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Work on the ranch with the horses back home had kept me in pretty good shape. My upper body strength was solid.
“I can do this,” I whispered to myself.
“Yes. You can,” came Gahn Errok’s surprising reply. Surprising because I hadn’t really realized I’d said my previous sentence out loud.
And surprising because of the sincere belief in his words.
He sounded... Encouraging. Maybe evenkind.
Gahn Errok believing in the abilities of someone other than himself? Must be the blood loss turning his brain into mush. I better get this done fast.
Without another word, I gritted my teeth, widened the stance of my knees on the bed, and started to pull. A sharply physical memory of playing tug o’war as a kid resurfaced in my body. Only this time, I wasn’t playing an innocent game with friends. I was fighting for this man’s life.
The arrow began to move. So fucking slowly, it slid back through Gahn Errok’s body. Sweat beaded on my brow as I pulled.
Gahn Errok hissed, his tail jerking weakly on the bed between us. His claws sank into the hides as he attempted to lean forward to hurry up the process.
There was a ragged grunt of pain, and his movements ceased.
Instinctively, I started talking to him, without even thinking about it, the way I’d talk to a frightened or injured horse.
Obviously, he wasn’t a damn horse. He was more than seven feet of lethal, arrogant alien muscle. A man with more power than almost anyone else I’d ever encountered, and the ego to match.
But pain could make even the strongest of us into something other than ourselves. And there was something to be said for the instinct and nostalgia of muscle memory. The comfort of words from home suddenly finding their way to my lips, even if they were translated into another language.
“That’s it, there you go. You’ll be alright, sweet thing,” I crooned between pants of exertion. “Steady, steady there. It won’t be much longer.”
I wasn’t sure if I was talking to Gahn Errok now, or myself. Maybe both of us.
“Not much longer now,” I repeated. “Almost there, sweetheart.”
The arrow surged out of him in a torrent of blood.
I gasped, dropping it in shock.
Shit! Get the stuff!
I twisted to the side, snatching up the Vrika’s blood. Thankfully, even in his state, Gahn Errok was faster than me. He pressed the soaked gauze to his chest, slumping forward, while I sloshed Vrika’s blood onto the wound at his back.
For a long, agonizing moment, I couldn’t see what was happening. The white Vrika’s blood mixed with his dark blood, creating a pulsing, greyish ooze that flowed down his back.
I added some more Vrika’s blood, thankful that Warrek had given us such a big jar. I still needed some for his front, too. That little bit on the gauze wouldn’t be enough.
Yes!
The new Vrika’s blood had rinsed some of the bloodied stuff away. Already, I could see that the flow of blood had been vastly reduced. I patted his back dry with clean gauze, then added another slosh of Vrika’s blood for good measure.
It’s working.
Satisfied that the bleeding from his back was taken care of, I hurried around to his front, still moving on my knees.
Once again, all his hair was in the way. I tossed it behind his shoulder.
“Move your hand,” I whispered.
I needn’t have said it. Gahn Errok’s eyes squeezed shut, and his hand slid down his body, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
He slumped further forward, colliding with me, his forehead on my shoulder.
