Page 50 of Fang Fiction

“Afraid I’m fresh out of medical supplies, love,” he gritted.

“We can use your shirt. Can you sit up?”

He tried to oblige, but he didn’t get more than a couple of inches off the ground before he grimaced in pain and fell back, panting.

“It’s okay, I’ll help,” Tess said gently. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

He did, and she started to pull off the Henley he was wearing. It took a good bit of effort; he was heavy, and she worked slowly and carefully, trying not to cause him any unnecessary pain.

“So you’re a combat medic in addition to a horse thief and amateur vampire slayer?” Callum’s tone was wry, but his breath was uneven. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“First-aid training at the hotel. The owners made the whole staff go to this kooky woman’s loft in Bushwick, there’s no way she had proper accreditation.”

“You’re instilling deep confidence.”

“I can tie a shirt in a knot.” Tess shot him a look, and he met her gaze with a rakish smile.

“Good with your hands, eh? I suspected as much.”

Tess rolled her eyes and started to ease his shirt over his shoulders. As she pushed the neckline over his face, he winced.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I’ll be done in just a second.”

He clenched his jaw and nodded as she pulled the shirt off his arms, leaving him naked from the waist up. His body was thick with muscle and gleaming with sweat, reflecting soft blue and purple light from the moonflowers glowing above.

As Tess tied his shirt around his thigh, she couldn’t help thinking of the scene in Blood Feud when Callum and Isobel first had sex—right here, in this meadow. Tess had read the scene so many times she could practically recite it from memory: how it started off slow and tender, then built to a feverish pitch, Isobel grabbing a moonflower stalk for purchase as Callum took her from behind, stars exploding into her vision as the pressure grew and grew—

“Everything all right?” Callum put a hand on Tess’s thigh, startling the crap out of her.

“Fine!” she squeaked, her voice an octave higher than normal. “I’m fine! I mean, you’re fine. The tourniquet is working, the bleeding is slowing down.”

“Good.” Callum nodded, exhaling heavily.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Tess bit her lip.

He smiled sadly. “See? This is why I don’t go in for all that hero nonsense. Someone always ends up maimed.”

Tess felt a wave of guilt—it was her dumb idea to come to this meadow in the first place, her hotheaded plan to do it on her own after he said no, putting them both at risk.

“This is all my fault,” she mumbled.

“Pretty sure it was the blonde with the big knife, but you’re sweet to worry.”

“I am worried,” she insisted. “You’re clammy, I think you’re running a fever.”

She leaned over to feel his forehead—it didn’t seem hot, but she couldn’t be sure when his skin was so cool to begin with.

“Tess,” he whispered, looking up at her. He brought his hand to hers, holding it against his face—her whole body started to feel warm. They were so close together; if she moved forward, even a few inches, her mouth would be on his. Was that what he wanted? Or was he remembering his exploits with Isobel too? Had he known, even back then, that he was going to destroy Isobel one day? Had Rick always known that he was going to destroy Tess? No, fuck, she couldn’t think about any of this—

“We need to get back to the compound,” Tess said, sitting up straight and shoving Callum’s hand away—it thudded to the ground, and he didn’t respond at all.

“Callum?” she asked, but he didn’t move. “Callum?”

She gave his shoulder a little shove; he was really out of it, eyes closed and mumbling something incoherent. She tried to regulate her breathing—she had to figure out a way back to Nantale’s. But how was she supposed to lift Callum onto the horse? What would she do if Althea came back and Callum wasn’t conscious, let alone able to fight to protect her? And even if she got him safely back to the compound, what would the rest of the clan do when they saw he was injured? Would they accept her word for what happened, or would they hold her accountable—and punish her accordingly? She was only supposed to be here to deliver a fucking message, and now it felt like absolutely anything she did would probably lead to her death. How had this spiraled so out of hand so quickly?

Panic clouded Tess’s senses. Every nerve in her body was screaming that there was only one reasonable thing to do in this moment, that she needed to stop thinking and do it, right fucking now.

She found Artie in a matter of seconds, and soon they were flying down the Isle’s eastern coast, jagged cliffs dropping off to her left as bright sunshine spilled over the churning lilac river. It didn’t take long for the hulking mass of the crystal bridge to come into view, and Tess urged Artie to canter even faster, to get there sooner, to get the hell off this island and out of danger. Callum was going to be fine—he was literally immortal—and he wasn’t her damn responsibility anyway, she’d already done more than enough to help him.