Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
He lifts them slowly, a bemused look on his pale face. Blood is splattered across his cheek and temple.
I toss the ruined shirt aside and pull on gloves. “What did this?” I decide the puncture wound needs care first. The other slashes are deep, but not internal-organ deep.
He groans as I prod gently at the wound.
“It’s not bleeding too badly, but there may be blood inside. Lie back.” I take his forearm and help him to the floor. “God, if this has pierced your kidney …” I wipe at his bloody flesh with alcohol and gauze to get a better look.
“Went straight through. Better that way. Heals faster.” He has the nerve to put his hands behind his head and look down at me with half-lidded eyes.
“This wound is fatal.” I keep wiping the gore away.
“Not for me.” He tenses as I feel around his side to see if there’s an exit wound like he says. There is. A narrow gash mars the flesh on his lower back.
“You could have severed intestines. Sepsis.” I’m out of my depth. “There could be a foreign body still in there. I can’t see well enough without imaging.”
He takes my gloved hand. “I just need time. Save your doctoring for the weak humans.”
I pull my hand away and go back to treating his injuries, cleaning the cuts in his skin. There’s no venom in these like last time. The wounds are clean, probably made by a blade. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I can’t stop thinking about his kidney, about internal bleeding. He says he’ll heal. He has before. But what if he’s lying? Shit! I should work on the things I actually can heal.
Distant gunshots puncture the quiet as I work. “So, that’s a no then? No explanation?”
“You think humans are the only ones at war?” he asks.
“We aren’t at war.”
“You truly believe that?” His voice is mocking.
“I believe we’re surviving. Despite the plague, despite our divisions, we’re surviving.”
He gives me a pitying look. “Most aren’t.”
“They will. We’re going to find the answer. Right here in this lab.”
“So certain?”
“Mock me all you want.”
“I don’t need permission for that, but thank you all the same.”
I swallow down the desire to punch him right in one of his wounds. Instead, I tape some bandages across his chest a bit more roughly than I intended. “What I was going to say is, this virus isn’t the end. We’ll find a way.”
“The virus might not be the end of humanity, no.” He somehow manages to disagree while also agreeing.
“Stop trying to distract me. Why do you show up here injured half the time? Tell me the truth for once.”
“Like I said, my people are at war.”
“Over what?” I eye his bloody shirt and wonder if I can somehow sneak it away from him.
“Everything,” he says simply.
“Thanks for clearing that up.” I roll my eyes.
“You haven’t been sleeping. You look pale.” His gaze holds mine as I finish taping the last puncture.
“My usual spray tan lady is on vacation.” I sit back on my heels.
“Droll, as always.” He smirks.
“Dickish, as always.” It just slips out.
“If you’ve finished groping me, I’d best be on my way.”
I sputter. “Groping you?”
“I think you rather enjoy touching me, Doctor. Far beyond any sort of clinical curiosity.” He snatches my hand and presses it to his chest.
“Hey!” I’m leaning over him now, bracing myself with my free hand to keep from falling onto him.
“How about this?” His eyes bore into me as I feel his heartbeat. It’s strong. Slow. Almost too slow. “Does this scratch your curious itch?”
Why is he so warm?
“What are you?” I stare down at him, searching his blood-stained face for some sort of answer.
“Would you care to keep inspecting me?” He glances down. “Perhaps take the full tour for once?”
I try to pull my hand free, but he holds me still effortlessly. “Let go.”
“Why should I?” He sits up, his body suddenly far too close to mine.
I scramble back, but he maintains his grip on my wrist, my palm pressed flat against his chest.
“Your heart is racing, Doctor.”
“Because you’re scaring me.”
“Liar.” His gaze darts to my mouth.
Something in the way he says it, like his tongue is caressing the word, sends a jolt of heat through me. Some swirl of euphoria low in my belly where it doesn’t belong.
“Let go.” My request is breathless.
He leans closer, his mouth so close to mine I feel the whisper of his breath. “All right.” With that, he releases his grip, and I scramble back then clamber to my feet.
He gets up easily, as if he weren’t mortally wounded, and swipes all the bloody gauze from the floor. Then he snags his shirt, his muscles bunching beneath his smooth skin. I look away and remind myself this is all clinical. Me doing my job. Helping people. Even him.