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Balling up the towel, I put it under Orin’s head, then got to work removing his shirt. Sliding the scissors under the hem, I sliced through the cotton quickly and peeled away the sides. Blood coated the left side of his body from under his arm to his waist. Blood was still pouring from the wound over his ribs, and I slapped my hand over it while unzipping the first aid kit with my teeth. The kit’s contents spilled out over the ground, and I searched for a packet of gauze.
Pressing it to his side, I applied pressure for a minute before swapping it over for another clean wad. I had no idea whether this was a gunshot or knife wound, but the one thing that was apparent was that he would die if I couldn’t figure out how to stop the bleeding. Pulling the soaked gauze from his side, I irrigated the wound to clear some of the blood away. Now that I could see better, it was clear it was an exit wound—a bullet wound—but how in the hell had it missed his lung? He should be struggling to breathe right now.
However it had happened, he was a lucky fucking bastard.
When I was satisfied that he wouldn’t die in my hallway, I put in some hasty sutures. They weren’t pretty, but they would hold for now. I’d taught myself a crude and rudimentary way to suture when Grayson started coming home with wide gashes on his forehead.
Turning Orin onto his side, I searched for the entry wound. A small hole marked his left side, coming in at an angle under his ribs. After irrigating the site, some more sutures, and bandaging him up, I wrapped another bandage all the way around, then dragged him into the living room.
I was panting and sweating by the time I got him in there, and I eyed the distance from the floor to the couch. There was no way I would be able to lift him, so I set the towel back under his head and then grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch. Kneeling beside him, I draped the thick blue fabric over his body. One edge had folded under, so I leaned forward to fix it, but the shift in position left me with my face hovering close to his upper body.
His chest was covered in tattoos, and a thrill of …somethingwent through me. It was a foreign feeling, although IthoughtI recognized the echo of it. As if without thought, my hand moved to one of the largest designs, hovering over the outline of the Mac Tíre tattoo in the center of his chest. I traced the edge of the proud head and elegant back of the wolf, the pads of my fingers running over the curling tail and the Celtic whirls. Grayson had the same design on the back of his hand, but I had never found it appealing. On Orin, though, there was a certain attraction to it.
Dragging my hands down further, I touched each tattoo, willing the heat from my body to transfer into his. His skin was still too cold. I needed to warm him more. I was startled, however, when a stronger-than-it-should-have-been hand wrapped around my wrist where it rested against Orin’s chest. My frantic pulse matched my frantic gaze as it darted to his face. Irises the color of midnight stared back at me. Surprise danced through his features for the briefest second before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Rising from my crouch, I turned up the heater in the living room, then wrapped my arms around myself. What was I supposed to do now? I didn’t want to leave him alone—not when his injuries could turn dire. I also didn’t know whether someone would be shooting at us again. I couldn’t leave.
So, I settled onto the couch and began my vigil.
* * *
I woke to savage cursing.My eyes fluttered briefly before fully opening to find Orin sitting up, clutching his ribs, and taking in the room. When he removed his hand, I saw the fresh blood decorating his palm and the bandage.
Leaping from the couch, I shouted, “Stop moving, you daft prick!” Slapping his hand back over the wound, I pressed, eliciting a sharp hiss from his mouth. He gave me a venomous look from the corner of his eye, which I studiously ignored. “You’ll open your stitches if you keep moving around like that.”
I thought I heard him mutter, “I didn’t imagine you,” before saying in a much louder, much more commanding voice, “What the hell happened?”
Fixing him with a glare, I pulled the first aid kit closer and rummaged through it until I found the gauze. Ripping open the packaging, I motioned for him to move his hand away, unwound the bandages, and removed the newly soaked gauze pad. The wound—although bleeding freely—wasn’t any wider than it had been before. It looked like my sutures were holding, too.
Quickly covering it with fresh gauze, I applied pressure as I reached for a sterile bandage, my eyes darting to his face when he hissed in another breath. His eyes flashed with rage … rage andpain.
Pain he tried to hide behind a snarl.
He barked, “Watch it.”
Ignoring the hostility, I wrapped the bandage around his torso, my arms reaching behind his back with effort. When my arm brushed against his skin, he recoiled.
“Don’t touch me.” His voice was hoarse.
Tension radiated from those three words, and I paused.
“How am I supposed to bandage you up if I don’t touch you?”
For a long minute, he stared at me, clearly thinking it through and coming up with the same conclusion I had.
With a dismissive grunt, he replied, “Just hurry the fuck up.”
“Don’t go raging at me, you langer.”
Despite the pain still etched on his features, one of his dark brows winged up—as if he couldn’t believe I’d call him on his bullshit. Darkly, he replied, “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t be saying that.”
Even though I didn’t want to, I looked him in his cold eyes and said, “I know exactly who you are and what you do.”
“Then you’d do well to remember that I don’t let those who hurt me remain breathing.”
My chest squeezed with the threat not just of his words, but also the razor-sharp weight of his gaze. He was the Reaper, and I had no doubt he would do whatever he had to do to ensure his survival. But I had grown up with Grayson, who could be just as prickly if I caught him on a bad day, so I decided to deal with Orin like I dealt with my brother when he was being an ass.
With bravado and a take-no-shit attitude.
