I shake my head, untangling myself from them. “No one who’d show up without texting first.”
The knocks come again, louder this time. Mixie grumbles as she jumps off Jared’s lap, vanishing down the hallway.
“Want me to answer?” Jared shifts, ready to stand, but I wave him back.
“I’ve got it.” The hardwood floor chills my bare feet as I pad to the entryway, flicking on the porch light. Through the small window, I catch a glimpse of a tall figure, shoulders hunched against the December showers that had come to melt away the snow from earlier in the week, and my heart gives a single, painful thud.
I pull the door open, words of greeting dying on my lips.
Leif stands on my porch, rain cascading from his hair down his jaw, mingling with what can only be blood from his split lip. His left cheek swells purple beneath his eye, already darkening to the color of a storm cloud. His navy coat hangs askew, buttoned out of alignment.
“Em.” My name from his mouth comes out wet and thick, his lip reopening with the effort of speaking.
“Inside.” I grab his elbow, guiding him across the threshold, and the porch light illuminates him as he passes beneath it, revealing pale skin gone waxy with shock and a tremor in his hands that he can’t quite control.
I peer past him into the rain to find his car parked at the curb. “Did you drive here in this condition?”
“Didn’t know where else to go,” he slurs as he stumbles into the cottage, rain puddling beneath his shoes on my hardwood floor.
At the sound of Leif’s voice, Jared peers toward the door, then bolts off the couch when he catches sight of the Omega. “What the hell happened?”
Behind him, Grady sets the popcorn bowl aside, his shoulders going rigid with concern.
“Chair,” I direct Leif, steering him toward the dining room without letting go of his arm. “Head between your knees if you need it.”
His legs fold beneath him as he reaches the nearest chair, his body crumpling into the seat. Up close, the damage is worse. The split in his lip is deep enough that I can see the raw flesh beneath, and the bruise on his cheek is spreading toward his eye, which will swell shut by morning if not iced.
“First aid kit,” I tell Jared without turning away from Leif. “And towels.”
Grady appears at my side with a glass of water, which he sets on the table as he takes in the damage done to Leif’s face. “Ice?”
“Yes. And the whiskey.”
While they move around me, I drop to one knee before Leif, lifting his chin with gentle fingers. His focus settles on me, pupils huge with shock, or pain. Probably both. I catalog each injury, compartmentalizing the fury building behind a wall of necessary tasks.
Split lip, clean break, but deep. Bruised cheekbone, no obvious fracture. Scraped knuckles that appear to be rug burns rather than defensive wounds.
“Can you track my finger?” I hold up my index finger, moving it from side to side.
His eyes follow without trouble.
No obvious concussion, thank goodness.
Jared returns with the first-aid kit and a stack of clean towels. I wet one under the faucet and hold it to Leif’s lip with care, the white cotton coming away red.
He hisses but doesn’t pull back.
“What hurts worst?” I ask, holding on to calm despite the rage churning beneath my sternum.
“Pride,” he manages, wincing as fresh blood leaks from his lip.
“That wasn’t the question.” I accept the ice pack Grady wraps in a dish towel, pressing it to Leif’s cheek. “Hold this here.”
His fingers brush mine as he takes over, holding the ice pack, cold from the outdoors still clinging to his skin. For three heartbeats, I allow myself the relief of his presence, alive and whole enough to sit in my home. Then I lock that emotion away to deal with later.
I clean each wound with gentle care, helping him out of his damp jacket to check for further injuries. The blood on his shirt feeds my rage, but the split lip seems to be the source.
The familiar motions of first aid anchor me to the present, keeping the storm inside me contained while I work. Hydrogen peroxide bubbles white on his injuries before I pat them dry. Butterfly bandages close the worst part of his lip. Antibiotic ointment gleams on his knuckles before I wrap them in clean gauze.