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I swallowed hard. “Did he…did he die?”
“Who?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “Who died?”
I hated that I’d asked. That I’d shown I cared. “Peter. He’s gone.”
“Ah, yes.” She nodded. “He’s resting in Rose’s room down the hall. I don’t have any other beds available downstairs, and he’s not out of the woods yet. Rose agreed to keep a careful eye on him while I was supposed to catch up on some sleep.” She sighed heavily and marched to her cupboard of tricks. “Seeing as Ily is in the best possible place right now, I suppose that means I only have one more patient to treat, and then I can call quits on this awful, awful day. Now, sit down and let me sew you up so I can go to bloody bed.”
Her attitude made my hackles rise, but…I had no energy to refuse her.
I didn’t take the table, though.
The memory of Peter’s hand bubbling in that bowl of antiseptic made my already delicate stomach extra queasy.
Cutting past the couch and coffee table, I headed toward the small dining table pressed against a window. Pulling out a wooden chair, I sat heavily and looked at the view. This angle focused more on the ocean cliffs and the stars twinkling so far above.
Somewhere down there, Kyle and some other Master were sucked out to sea. Perhaps they’d been found by a shark. Hopefully, Charles had also been gobbled by the tide so all my crimes would go unseen.
Noises echoed behind me as the doctor gathered whatever torture devices she needed, then joined me at the table.
Neither of us spoke as she motioned for me to slip the dressing gown off my injured side. She sucked in a breath as she noticed my colourful ribs, but her hands were steady as she unwrapped my self-administered bandage, then opened a similar packet to the one I’d found in our supplies.
Threading surgical thread through a wickedly sharp needle, her face etched with concentration. Wiping my slashed arm with stingy fluid, she grabbed a head torch from her supplies and jammed it on her head. The light blinded me as she leaned in and studied my wound.
I closed my eyes.
I didn’t want to watch.
Something sharp stabbed me a few times.
Fucking ow again—
“The local anaesthesia should kick in quickly.” Her bedside manner improved a little as she placed the empty syringe I hadn’t noticed back on the table.
After a few moments, she tapped my red-raw skin. “Can you feel anything?”
“Only a thick numbness.”
“Good.” She gave me a tight smile. “Look away if you’re squeamish.”
Could a man who got turned on by blood be squeamish?
I’d never actually tested myself and stubbornly kept my eyes locked on my arm as she shrugged and threaded the needle through the first section.
The way my skin resisted the puncture only to fail and surrender. The strangest slithering sensation as she pulled thread through flesh and then jabbed me all over again.
Yep.
My teeth clamped together as a fresh wave of nausea rushed.
I’m squeamish.
Closing my eyes, I breathed through my nose and did my best to use the same technique I’d done on the beach. I imagined my pain flowing down my legs and into Victor’s castle. I focused on nothing but my breath, in and out, in and out, in and—
“All done.”
“What?” My eyes snapped open. “Already?”
Giving me a strange look, she glanced at the clock. “It’s been twenty minutes.”
