Don’t look at it.
Looking at the wound acknowledges the severity of it. I don’t want to examine the rough skin where he bit down and shook, tearing through things I didn’t need torn. Especially not when I still have no clue if he’s got the curse.
IfI’vegot the curse.
If Grayson was infected, then odds are good I’ll be moon-mad, too.
“Okay.” I shake my head from side to side and swallow, slowly letting the constriction in my throat ease. “There’s no sense worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. What do we do now? We look for first aid.”
I’ll have to stop the bleeding until my immune system kicks in to knit my skin together.
No hunter worth his salt—and the cabin has to belong to a hunter of some kind—goes without a first aid kit. There are too many variables out in the wild to leave things to chance.
A second doorway leads to a bathroom with a utilitarian shower and a small box of a vanity. The lighted mirror swings open to reveal a medicine cabinet tucked into the wall, making use of the space.
“Cabins in the woods belong to hunters or hermits.” I talk myself through the search, trembling. “Either one will have supplies. What happens if they get a splinter? Or hurt themselves cutting firewood?”
Which only begs the question—where is the owner?
The medicine cabinet yields nothing, but behind a stack of towels in the vanity, I catch a flash of white and red. The rectangular kit is stocked with bandaids and gauze, along with an assortment of antibacterial creams.
My fingers refuse to work to tear the package open for the alcohol wipe. Holding it between my teeth, I rip, shaking the pad out and steeling myself.
“You’ve had injuries before. Hell, this isn’t the first time you’ve been bitten. You remember the time Holly nipped you on the leg?”
My sister was only into her second shift and wasn’t in full control of her wolf yet. She’d gotten too excited about something and took it out on me. A love nip, she always insists when I bring it up.
“This is nothing.”
My stomach heaves when I finally look at the puncture. Grayson tore deep grooves in my skin that pump fresh blood with movement. It’s impossible to be clinical about it.
My head spins and that queasy feeling gets stronger until it chokes me in a death grip. I fall backward and hit the towel rack on the opposite wall, knocking it free with a clatter.
“I can do this.”
I don’t sound convinced.
Somehow I manage to get the edges of the wound clean but there isn’t enough gauze to wrap around the area. Instead, I grab one of the fresh white washcloths from the pile of towels and wrap it around my forearm, securing it with tape.
It’s not a great solution but it works until I heal myself.
The reflection in the grimy mirror shows carved out eyes smeared with blood and dirt like bruises across my face. Knotted hair is plastered to the top of my head and somewhere in the rat’s nest, leaves stick together with what I assume is algae from the tunnel we took to escape the vampire’s manor.
“What do we do?”
There’s no answer from my reflection.
I need Grayson to plan on what to do next, because I can’t leave him. And I can’t make it out there on my own with a moon-mad wolf prowling near the cabin.
I rip my attention from the mirror and swing open the door to the hush of night.
Wherever the creature went, he’s gone for now.
I’ll have to find something to board up the broken window or else other critters will climb in, searching for a place to snuggle.
A low moan sounds from the bedroom. My nerves on edge and I swallow back bile. Grayson’s waking up. Already. Healing fast.
I stare holes through the door and lose my cool when the doorknob rattles.