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In the kitchen, we lower Kody onto the table.
“Do you have blood bags?” She asks Denver as she guides my hand to the packed wound on Kody’s leg. “Keep a steady pressure here. Don’t let up, okay?”
“Okay.” I replace her touch with mine as a coppery stench leaks from the injury, stuffing itself down my nose.
His features don’t stir, no matter how hard I press. I can’t bear to see him like this. His shallow breathing, his stillness, so many punctures and slices dribbling blood—it’s haunting, drudging up old grief and threatening to buckle my knees.
“No blood bags.” Denver studies her, his tone inhumanly cool. “Can you save him?”
“I’ll do a direct transfusion.” She shoves slippery red hands into her hair, smoothing the tangles into a ponytail. “I need an 18-gauge IV catheter and tubing.” Her arms drop, her features hard and glistening with gore. “I know you have those things in your arsenal of poisons and tranquilizers.” Her voice matches her glare. “Get them.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Nope.”
“Very well.” He turns and disappears down the hall.
She flexes and bends her fingers as if the joints aren’t working right.
“How long were your hands exposed to the cold?” I narrow my eyes.
“I’m fine. Keep pressure on that wound while I strip him.”
She’s not fine. She’s a thousand times better than fine. And the finest treasures in the world should be looked after and safeguarded.
Wolf rushes in with an armload of supplies, panting and wild-eyed. She instructs him on where to place things as she cuts away Kody’s tattered clothes, stripping everything from his body.
“When Denver returns…” She pulls off his boots and socks. “I need you two to keep your cool. If he touches me—”
“No.” I straighten. “I won’t allow—”
“You won’t do anything. I have one job right now, and that’s keeping Kody alive. No brawling while I work. Promise me.”
I grit my teeth.
“I’ll keep him in line, Miss Nightingale.” Wolf captures my gaze, daring me to argue.
“Thank you.” She shifts her attention to Kody’s nude form, drawing a towel over his groin as she examines each and every laceration gouging his body.
“Wolf.” I adjust my grip on Kody’s wound. “Frankie wasn’t wearing gloves. Will you—?”
“Yes, I was.” She rubs her palms on her thighs. “I just…I don’t know when they came off. But I don’t have frostbite.”
“Let me see.” Wolf catches her wrists and pulls her close, tucking her blood-stained hands between their bodies. “I’ll warm them for a minute, okay?”
She nods absently, her vigilant gaze never leaving Kody.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“The thigh wound is the worst. The bleeding is controlled for now. But his temperature is still too low.” She starts to pull away.
“One more minute.” Wolf holds her in place. “Then I’ll get a fire going.”
“I need to cover him with blankets and get that transfusion started.” Her words are rushed as she bounces on her toes. “Every minute counts.”
He won’t be able to detain her much longer. I give him a nod.
“I’ll see to that fire.” He lets her go and dashes toward the fireplace.
Immediately, she buries Kody beneath towels and blankets. As she wraps the last one around his feet, she shouts, “Denver!”
“Here.” He jogs into the kitchen, carrying all manner of tubing, syringes, and IV catheters from wherever he keeps his kidnapping kit.
“Stand there.” She points at the spot beside Kody’s shoulder. “Remove your shirt.”
Shucking off her coat, she darts to the sink to scrub her hands and arms.
Fatigue weighs her down. I see it everywhere, dragging down her shoulders, shaking her gaunt frame, and etching lines around her colorless lips.
She doesn’t do a damn thing to take care of herself, but she’ll work tirelessly to take care of us.
It’s instinct to go to her, to hold her hand and stroke her hair. And I will. Once she’s finished, I’m going to lift her off her feet and hold her while she sleeps.
Scrubbed from elbows to fingertips until her skin glows, she returns, preps the supplies, and reaches for Denver’s arm.
He ignores the needle in her hand to cast a lazy perusal over her tight little sports bra and leggings.
I growl like a rabid dog, which only serves to draw a sickening smirk on his face.
He’s going to die a very slow, painful death.
Without warning, she stabs the needle into his arm, making him hiss.
Good.
She’s all business, focusing on the transfusion, but I imagine she’s thinking about all the times he shoved needles into her flesh. With any luck, she’ll drain him until he passes out.
“Keep your arm up and let gravity do the work.” She positions his elbow above Kody, muttering something about priming the line.
The speed with which she works is mind-blowing as she connects a valve to the tubing, inserts the other end into Kody’s arm, and administers saline to them both.
