Some of the light died in her eyes. “He’s alive, but still unconscious. Doc Hayek said you saved his life, but now it’s up to the wulf to heal him.”
“His skull is fractured.” I didn’t say it as a question.
“Yes. The doc doesn’t know if there will be damage, either from the fracture or the loss of blood.”
I contemplated that information. “He’s too stubborn to die.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Josh?”
“Chloe attacked him. He defended himself. Chloe is dead.”
I closed my eyes, remembering her thick, rich brown hair and inviting smile. Yet the pain I felt wasn’t so much for her, but for the woman I’d thought she’d been. That woman didn’t exist.
“I’m sorry,” she said. The words were well meant, but not necessary.
“She tried to kill Peter.” For me, it was as simple as that. “How’s Josh?” I thought of the gentle man, the caregiver, having to put down Chloe.
“Not good.” Sam’s expression showed regret. “He’s not an enforcer. Not that taking someone down is ever easy, but we deal. Josh is having a hard time with it.”
My body made a bid for attention, enhancing awareness of my nakedness beneath the sheets. “I—uh, need to get to the bathroom.”
“I want to check your wounds.” Something in her voice made me look closer at her.
“Bathroom first. Perusal after.” I lifted the sheet and glanced down, grimacing at the bandages covering what I supposed were stitches. “Wow.”
“Most are waterproof if you want a shower.”
Suddenly, the urge to wash became as urgent as the need to empty my bladder. Although my skin had been scrubbed clean around the wounds, dried blood still clung to it for the stretches in between. The sheets were a horror; I’d never get the stains out.
It seemed Sam was a mind reader. “I’ll change your sheets while you take a shower. Can you get up?” She stood and moved beside me, a hand out to assist if I needed it.
My gaze drifted, remembering the last time I saw her.
“Hey. That eyes-up rule holds for when I’m dressed too.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Just ask Garrett what happens when you break the rules.”
“Castration?” I guessed.
She laughed. “So you were awake.”
Not quite sure if she was joking about my becoming a eunuch, I sat up with care. My protesting ribs wiped the thought from my mind, them and a million other injuries to my body, including my head, which ached. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, clutched the sheet to my hips, and stared at her.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, soldier. And recently, at that.”
Heat flooded my face, and she laughed.
“I can manage on my own,” I declared. “I’d appreciate it if you’d turn around.”
“Wulfleng.” Eyes dancing, she grinned and complied. I eased myself out of bed and wobbled across the floor to the bathroom. At the door, I turned and caught her staring at my butt.
“Hey!” I protested.
She arched one russet eyebrow and yanked off the bottom sheet.
I took care of the immediate concern before turning to face myself in the mirror. I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. What I had first considered to be dried blood turned out to be bruises, and they were everywhere. The side of my head was shaved, and a large bandage covered what I determined, with careful poking, to be a deep claw mark, now stitched. My eyes were bloodshot, the surrounding skin puffy and swollen. I had bandages all over, concentrated on my arms, shoulders, and legs. My thighs had actual gouges, and I could feel the dents through the white gauze.
There was more of me bandaged than not. I could smell the rankness of Dillon in my hair and on my body, and I remembered his blood running warm across my face. I shuddered, then winced as the movement hurt my ribs. And everything else.
I got into the shower. Someone had placed a stool in it, so I could sit—well, perch, as I discovered the wound on my butt—while scrubbing. Sam’s done this before. I wondered about the daughter of an enforcer who had become one herself.
By the time I emerged, a towel around my waist, my energy was running on empty. Sam waited outside the bathroom, lending me an arm back to the bed.
“Stay like that,” she said when I sat on the edge. “I’ll check your bandages.”
First she examined the ones along my torso, a painful process but not without its perks as it brought her close enough that I could sense her body heat. She seemed unaffected by my proximity. I couldn’t say the same.
“You know, when Chris told me about you, I pictured you—differently.” Crap, did I just say that?
“And how did you picture me?”
I hesitated. “I think I’ll stop my foot, as it’s on its way to my mouth.”
Sam smiled. “I like you, Liam. You’re smart.”
I regarded her uncertainly. Is that a smile or is she baring her teeth?
“Lie on your stomach,” she ordered.
I stretched out on the clean sheets, and her small capable hands began checking the waterproof seals. She removed two with ruthless efficiency, giving me new bald patches, then patted the stitches beneath with gauze before applying fresh bandages. I protested when she pulled the towel down.
“I have to check the one on your ass. Don’t be such a baby.”
I grimaced as she yanked the bandage from the deep gouge along my butt cheek and dabbed it dry with a gauze pad.
“I think I can leave that one uncovered,” she said, stroking the skin around the cut. “It’s healing. Now turn over.”
My pulse pounded through my aching head, making clarity a scarce commodity. I clutched the towel with a hand and rolled over with exaggerated care. Sam placed pillows behind me so I could sit more
