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But I already know there’s no such thing as right and wrong. The world doesn’t exist in black and white, as easy as that would be to navigate. I’m not sure how much time passes that way as I stare into the void of my soul. I consider for a moment going out to the hall and seeing if there’s a dog or cat out of the kennels I can pick up, but before I can act on the impulse, the doctor’s muttering pulls me back into the moment.
“What now?” Remy grits out, his jaw clenched. He looks like he’d very much like to punch the doctor. I’m not sure what the extent of their relationship is, but it’s clearly not too deep.
“I can’t do anything else without more blood. Do you know his type?”
“Why would I know that?” Remy shakes his head. “You’ve patched him up. The rest is in fate’s hands. Call me when he wakes up… or doesn’t.” He turns, grabbing me by the shoulder and leading me toward the door.
“Wait!” I shake myself out of his grip and dart toward the doctor. “I’m O negative.”
“Claire.” Remy’s voice is full of warning.
“Can’t you take my blood?”
The doctor blinks at me from behind his wire-framed glasses. “I could, yes.”
“So, do it.”
“No.”
An arm snakes around my waist, hauling me against Remy’s chest. I can feel the tension rolling off of him before I even look up into his face. I step out of his grip just enough to prove the words I’m about to speak. “You don’t get to decide this.”
“You don’t get to risk your life for him!” Remy counters. His eyes are smoldering. If I thought he was mad before, he’s livid now, and it’s equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
“It’s a blood transfusion, not a kidney transplant.”
“You’re not doing it.” He says the words with an air of finality, grabbing my wrist in one of his hands and making to pull me toward the door again.
“You have no say in what I do with my body.” I snap. “We’ve fucked around a few times, but that’s all we are to each other. You don’t get to say if I give my blood any more than you get to say who I fuck when you decide I’m not worthy of your time.”
For one second, I think he’s going to grab me around the waist and throw me over his shoulder, but the unhinged look in his eyes fades as quickly as it came. “Fine.” He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his hard gaze on the doctor. “Make it quick.”
Chapter forty-five
Remy
Claire looks almost smug as she sits across from me with her forearm resting against the armrest as Garcia rubs a wet alcohol pad over her skin. I hold her gaze, refusing to back down even as she winces at the first poke of the needle. Garcia mutters something under his breath, tilts his head, and then shakes it. “Missed.” He says, almost apologetically.
Claire attempts a smile, but it turns to a wince when he pokes her again without finding his mark. “Stubborn veins.” He says, as if that’s an excuse.
I hate everything about this—most of all that it’s being dragged out by his inability to do a preliminary part of his job. I’d think human veins are easier to find, and yet he’s groping around with the needle like a blind man looking for his girlfriend’s clit.
“If you miss again, I’ll stab that needle through your fucking eye.” I snap.
“Remy!” Claire gasps, eyes round with shock and those pink lips parted.
Whether for fear of being stabbed or because he finally pushes his glasses up his nose to see, Garcia gets the needle in on the third try and sets about making little adjustments to the system he’s set up. I think he’s avoiding my gaze, but Claire certainly isn’t. She’s staring at me, contemplating my threat, and probably wondering if I can make good on a promise like that. My sweet little lamb has no idea just how depraved I am—I’ve held it back for her. But the way she looks at me makes me think she wants it all. And she deserves it.
I’ve never wanted to choke someone as much as I want to wrap my hands around her slender little throat right now. I’m doing a good job of reigning it in, but I’m seething. And it doesn’t let up—not when she winces at the prick of the needle, not when her blood starts to fill the tube, and not when I push the doctor to the side and tell him, “That’s enough”.
I know a thing or two about blood loss, and I don’t care how much blood Wes needs. Claire’s too small to give as much as the doctor is taking.
He doesn’t fight me as he stems the flow of blood, drawing the needle out of her vein, which is a stark blue against her fair skin. He presses a cotton ball to the puncture, tapes it off, and turns promptly to Wes, who could be dead for all I can tell. He’s not hooked up to any monitors, but there’s a gentle rise and fall of his chest as I move toward Claire.
She stands too quickly, losing her balance and reaching out into thin air for something to catch her fall. I catch her against my side, and she winces as the tender spot on her arm brushes against my back. Garcia called her veins stubborn—fitting since everything about her seems to be stubborn. “Call me,” I command, moving toward the door with Claire pressed against my chest.
“I can walk.” Claire says. “And we should stay until he wakes up.”
“Not a fucking chance.” I snatch her around the waist and transfer her weight over my shoulder just to prove my point.
