Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
The door burst open and Vero hauled an unconscious and bleeding Paxton inside, dragging him over to heft onto the doctor’s desk chair.
“Paxton,” Hope cried out, rushing around her cousins to reach him.
Vero staggered back, blood flowing from a wound in his forehead. “Another bomb detonated, and we jumped out the window. I landed on him.” Vero winced and a cut in his lip bled freely. Burns, bruises, and broken bones showed down his right side.
“Are you sure you landed on him?” Lyrica pushed him into one of the two guest chairs. They only had one more chair left if anybody else came in wounded. “You look like a truck landed on you both. We need to get you a bed.”
“I don’t need a bed,” he growled. “How bad is he?”
Hope touched Paxton’s face and brushed back his thick, black hair. She ran her fingers down his neck, torso, and legs as he slumped in the chair, his head against the wall.
“Here.” Lyrica rushed to fetch another blanket from the basket.
“Thanks.” Hope covered him, careful of his left side. “I feel a few broken ribs, obvious contusion from a lump above his ear, and probably some internal damage.”
The air heated and swept around the room.
Hope’s eyes widened as she looked around. “Apparently, his healing cells have gone into action.”
“Good,” Vero grunted, sitting in the chair. The fire and explosion had burned away much of his jeans and sweater, leaving raw skin and wounded flesh visible.
Lyrica grabbed the final blanket and brought it over. “Here. You need to stay warm.” She leaned in to look at the bleeding wound on his head and the room began to swim.
“Whoa. Take a deep breath.” He grabbed her arm.
“Sorry, not great with blood,” she said. “I think we need to stitch that up.”
He leaned in, his blue eyes intense. Lighter than normal. Icy. “No, I’m fine, and my blood will burn you. Toss me a cotton ball.”
Lyrica’s stomach dropped, but she turned away to rummage in one of the drawers for gauze. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He took the bunch and slapped the mass onto his head. The flimsy material immediately turned red with blood.
She reached for the hand he wasn’t hiding from her. “What injuries do you have?”
“Minor concussion. The explosion knocked me out for a brief moment before I came to and hauled him in here.” Vero pulled free and reached behind his back to pull out a weapon. “Who’s guarding this place? I didn’t see anybody out front. I gave orders.”
Lyrica’s eyes widened. “Nobody is guarding the front?”
“No,” Vero bit out. “However, it’s entirely possible that after the explosion, they went to see who was harmed. I saw a couple of people down but getting back up. We were the only ones in the actual explosion.” He turned the chair, winced as pain no doubt engulfed his damaged body, and aimed his gun at the only door. “Hope, do you have any weapons on you?”
“No.” She stared at her cousins, who’d arrived wearing only boxers. “Nobody here has any weapons other than yours.”
“Fantastic,” Vero growled, looking furious and deadly even though blood poured from several injuries in his chest. The blanket fell down to his waist. He shifted, pain in his eyes.
Lyrica felt a desperate urge to assist him. “What do you need?”
“Help me remove this shirt, would you?”
She blinked. “Okay.”
No doubt the material continued burning him in several areas, and he probably needed his skin free. The cool air would hopefully soothe some of the burns.
She reached for the bottom of his shirt and gently lifted up. He gave her one arm and then the other, and she pulled it over his head. Truth be told, she’d imagined taking his shirt off before, but not like this. Whoa. Muscle, dangerously cut, shifted beneath his skin. Yet the wounds kept pouring out blood.
Her gaze caught on a piece of wood that had embedded itself in his heart, with only a small bit still visible. “Oh my God.” Panic grabbed her. She took a step back, stumbling and slipping on a chunk of ice and falling to her knees.
“Whoa.” He reached down and grasped her arm, lifting her up even though it appeared as if one of his wrist bones poked through his skin. It was like he didn’t even notice.
She stood. “How are you breathing? Did the stake not go through your heart?”
In answer, he slowly looked down to see the wedge of wood poking out of his skin. “Huh?”
Hope snorted behind Lyrica.
“What?” Lyrica snarled. “It’s not funny. There might as well be a stake in his heart.”
“A stake?” Hope looked at her unconscious mate overwhelming the chair. “I know it’s not funny.” She chuckled. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes filled with merriment that glowed in her pale face.
Vero snorted, but pain rode the sound.