“Just do it.”
I watch him work, too engrossed to even think about the discomfort. His brows are pinched together with concentration, a crease between them. I still remember exactly how the shadow of stubble on his face felt on my inner thighs. Neither of us cared how sweaty or exhausted we were at night. That was our only time to be alone. To work out the emotional and physical ups and downs of the day with each other.
My pulse pounds with awareness, my hands itching to touch him. Aromium on or off, I have a baseline craving for him that I don’t think will ever subside. And I hate that he’s detached and unbothered right now.
I swear as he sinks the needle beneath my skin.
“I got it,” he says. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
His gaze flicks to mine, and then he goes to work on Ellison, picking up her uninjured arm to search for a pulse.
“Fuck. It’s so weak.”
“The blood will help.”
He exhales heavily, examining her arm. “Her veins are shot.”
He tries to insert a needle into the same place he put mine, but he groans with frustration when he misses her vein. He tries again and gets the same result. I hold my breath, knowing Ellison’s life hangs in the balance.
When he tries the back of her hand, he misses again and closes his eyes, frustrated. I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.
The door to the room bursts open and Stephen, one of our burliest guards, sets a frail Dr. McClain down. McClain does a three-second assessment of Ellison, Marcus, and me.
“I can’t get a vein,” Marcus says. “Can you try?”
McClain cringes, looking pained. “My hands aren’t steady enough. Use her external jugular.”
Marcus meets his gaze and shakes his head. “If I fuck that up, sh?—”
“You won’t. Look at her, Marcus. She needs your help right now.”
An invisible weight presses on Marcus’s shoulders as he uses an antiseptic wipe to clean the site on Ellison’s neck. McClain takes Ellison’s hand, his brows sinking with concern as he searches for her pulse.
“Now, Marcus. There’s no time to waste.”
Marcus doesn’t hesitate. He positions the needle above the vein, then pauses.
“You’ve got it,” McClain says, squinting.
He pushes the needle in, not breathing.
“It’s in,” he says.
“Start Briar and I’ll start Ellison,” McClain says. “Very slow flow at first. Then get me the supplies to clean and stitch this wound.”
Marcus removes my tourniquet, his dark eyes flicking to mine. I wish we were alone in the room, because this is the first time I haven’t felt too furious to ask him the questions that fire through my mind every day.
“Tell me if you feel dizzy or weak,” he says, putting two fingers over the pulse point on my wrist.
The wave of dizziness that hits isn’t from blood loss, but from feeling his skin on mine. His massive hands have always had the power to crush me, but he’s used them to protect me. To pleasure me. His body still feels like my safe place, because it was his lie of omission that undid us.
Marcus brings McClain the supplies he needs, standing beside him to help as he closes Ellison’s knife wound. If she pulls through this, she’ll have a wicked scar.
After checking Ellison’s pulse, McClain says, “Let’s increase the flow.”
Nodding, Marcus comes around to me and adjusts something. He stands close—right in front of me.
