Though I hated the faint tremor in her words, it pleased me that her feistiness returned so quickly.
“Very well, you passed out,” I said.
“Hmmm.”
She shifted again, hissing as she lifted her arms to look at the cuts on her skin. The sleeves of the shirt and sweater she wore had been sliced to ribbons, bloody remnants of the fabric dangling from her elbows.
“Damn, these sting,” Leda said.
I worked quickly, removing items from the box of supplies I kept. I realized I needed to clean her wounds, but wanted to keep her close to the fire.
“I will be right back.”
I set everything aside and went into the bathing room, where I unearthed a wide, shallow bowl and a cotton cloth from the cabinet. Once the bowl was half-filled with warm water, I carried it back to the couch.
Leda was sprawled on the couch, her head tilted back to rest on the cushions behind her, eyes closed. When I knelt in front of her, she opened her eyes and sighed.
“How much is this going to hurt?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Less than when it happened.”
She smirked but closed her eyes again. “I’m just going to lie here and pretend I can’t feel it.”
“I will be as gentle as I can,” I murmured.
“I know,” she whispered.
I focused on cleaning her wounds. My clawed fingers looked so large in comparison to hers when I picked up her hand. A small wince moved over her face, but she didn’t pull away. She allowed me to cradle her arm over the bowl. I dipped the cloth in the water and then squeezed it out over her wounds, washing away the blood surrounding the cuts. Once they were clean, I saw that several needed to be stitched.
“I will have to close a few of these with needle and thread.”
She flinched at my statement.
“I have a tincture that will numb your skin. It won’t stop all the pain, but it will be less painful.”
“Sounds better than nothing,” she replied.
Once the wound was clean, I applied the tincture, using the dropper to release a thin stream of the liquid over the worst of the claw marks. Her body tensed, and she hissed again at the sensation, but she didn’t speak.
“I will prepare the needle and thread while the tincture numbs you,” I explained.
Her only response was a grunt.
“And I apologize, but I will need to sit next to you and rest your arm across my leg in order to work.”
“Do what you have to. No need to apologize,” she murmured.
I moved the bowl out of the way and sat next to her, arranging her forearm across my thigh. I ignored the way it heated my body, and the way my mating instincts were clamoring to claim her. It was much easier than usual because she was hurt. While the urge to mark her and verbally claim herwas still there, it was tempered by my worry for her injury and her pain.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I commanded.
She grunted again but did as I said.
“Can you feel this?” I asked, lightly pressing the tip of the curved needle against her arm.
“Not really.”
“I will begin now.”
