She jerks away with a hiss. “Ow!”
“Shit.” My fingers trace the lump on the back of her head. “Are you nauseous?”
“No.”
I study her pupils, gaining her irritation when I shine a pen light into each. “Dizzy?”
“No.”
She lies again, and I can see it in the way her lashes flutter, in the way her jaw holds too tight.
I glance at Nash. “She may have a slight concussion, but nothing acute.”
Nash’s lips pinch. He grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it at the sink, movements precise. He sets it in front of Reva.
“Drink,” he says.
Reva glares at the water. Then she drinks anyway, swallowing like it’s a dare she refuses to lose.
Good. That’s the part of her I like. The part that survives out of spite.
A door thuds shut somewhere down the hall as Ever comes back at a brisk pace. He shoves a med kit onto the counter. He’s breathing hard again, like he never fully came down from the woods.
He looks at the blood. Looks at Reva. Looks away like it hurts.
Ever’s gaze cuts to my hands. “Let me.”
“No,” I say immediately.
Ever blinks at me.
I lean closer, low so only he hears. “You’re shaking.”
His eyes flash. “I’m fine.”
“Sure,” I murmur. “And she’s fine, too.”
Ever’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t push. He steps back half a pace, hands fisted at his sides.
I pop the med kit open, tear open an antiseptic wipe, and then just as quickly toss it aside. I need more than a tiny wipe. I crack open the bottle of alcohol instead. “Need you to move to the table and lie down.”
Reva frowns.
“I need you to lie down on the table so I can see just how bad it is before we stitch you up.”
She goes a little paler, if possible, but Nash lifts her from the counter and carries her to the table. I spreada clean towel out behind her for her to lie on, carefully push her shirt up and over her shoulder, and she lies down.
Her gaze meets mine, dark and full of fear. Her hand flies up and grabs mine and squeezes. “I know this is gonna hurt like a bitch. I just wanted to let you know that’s okay. I promise not to hate you too much.”
I nod. “Buckle up, buttercup.”
Tipping the bottle, I pour the alcohol in a cold stream over the cut. Reva screams, a raw animal sound.
That kind of sound that makes me want to put my fist through something.
Ever curses in a long, low stream and leaves the room. Just as quickly he comes back in, marches to the other side of the table, and grabs up Reva’s hand. Nash takes her face in both of his big hands, leans down, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “We’ve got you, little wolf.”
As soon as she stops writhing, I take a good look at the wound. It’s long and gaping and maybe a half-inch deep.
