Page 36 of Ruthless Alpha Beast
“Make sure I’m not disturbed.” That's all I say.
My pack seeing me like this isn’t good. I need to heal alone.
Once I get back to my cabin after having taken a couple of back routes, I’m about to collapse on the couch when two small hands steady me.
I almost forgot.
“Oh, my Goodness!” Tara yells, “You look awful. What the hell happened to you?”
At first, she looks shocked as though she’s just seen a ghost (or a shadow monster). From the look on her face, I realize that I must truly look like shit.
Then she looks concerned, those hazel eyes anxiously darting around my face and body.
I didn’t know what I expected, but I didn’t exactly expect her to care.
“I’m fine,” I murmur.
“No, you’re not,” she says, guiding me to the couch, where I wince as I sit down. Again, I'm not too happy for anyone to see me like this. But especially not her. Why does she care?
Tara traces her hands across my face and looks horrified by the crimson blood smeared on her fingertips.
“This is serious,” she exclaims. “I have to. Gosh. I have to get help.”
I shake my head. “No help.”
“Fine, thenI’mhelping.”
It dawns on me that Tara is not only human but also a very sensitive soul. She’s probably never seen someone return from battle like this; she’s probably never had to confront this much blood.
I suppose I understand why she’s concerned.
“It’s not a big deal, Tara,” I tell her, leaning back on the couch.
Crap, my back. I wince.
“I’m not human,” I say, breathless. “I heal quickly.”
“I don’t care,” she says. “You can’t just wait this out.”
I don’t tell her that she doesn’t understand how it works, partly because I don’t have the energy, and partly because once Tara has her mind set on something, that’s it.
She comes back with towels, hot water, band aids, and cream I didn’t know I had.
She’s hesitant at first, looking at me as though I’m some wounded creature (which perhaps I am), water-soaked towel in hand.
“If you’re going to do it, you should do it,” I laugh. Then I stop laughing. Laughing hurts.
“Oh, hush!” She whispers. “I just don’t want to, like, well, hurt you.”
I shake my head, closing my eyes. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”
I expect her to respond with a sassy counterargument, but she doesn’t. There’s silence.
“Come on,” I tap the side of my face, “come at me. I promise, I’ll keep my eyes shut, I won’t even talk.”
I hear her breath, heavy and slow as she edges toward me. My eyes are still closed. Then I feel her hand.
Well, the towel, but beneath the towel, her hand. She slowly dabs the side of my face, and my body calms.
