting damage to her. “We need to get you in the house. Can you walk that far?”
He grimaced and managed to raise his upper body a few inches. She kept her gun in one hand and slung his left arm over her shoulders to pull him upwards, using every ounce of will to help him to his feet and inside.
He was a big man, at least a foot taller and roped with heavy muscle. Despite the strength that came from working her small farm, she huffed and puffed by the time they cleared the doorway. She lowered him to a sitting position against the wall before closing the door and turning all four deadbolts. Genevieve switched the safety on the gun and placed it on her counter before stoking the fire and pulling the mattress and bedding from her queen-sized bed in the corner to create a pallet in front of the fireplace.
“Come on, now.” Genevieve helped her unexpected guest toward the mattress. The few steps into the cabin must have tired him. He leaned on her more heavily, and little trickles of sweat beaded along his hairline by the time he lay on his back. Though the fever raged through his body, his eyelashes were crusted with ice, his lips blue. She needed to see to his wounds before she could really bundle him up.
She gathered her supplies from under her bed, as well as water and towels, and hurried to his side. One of his shoes was missing, the other ripped, as if an animal had gnawed on it—hmm, maybe he had come across some four-legged predator after all. The jacket and casual tan button-down were a lost cause, so she wasted no time in using her kitchen shears to cut them right off. The jeans gave her a bit of pause, but she made a split-second decision to destroy those as well, instead of taking the time to try to work the wet denim off his dead weight. When he wore only his boxers, she surveyed him from head to toe with a clinical eye.
The scratches and bruises all over his body and the giant knot on his noggin weren’t great news, but the most worrisome injury was the mess on his right shoulder. Had it been taken care of right away, it probably wouldn’t have been a serious wound, but she’d never seen anything quite as bad as the putrid infection that had set in. She cleaned the wound and the skin first, wincing along with him as she unstuck the dried blood and grime from hair and flesh. After the cleansing, she gently probed the area around the wound.
“Angel?”
His labored breathing turned the question into a soft whisper of sound. He had a slight accent, a hint of New York clipping the words. She glanced at his face. His eyes were slits of coal, his brow creased with pain.
She made her smile reassuring, her voice brisk. “No angels here. My name’s Genevieve. What’s yours?” She tried to work fast as she distracted him.
“Alex—oh, God.” He gritted his teeth when she covered the infected area with an antiseptic rinse before packing a poultice with herbs and tying it tight over his wound with a bandage.
She stuck a straw into the glass of water, bringing it to his parched lips. “Alex, you need to drink, okay?”
He gave a tiny nod in acceptance. She raised his head and supported him until she judged him to have had enough.
“Gen—Angel. Gonna die?” he gasped as she put the drink down.
He deserved honesty. “I don’t know.”
“Will you…tell my mom? My brother. I love them.”
She swallowed. “Yes. What’s your full name?”
He didn’t seem to hear her, his gaze turning inward. “Don’t wanna die.”
“I’ll do everything I can,” she whispered.
“Beautiful…” He closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.
Despite her assurance, she honestly did not know if she could promise him life. Forget the dehydration and exposure—she had no way of knowing what damage the bullet had done internally, and the flesh was even more infected than she first believed. Her gut tightened in anxiety. She had worked automatically, calling on everything she had ever read or been taught, but the sad truth was, she had no practical experience with gunshot wounds. However, at this point, she wasn’t certain he would live until she could get him medical care.
Genevieve studied his fitful rest. His chest rose and fell far too shallowly.
I love them.
I’ll do everything I can.
Not for the first time in three years, she mourned her lost power. Healing had once been as natural to her as breathing. She’d saved countless animals in her childhood and adolescence. Granted, she’d never tried to cure massive infection before, but now she couldn’t even attempt it.
Or could she? She couldn’t, in good conscience, let him die if she had the ability to save him.
She laid her trembling hand flat over his bandage, closed her eyes and willed her mind and body to relax.
Nothing.
She clenched her eyes tighter, so frustrated a bit of moisture leaked out. Not tears; she never cried, damn it.
Mom, if you have any pull up there…please just help me out. I’m not hurting this time, I’m helping. Let me just…oh.
