Drawing Blood by C.D. Breadner

Author:C.D. Breadner [Breadner, C.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-01-09T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-One

Abigail

Abigail bound the bandage to David’s leg once they were alone again, using the gauze to secure it in place. He sat complacently and let her work. His quiet was likely what she found most comforting about him. When he wasn’t entertaining anyone else he was pleasant to be around.

“I really don’t want you to go upstairs again,” she said with that rough edge to her voice. “But the bathroom is up there. So … please be careful this time.”

He nodded. Abigail took another look at the stitches in the bullet wound. It was healing perfectly, front and back. There was no discolouration to his skin at all.

He took her hand, pressing it to the centre of his chest. Abigail frowned at him. “David.”

“Thank you. You’re taking such good care of me. I’m sorry I made a mess of your kitchen.”

They stared at each other for too long, and Abigail tried to fight that tenderness she felt develop in the centre of her chest. The moment broke when the house seemed to shake with the sound of airplanes overhead. They both looked up stupidly at the ceiling.

“The angels of death are starting the invasion,” David muttered absently. Abigail just nodded. He let go of her hand and stood up. “I’ll see if I can get up to bed on my own. Are you sure I can’t help clean up?”

Abigail hadn’t felt this exhausted in a long time. She shook her head, rubbing her temple. “No, I can -”

“You know what? I’ll help.”

“No, you can’t even crouch down.”

“Please, save your voice. It sounds like it hurts.”

She stood up too, took his arm, and started helping him to the stairs. When she put an arm around his waist to help him up that first step she became aware he was shirtless for the first time. His arm went around her shoulders, and Abigail closed her eyes against the flood of hormones that washed over her with his warmth and scent. She had been more used to having James around than she thought, and having these men in her house was bringing it all back. She’d been so carefully keeping everyone out—especially men.

Murphy caught them on the third step. He took over for her, and Abigail returned to her kitchen. She looked down at the smeared blood on her hands, then she looked at the far wall, where a lot of Phillipe’s head was splattered, and the puddle that had started to dry on the floor.

She was a nurse. She’d seen so much blood already, but this was someone she had known.

Abigail collected the mop bucket from the cellar and started to run warm water. She got a rag from under the sink, a square cut from a pair of her father’s old work pants, rinsed the blood off her hands then went to work on the wall. There were bits of bone in the blood and other tissue. She had to close her eyes a few times when she felt her stomach heave.

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