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God, that feels like a million years ago now. “Sit,” I say, pointing at one of the tables and chairs. “I’ll clean and bandage it.”
He’s silent for so long that I don’t think he will. But after several seconds, I hear him cross the room, drag a metal chair across the floor, and presumably sit.
Just please don’t let him ask me if I know what I’m doing because I don’t have a fucking clue.
After rifling through the first aid box, I grab a handful of bandages and tape before turning to face Kade.
He’s sitting the wrong way around on the metal chair, his legs on either side of the back and one elbow resting on it. When I glimpse the state of his back again, my anger at Dariel grows, eating away at my anxiety about hurting Kade instead of helping him.
I cross over and dump the bandages and tape on the table beside him before making my way over to the tiny kitchenette.
“You sure you got enough bandages?” Kade calls after me.
“Is he crazy?” I ask as I dampen a cloth in the sink.
Kade doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “No.”
I wring out the water from the towel. “So it’s just his wolf? Or does he want me gone so badly that dead is just as good as gone?”
He doesn’t speak as I return with my damp cloth.
In the few seconds I’ve been away, the edges of the deep claw wounds have already begun to seal.
“Dariel doesn’t know what he wants.”
After taking in a deep breath, I release it and lift the cloth to his back, dabbing gently at the blood. “It seemed pretty clear what he wanted. Me gone.”
Kade holds so still that I’m not even sure he’s breathing. And after a moment, I pause with my dabbing. “Am I hurting you?”
A long silence. “No,” he says, his voice strained.
I pause. “I am.”
“No,” he says distinctly. “You’re not.”
When he says nothing else, I carry on until the wounds are as clean as I can make them.
After tossing the towel to one side, I reach for a bandage.
Kade’s hand lashes out, gripping my wrist.
My eyes dart to his. Have I gone for the wrong bandage and made him realize I have no idea what I’m doing? “What?”
He peers over his shoulder at me. “Why are you here?”
I gulp at the intensity simmering in his eyes. “You’re hurt. Because of me, so I—”
“No. I’m hurt because of Dariel.”
I feel my face tighten at his name.
Kade angles his head. “You don’t like him.”
“Not particularly,” I say, tugging at his hand so he knows I want him to release me. But his grip doesn’t loosen the least bit.
“Why not?”
I stare at him, trying not to think about the blame Dariel flung at me. Or about how everything that happened to me was my fault. That I deserved it. So, of course, that’s what I end up doing. Thinking about it.
