Page 17 of Never Tamed
You want to fuck? I’mdefinitelyyour guy.
But this tender shit? The doctoring and the nurturing and the saving?
“Do something,” I bark at Mathis. “Your dad taught you all the first aid, Boy Scout stuff. Right?”
The sound of my voice jerks Mathis out of whatever crap he had swirling in his head. He nods and kneels beside me, nudging me out of the way with his shoulder.
His fingers skim the side of Red’s face down to her neck to check her pulse point. A low keening starts behind us and it takes me a second to realize Torin’s making the sound.
Oh how far the mighty fucking fall.
Mathis tears open Red’s borrowed shirt and the shadows aren’t dark enough to disguise the long, angry looking slice down her side. The wound leaks blood like a steady drip from a faucet.
“I’m going to need something to press against the wound to stop the bleeding. Maybe some kind of comfrey or calendula if there’s anything around.”
“In this wasteland? You’ve got a better chance of finding a needle,” Torin snaps.
“A needle might be our best option to sew the wound shut while she heals. Get the jacket off her so we can see what we’re really working with.”
I fidget nervously, watching Mathis dust off those rusty first aid skills. We have to get out of here. Fast.
The longer we stay in this prison of metal and concrete, the easier it is for me to lose it.
The familiar humming begins in the deep recesses of my mind, turning into strains of the melody, and I stop. A chill races down my spine.
Oh no. Not again.
I need to get out of here. I can’t afford to lose it now.
Shaking, full body, I try to dislodge it before bolting from the storage container.
Mathis, Noble, and Torin have it covered here. They don’t need me around to mess everything the hell up. It’s better for Mathis if I’m not there to make his loss of control worse. Better for Red if she has the space to heal.
Torin scowls at me on my way past, but I ignore them all, taking off to the water. If I have to soak my head until I drown then I'll do it.
I’ll do it.
Chapter 5
Noble
The container groans in the wind, the metal walls cold even with our combined body heat.
It smells like rust, salt, and damp fur—like desperation.
I lean back against the corrugated steel, trying to keep pressure off my leg, which still burns and throbs as the bone knits together again. Every beat of agony makes my vision pulse with it. I can’t tell if my rib’s cracked too or if it just feels that way. Probably both.
My mate is still at my side, and I cling to her, clutching her close.
The others are quiet. Dax has been gone for an hour and who knows what trouble he’s getting into here in this crumbling concrete jungle.
Mathis paces the narrow aisle between me, Torin, and Ren like he’s trying not to crawl out of his skin. He’s the same as Dax. His wolf doesn’t belong here in a steel coffin, away from trees and open sky. He keeps glancing at me—at my leg—then away again like he’s trying to do something about it through sheer force of will.
The bond between us crackles faintly, like a dying radio signal. Broken, battered, but still alive.
First aid. A needle. A hope and an unheard prayer.
My mind snags on the word, and I jolt upright.
