As if hearing her thoughts, Dax tipped his chin in a direction over her shoulder. “The chest at the foot of the bed.”
Roa went and opened the lid. Inside she found a needle, thread, and a brown bottle of liquid. When she unstopped it and sniffed, she wrinkled her nose at the bitter-strong smell. Spirits.
She came back to Dax and knelt.
After lighting one of the candles, she sterilized the needle in the flame and threaded it.
“This is what we’re going to do.” Roa looked up into eyes clouded with pain. “I’m going to pull out the knife, and then we’re going to take that shirt off as fast as we can.”
“Maybe we should wait for—”
Roa wrapped her fingers against the gilt handle and pulled out the knife.
Dax sucked in a pained breath. Blood gushed from the wound.
“Agh! Stars, Roa!”
She tossed the knife aside and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it quickly up over his head. His chest glistened with blood now. Roa bunched up the shirt and pressed it to the wound.
“Hold this,” she said. “Press hard.”
He did.
That black, rusted key still hung from his neck. Roa tugged it off and tossed it on the floor.
Now for the difficult part...
Once she started sewing up the gash, the pain would make him squirm and buck and pull away. So Roa climbed onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, pinning him firmly in place.
“Don’t fight me,” she warned him.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “I would never.”
Roa reached for the brown bottle. Pressing it to her lips, she tipped it back and took a long swig. The spirits burned as they slid down her throat, warming her. Making her bolder than she felt.
“Are you ready?” she said, wiping her wrist across her mouth.
She didn’t wait for him to answer. Just pulled away the shirt and poured the contents of the bottle onto his gaping wound, washing the blood away.
Dax’s eyes shot open. He cursed her name.
Roa held him steady.
His back arched, but instead of fighting her, he grabbed her thighs, using her as an anchor against the onslaught of pain.
Roa let him. She half emptied the bottle, set it down, and reached for the needle.
“Almost done,” she said. This was a lie. There was more pain to come. Though not too much. She could see now that the wound was deep but not wide. It would require only a few stitches.
She met his gaze, silently letting him know what she was about to do. He nodded stiffly.
Roa pushed the needle in, forcing it through.
With nothing to bite down on, his grip on her tightened and his fingers dug into her thighs.
Roa winced. “You’re hurting me.”
“Yes, well.” He gritted his teeth, throat arching as she pulled the needle free and tugged. “You’re hurting me more.”
