Wasting no time, I flip open the box and yank on a pair of gloves. My hands are slick with sweat already.
“Can you pass me some gauze?”
Brando pulls out a packet and tears it open with his teeth. I take out the material and pack the wound both sides, as firmly as I can.
“I need you to put pressure on his back,” I tell Brando.
He does as I instruct with a deft hand. He’s clearly done this before but there must be something about seeing his older brother on death’s-door that has knocked his confidence.
With one hand pressed on Fiero’s abdominal wound, I reach for the saline with the other. Biting off the cap, I flush the wound quickly. I need to see exactly what I’m dealing with. The wound is clean and precise and there’s no bubbling, which means it missed his lung.
“IV,” I say.
Brando is already holding it out to me.
I slide the needle into Fiero’s vein, thankful to have done this a million times before, then tape it down with blood-streaked fingers.
“Can you hang it?”
Brando nods and attaches the bag to the nearest tabletop.
“Okay,” I breathe. This used to be a regular part of my job but for some reason, it’s hard to focus. Like the stakes are higher. I’m terrified I won’t be able to heal him.
“Scalpel please.”
Brando hesitates until I dart him a look.
He hands it to me and I breathe out slowly, steadying myself.
This is just another body, another wound, another shift?—
Except it isn’t.
The sensation of straddling his thighs with his forehead burning into mine, our breaths dancing together in the small, heated space between us darts through my consciousness, jolting me into action.
I work quickly, cutting, wiping, making small adjustments to the torn tissue where I can, stopping what bleeding I’m able to and asking for Brando’s help with the rest.
I thread a needle, my fingers flying through the motions. I start stitching the exit wound first. It’s neat but not perfect. It’s going to have to do.
“Pfeiffer.”
I look up.
Fiero’s eyes are open and I see them clearly for the first time. Ink dark and piercing, they make his whole face come alive. The result is devastating, especially when they’re focused entirely on me, setting me off balance.
His gaze drags over my face, my pulsing throat, my blood-covered chest.
“You’re… an angel.”
Brando clears his throat and shutters come down over Fiero’s eyes. My gaze flicks between the two of them. Fiero turns his attention to the ceiling, a wince peppering his lips as I pull the thread through his skin.
Brando isglaringat him. So much for caring so hard that if I didn’t fix his brother he’d kill me. Something has gotten him pissed.
“When will the doctor be here?” I ask Brando.
His glare softens slightly and he checks his phone. “He’s twenty minutes away.”
Fiero’s gaze touches my face once more but it’s distant.
