Iron to Iron (Wolf by Wolf) by Ryan Graudin Page B
Authors: Ryan Graudin
Tags: Romance, Women, Juvenile Fiction / Family - Siblings, Juvenile Fiction / Love &, Juvenile Fiction / Action &, Adventure / General, Juvenile Fiction / Girls &
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Frankfurt?” he asked as she moved to the sink. Her blood flowed down the drain—bold to pink and away. “Let me get some proper disinfectant. I need to go see Nurse Wilhelmina anyway.”
Nurse Wilhelmina—a pretty woman in her early twenties with sun-colored curls—made quick work of bandaging Luka’s wound.
“You boys and your knives,” she tutted. “If all of you just followed the rules, there would be a lot less blood.”
“But a lot fewer visits to the infirmary. I wouldn’t want to cheat you of that!” Luka winked.
It took only a bit more flirting to wheedle an extra bottle of disinfectant, some gauze, and a handful of teeny-tiny bandages from the nurse. By the time Luka returned to the washroom, Adele had mopped up most of the extra blood. She sat on the covered toilet; wads of pinkish toilet paper littered the floor by her biking boots. Luka kicked these aside and knelt close to the wound. The sight of it—six centimeters of parted flesh—made him wince.
Adele didn’t, even when the disinfectant cut into her exposed nerves. Her tolerance for pain was higher than most boys’. Including his own.
“Another few centimeters and that knife…” Luka thought aloud as he applied the bandages. “Adele, what if Takeo had hit an artery?”
“You sound like my brother.” Adele gave an irritated grunt. “If Takeo had hit an artery, then I would’ve bled out on the road, and you would’ve gone on to avenge my death by winning the race.”
She was right. But now all Luka could imagine was Adele sprawled on the road she loved so much, anchored in a pool of her own blood. The image made him shudder.
“I can’t lose you,” he said.
Adele’s arm stiffened beneath his fingers. It was an instantaneous reflex: there and gone. Luka’s touch responded in kind, pulling away to fumble with another tiny wrapper. Wrong. He’d said something wrong. It was too soft, too
feeling
. If she were any other fräulein, he might’ve been able to wink it off, but all the suave coolness Luka had channeled in the infirmary was gone.
“I can’t lose you,” he backpedalled. “Our plan to sabotage Katsuo on the ferry takes two.”
Adele leaned down. Her eyes flowed straight through him.
“We’ll get Katsuo.” These words were formed by lips so close that Luka could count the lines etched in them—a delicate pattern traditionally hidden by lipstick.
Adele lingered. Had she been some Germania sweetheart, Luka wouldn’t have thought twice about kissing her. But this fräulein was something else entirely.…
He wrestled the urge back.
Nothing happened.
Adele pulled away.
The wound didn’t look so bad once it was bandaged up. It might not even scar. When Luka told Adele this, she just shrugged and pulled her jacket back on, heading out the door without another word. Her blood was still everywhere—littering the floor in paper form and streaking the edges of the porcelain sink. Luka stayed behind to clean up, wondering if… indeed… nothing had happened.
It felt, in a way, as if everything had.
Chapter 10
Just as Nurse Wilhelmina had predicted, Luka’s wounded hand grew stiff, griping against all efforts to STOP or GO as he handled the throttle and handbrake. The road to Dhaka was an easier leg than many of the ones before it. The desert’s omnipresent dust had settled, tamed by tree roots and grassy plains. The roads were well tended, allowing for the fastest speeds and longest days since Europe.
Katsuo pushed on well past sundown. No dust meant excellent night visibility, so they were in for another test of endurance. By the time their drive hit the fifteen-hour mark, Luka’s hand was in agony. His fingers felt frozen in place by fire—hot, hotter, hottest—until it took everything in Luka not to pull to the side of the road and let it rest.
Instead he followed Katsuo’s taillight, with nothing but his thoughts to distract him. In any other race, these would be fantasies of the finish line:
Nurse Wilhelmina—a pretty woman in her early twenties with sun-colored curls—made quick work of bandaging Luka’s wound.
“You boys and your knives,” she tutted. “If all of you just followed the rules, there would be a lot less blood.”
“But a lot fewer visits to the infirmary. I wouldn’t want to cheat you of that!” Luka winked.
It took only a bit more flirting to wheedle an extra bottle of disinfectant, some gauze, and a handful of teeny-tiny bandages from the nurse. By the time Luka returned to the washroom, Adele had mopped up most of the extra blood. She sat on the covered toilet; wads of pinkish toilet paper littered the floor by her biking boots. Luka kicked these aside and knelt close to the wound. The sight of it—six centimeters of parted flesh—made him wince.
Adele didn’t, even when the disinfectant cut into her exposed nerves. Her tolerance for pain was higher than most boys’. Including his own.
“Another few centimeters and that knife…” Luka thought aloud as he applied the bandages. “Adele, what if Takeo had hit an artery?”
“You sound like my brother.” Adele gave an irritated grunt. “If Takeo had hit an artery, then I would’ve bled out on the road, and you would’ve gone on to avenge my death by winning the race.”
She was right. But now all Luka could imagine was Adele sprawled on the road she loved so much, anchored in a pool of her own blood. The image made him shudder.
“I can’t lose you,” he said.
Adele’s arm stiffened beneath his fingers. It was an instantaneous reflex: there and gone. Luka’s touch responded in kind, pulling away to fumble with another tiny wrapper. Wrong. He’d said something wrong. It was too soft, too
feeling
. If she were any other fräulein, he might’ve been able to wink it off, but all the suave coolness Luka had channeled in the infirmary was gone.
“I can’t lose you,” he backpedalled. “Our plan to sabotage Katsuo on the ferry takes two.”
Adele leaned down. Her eyes flowed straight through him.
“We’ll get Katsuo.” These words were formed by lips so close that Luka could count the lines etched in them—a delicate pattern traditionally hidden by lipstick.
Adele lingered. Had she been some Germania sweetheart, Luka wouldn’t have thought twice about kissing her. But this fräulein was something else entirely.…
He wrestled the urge back.
Nothing happened.
Adele pulled away.
The wound didn’t look so bad once it was bandaged up. It might not even scar. When Luka told Adele this, she just shrugged and pulled her jacket back on, heading out the door without another word. Her blood was still everywhere—littering the floor in paper form and streaking the edges of the porcelain sink. Luka stayed behind to clean up, wondering if… indeed… nothing had happened.
It felt, in a way, as if everything had.
Chapter 10
Just as Nurse Wilhelmina had predicted, Luka’s wounded hand grew stiff, griping against all efforts to STOP or GO as he handled the throttle and handbrake. The road to Dhaka was an easier leg than many of the ones before it. The desert’s omnipresent dust had settled, tamed by tree roots and grassy plains. The roads were well tended, allowing for the fastest speeds and longest days since Europe.
Katsuo pushed on well past sundown. No dust meant excellent night visibility, so they were in for another test of endurance. By the time their drive hit the fifteen-hour mark, Luka’s hand was in agony. His fingers felt frozen in place by fire—hot, hotter, hottest—until it took everything in Luka not to pull to the side of the road and let it rest.
Instead he followed Katsuo’s taillight, with nothing but his thoughts to distract him. In any other race, these would be fantasies of the finish line:
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