bathroom, made his way in, and flicked on the light. A wooden shelf stood off to one side, lined with linens and other womanly stuff. He grabbed a couple of towels and a washcloth, which he quickly ran under some warm water, then headed back to the girl. He sat on the edge of the bed and took a good look at her.
Blood ran down the side of her face from a nasty gash on her forehead. He dabbed the cloth and carefully wiped the blood away. Her coat would have to come off so he could assess the rest of her.
He pulled off the mitten from her left hand then reached over her to pull off the right one and tossed them to the floor. Next, he unzipped her coat and pushed it open. He sucked in a sharp breath and ran his palms over her chest, trying not to notice her large, firm breasts as he scanned her for injuries. At least the bitches had left him with his Divine power.
No broken ribs, but she was bruised and had a few bites. He moved down her abdomen and sighed, relieved there were no internal injuries. He continued along her thighs until he reached her feet. No broken bones, but the laceration on her leg looked like a bite. He needed to get her undressed so he could get a closer look at her wounds. They would have to be tended or risk festering into an infection.
First, he pulled off her boots and couldn’t help admire her tiny feet. He then carefully propped her up against his chest, pulled her arms through the jacket, and tossed it to the side. He laid her back down. Maybe he’d cut the sweater off instead of pulling it over her head. Heading back to the bathroom, he rifled through drawers and cabinets, looking for a first aid kit. When he found one, he returned to the bed and proceeded to make a cut up the front of her sweater.
“Well sweetheart, I hope you’re not too attached to this piece of clothing.” He pulled the fabric open and swore. Both at the fact that her breasts looked like heaven swathed in black lace, and at the punctures from the hound’s canines that had slipped between two ribs. The fucking hound must have tossed her around like a rag doll.
His rage stirred, and he wanted to kill the creature again, but he shoved it down and moved on to her jeans. Again, he took the scissors and cut up the side of each pant leg until the jeans were cut in half. He removed the top part then pulled the bottom half out from under her. He tried to focus on the wound on her thigh and not the small scrap of lace that covered her sex.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and examined the bite. The hound had sunk its fangs deep into the muscle, but at least there was no tearing. He pulled out a bottle of iodine and dabbed the wound. She thrashed, and a moan escaped her lips. Probably from the sting, he touched his fingers to her forehead and whispered, sending Divine energy to put her into a deep sleep. After bandaging her wounds, he pulled the covers up over her, already missing the sight of her curves.
With her settled in, he finally saw to his own wounds. The open gashes left by the hound were nearly healed. Only crusted blood remained. He looked back at the girl who would be in an induced sleep for hours and decided he’d risk a shower.
7
E li had showered and rummaged through the modest home looking for any clothes he could wear. No such luck, so he’d washed his jeans in hopes of getting the blood off and now waited for them to dry. He stoked the fire and checked on the girl still in a deep sleep. The sun peeked over the horizon and he grew anxious.
Twenty-nine days left to find his humanity.
Right.
How did they expect him to do that in the middle of the Alaskan tundra?
He stared out the window and watched the snow begin to fall. His senses told him a big storm was brewing, and his mind wandered back to the girl. Something about her stirred an age-old instinct to protect her, and it was more than simply duty. He’d looked for clues as to her identity and found a letter on the table addressed to Ashley. It had
Blood ran down the side of her face from a nasty gash on her forehead. He dabbed the cloth and carefully wiped the blood away. Her coat would have to come off so he could assess the rest of her.
He pulled off the mitten from her left hand then reached over her to pull off the right one and tossed them to the floor. Next, he unzipped her coat and pushed it open. He sucked in a sharp breath and ran his palms over her chest, trying not to notice her large, firm breasts as he scanned her for injuries. At least the bitches had left him with his Divine power.
No broken ribs, but she was bruised and had a few bites. He moved down her abdomen and sighed, relieved there were no internal injuries. He continued along her thighs until he reached her feet. No broken bones, but the laceration on her leg looked like a bite. He needed to get her undressed so he could get a closer look at her wounds. They would have to be tended or risk festering into an infection.
First, he pulled off her boots and couldn’t help admire her tiny feet. He then carefully propped her up against his chest, pulled her arms through the jacket, and tossed it to the side. He laid her back down. Maybe he’d cut the sweater off instead of pulling it over her head. Heading back to the bathroom, he rifled through drawers and cabinets, looking for a first aid kit. When he found one, he returned to the bed and proceeded to make a cut up the front of her sweater.
“Well sweetheart, I hope you’re not too attached to this piece of clothing.” He pulled the fabric open and swore. Both at the fact that her breasts looked like heaven swathed in black lace, and at the punctures from the hound’s canines that had slipped between two ribs. The fucking hound must have tossed her around like a rag doll.
His rage stirred, and he wanted to kill the creature again, but he shoved it down and moved on to her jeans. Again, he took the scissors and cut up the side of each pant leg until the jeans were cut in half. He removed the top part then pulled the bottom half out from under her. He tried to focus on the wound on her thigh and not the small scrap of lace that covered her sex.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and examined the bite. The hound had sunk its fangs deep into the muscle, but at least there was no tearing. He pulled out a bottle of iodine and dabbed the wound. She thrashed, and a moan escaped her lips. Probably from the sting, he touched his fingers to her forehead and whispered, sending Divine energy to put her into a deep sleep. After bandaging her wounds, he pulled the covers up over her, already missing the sight of her curves.
With her settled in, he finally saw to his own wounds. The open gashes left by the hound were nearly healed. Only crusted blood remained. He looked back at the girl who would be in an induced sleep for hours and decided he’d risk a shower.
7
E li had showered and rummaged through the modest home looking for any clothes he could wear. No such luck, so he’d washed his jeans in hopes of getting the blood off and now waited for them to dry. He stoked the fire and checked on the girl still in a deep sleep. The sun peeked over the horizon and he grew anxious.
Twenty-nine days left to find his humanity.
Right.
How did they expect him to do that in the middle of the Alaskan tundra?
He stared out the window and watched the snow begin to fall. His senses told him a big storm was brewing, and his mind wandered back to the girl. Something about her stirred an age-old instinct to protect her, and it was more than simply duty. He’d looked for clues as to her identity and found a letter on the table addressed to Ashley. It had
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