Page 54 of Feral King

“I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just a graze.”

“It’s nothing? You’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “Where’s Anya?”

I turn. Anya’s about thirty feet away, crouched on the floor next to Ethan, who’s propped against the wall with his hand clamped over his right shoulder.

“Shit,” I hear Anya say. “Shit,shit!”

Blood is seeping between Ethan’s fingers. Julian rushes over and I follow him, panic racing through me. Ethan’s face is gray, and his jaw is clenched tight. I can tell that he’s in a lot of pain but is keeping it together as best he can.

“How bad is it?” Anya asks Julian as he approaches, worry in her eyes.

“It’s fine,” Ethan says.

“Fine,” I echo. “We just got shot at and that’s all anyone can say.”

Julian squats down next to Ethan, gently moving his hand away. Seconds tick by as he assesses the wound.

“Through and through, no major bleed,” Julian says. “He’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I said,” Ethanreiterates.

Julian turns to Anya. “Grab those linens over there and press them against the wound. Lots of pressure.”

“Got it.” She does as he commands, returning with the white linens and placing them over Ethan’s wound. He winces a bit as she applies the pressure, the white cloth slowly turning red.

Anya’s panic is fading, replaced by an intense focus to keep pressure on Ethan’s wound. She leans in and says something to him, and Ethan looks back at her with an expression of gratitude.

I can see a spark between them, but I’m willing to bet that neither of them would admit it.

It’s a major relief that Ethan is fine. Julian, on the other hand, is still moving around like he doesn’t have a gunshot wound of his own to worry about.

I cross the room to where he stands at one of the shattered windows, his gun still in his hand, as he scans the street. He’s still tense and coiled, ready for whatever threat might still be lurking out there.

I pull up the hem of his shirt before he can stop me.

The graze is ugly. It’s a raw, red line across his lower ribs. The wound is shallow but still bleeding. I’m no medical expert, but I can see that had the bullet grazed an inch deeper, it would’ve been much, much worse.

“You need a doctor,” I tell him. My hands are shaking as I press them against the wound. His blood is warm and slick against my palms.

“Lyra, it’s fi?—”

I cut him off. “If you or Ethan says one more time that you’re fine, I swear I’ll scream.”

My words cause a little smile to appear on his lips, which makes me even madder. He needs to be taking this seriously, but instead he’s treating it like he stubbed his damn toe.

“We’re both fine, really. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. You and Anya are unharmed—that’s all I was worried about.”

So that’s why he’s so calm. His words do something to me, but I push it out of my mind.

“You need medical care, Julian. You and Ethan.”

The smile fades. “Not until you’re safe.” He places his hand over both of mine, still pressed against his wound. Our eyes meet with a ferocity that has nothing to do with his wound but everything to do with the fact that someone just tried to hurt me and his sister.

He turns. “Ethan, are you good to make a call?”

“Good enough.”