Page 23 of Little Bunny

His hands trembled slightly as he juggled the bottles, cracking open one and offering it. “Here.”

“Conejito,” Matias warned in a low, tense growl, his voice thick with caution. “He is not himself. Come to me, Elijah.”

Diablo snatched the bottle, tilting it back. The plastic crinkled as he guzzled down the water.

Elijah hurried to open the next bottle and then a third, which Diablo drank more slowly. All the while, the chains clinked in a constant, eerie rhythm.

Up close, Elijah saw the gruesome injuries on Diablo’s wrists—raw and brutal, a grim mix of fresh and dried blood, the edges darkened with bruises. His eyes flicked to the unopened first-aid kit on the table beside Diablo.

With a careful, measured movement, Elijah retrieved it, stepping back cautiously. “May I?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper against the tension-charged air.

Elijah had officially descended into madness. Diablo loomed over him, an imposing figure wrapped in inked muscles. His gaze drilled into Elijah, stretching the moment into an unbearable eternity.

It was like being examined by the embodiment of darkness, and Elijah felt his very soul withering under Diablo’s penetrating stare.

The room was deathly still. Yet, Elijah sensed a silent promise from Matias. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

But the fallout from this was going to be intense.

“Sí.” Diablo’s voice was a deep rumble as he extended his arms.

A piece of the metal had burrowed under Diablo’s skin. Elijah grimaced, working the piece out, feeling horrible for inflicting more pain. “I’m sorry.”

But Diablo didn’t even flinch. He simply stood there watching intently, a metallic, coppery scent lingering around him. It emanated from both Diablo’s blood and his breath, as if he had been sucking on pennies.

The chains hit the floor with a harsh clatter. Elijah wanted to wrap them around whoever had done this to Diablo. What did it say about his life if he hadn’t even winced?

What are you doing? You have no medical training! Except for the time he’d had to patch Percy up when his best friend had shown up on his doorstep, battered and bruised.

Carter had been violent, leaving Percy with a split lip and deep, angry scratches on his arms. Carter had tried to restrain him, only for Percy to tear himself free.

Elijah used the last bottle of water, watching as it cascaded over the wounds, mingling with blood before splattering onto the floor.

The first-aid kit was surprisingly well stocked. He applied ointment with meticulous care, wrapping gauze around Diablo’s wrists then securing it with tape. Throughout the entire process, Diablo watched Elijah in silence.

Miraculously, Elijah’s hands remained steady despite the pressure of Diablo’s gaze.

When the final piece of medical tape was pressed into place, Diablo inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, conejito.”

Oh, hell no!

“Elijah. My name is Elijah, not bunny,” he corrected. Surrounded by wolves, Elijah refused to be perceived as prey.

Even if he was.

Diablo’s lips curled into a subtle smile. “Thank you, Elijah.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned away, focusing on tidying the small mess on the table.

But it was more than just cleaning.

Too many eyes were on him, as if he’d performed some miraculous feat. All he’d done was bandage a wound.

A trained chimp could’ve done it.

When Elijah finally glanced over his shoulder, Matias was watching him through the crowd of men. And Elijah swore he saw a touch of pride in the man’s light brown gaze.

* * * *

---