Page 132 of Hunted to Be Mine
His pupils swallowed the silver in his eyes. He lifted his ruined hand anyway and cupped my face, thumb catching tears. “You won’t.”
I kissed him. Blood, sweat, life. His mouth was cold from the air and warmed fast. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was necessary.
I pulled away first, breath fogging in the bitter air. Fresh crimson seeped through the slice across his palm.
He tried to draw his hand back. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. You’re bleeding over both of us.” I caught his wrist and turned the hand over. The cut ran diagonally across the palm, deep enough for stitches when we had a safe place to do it. First priority: stop the bleeding.
I folded my scarf into a thick pad and pressed it to the worst of it. He didn’t flinch, but tension pulled through his forearm as I tightened the pressure.
“Hold this.” I guided his other hand to clamp down while I wrapped the remaining length, tucking the ends until it held.
He watched me the entire time, gaze intent enough to knot something in my chest. “We have to go,” he said, steady now. “Blackout…”
I leaned over the broken lip, keeping my balance by bracing the cast to my body. The drop to the next landing was at least fifteen feet. Another twenty to the water and the machines below. Noise pounded—water driving through sluices, gears grinding, alarms wailing. Steam surged up from below, red pulses from emergency lights strobing through the haze.
“Do you see anything?” Wolfe asked. One hand steadied the small of my back; the other held the makeshift bandage in place.
“There.” A dark form sprawled on a maintenance landing below. “On the lower level.”
Blackout lay on his back, one arm hanging over the side. Even in the dim wash of red, a glossy pool gathered under him.
“He’s not moving,” I said. “I think he’s still breathing.”
Wolfe drew me from the edge. “We need to get down there.”
“Is there another way?”
“Service ladder.” He nodded toward metal rungs bolted into the wall. “Can you manage with that arm?”
I took in the ladder and my useless left. “Not happening. We need another route.”
He swept the catwalk with a quick look and pointed to a maintenance stairwell across the walkway. “That drops to the landing.”
We moved with care over frost-slick grating. I kept one hand on the rail. He stayed close, angled to catch me if I slipped.
Blackout hadn’t moved. Up close, the damage was worse—blood saturating his tactical gear, a deep split across his brow.
I dropped to my knees. Training took over. Fingers to his neck, finding a weak thrum. “Alive,” I said. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Sirens bled into the factory noise, growing louder. Responders tripping the station alarms.
“Time’s almost up,” Wolfe said, checking his watch. “Less than five minutes.”
I didn’t look away from Blackout. “We can’t leave him like this.”
“We don’t have a choice.” The line in his voice tightened. “We can’t take him. He wouldn’t make it.”
I studied the slack, blood-smeared face, searching past the mess for the man behind it. With his eyes closed, the brutal vacancy was gone. He looked younger. Human.
“He fought it,” I said. “You saw it. The glitches. The way he fought the trigger words.”
Wolfe’s jaw tightened. “I saw.”
“He’s starting to break through, like you did.” I examined the head wound with careful fingers. “If we walk away and Dresner gets here first…”
“They’ll reset him completely.” Wolfe’s mouth thinned. “Or worse.”
