Page 89 of Conjure

She inspects the flesh wound before shaking her head. “You’re so lucky it was nothing but a nasty graze.” She tilts her chin at me. “Can you roll the towel up for her to bite down on, please?”

I pause, glaring at her, and she sighs. “Why don’t you leave the room since you won’t be helpful?”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Dom,” Camryn says and squeezes my hand, or at least she tries to. Her grip is weak. “Please, listen to her.”

My teeth grind as I reluctantly let go of her clammy hand to roll up a towel. How did we get here in the first place? What if her mom finds out that she broke into Wilfred’s house and got shot in the leg? How the hell are we going to keep this from her? Besides, it’s only a matter of time until Wilfred is found.

Camryn bites down on the towel, her eyes uncertain but determined.

“It’s a deep gash,” Gwen says, pinching the skin together, and I almost want to throttle her when Camryn whimpers. She gives me another warning look as if she hears my thoughts, then focuses back on Camryn’s leg.

When she puts the needle to the flesh, I stiffen every muscle.

“This will hurt, Cam.”

I force myself to watch despite the urge to look away as the needle pierces the flesh. My stomach twists, and I taste bile on my tongue.

I’d return to the farm and slaughter Wilfred if he weren’t already dead. Make it hurt this time.

Green strands of hair stick to the sheen of sweat on Gwen’s forehead, her brow pinched in concentration. She works quickly, stopping now and then to allow Camryn to breathe through the pain when she struggles to stay still.

“You’re doing well, almost there.”

I tangle my bloodied fingers in Camryn’s hair, needing Gwen to hurry up before I lose my fucking cool and pummel her to the ground.

When she’s finally done, she cuts the suture with scissors. Then she puts the tools away and swipes her forearm over her eyebrows, wiping away the sweat. “It’ll scar, and you’ll need antibiotics, or you risk an infection.”

While she removes her bloodied latex gloves and discards them in a nearby trash can, I crouch down to look Camryn in the eye.

“You did so fucking well.”

Her smile is weak. She’s tired.

I swipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumb, then lean in to kiss her soft lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she replies, her bottom lip trembling.

“I should have protected you.”

Shifting, she trails her fingers through my scruff. I lean into her touch and kiss her palm before rising to my feet.

Gwen cleans her up while I pace, restless, clenching and unclenching my hands and tearing at my roots. Not even the prickling pain helps soothe this fury within me at seeing him touch her.

“She needs to rest,” Gwen says, trying her damn best not to tremble now that it’s over. “Take her upstairs to my room.”

Camryn whimpers when I scoop her into my arms. Pressing my nose to her hair, I breathe in the scent of blood and sweat.Beneath the horror of the last few hours is something sweeter. Something uniquely her. I allow it to settle my pounding heart as I carry her upstairs.

I tuck her into Gwen’s bed, and she’s out like a light within minutes, her soft breaths easing the brewing storm.

Trailing my fingers through her hair on the pillow, I watch her sleep, wondering when she crawled beneath my skin. I used to harbor such inexplicable anger toward her, yet now, as her chest rises and falls, I want to protect her.

My chest tightens as I brush her hair away from her brow and kiss her clammy forehead. I’ve done that a lot lately—felt the need to touch and kiss her and to just…be near her.

I leave her to sleep and then walk downstairs, still wearing my bloodstained clothes.

Gwen looks up from her phone when I collapse onto the kitchen chair and retrieve my Zippo from my pocket. She sits across from me and stares into the distance before her face collapses. “What happened?”