Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
I don’t like any of this.
Leo watches them with mayhem in his eyes, restlessly chewing on his thumbnail.
I know he’s waffling on whether to stay out of it or throw Monty through the wall. I’m leaning toward the latter, even if I can kind of understand Monty’s side of the argument.
I’m out of my element here. Emotions like this, the rawness of the fight and the need for comfort, are foreign to me. I only know abuse, fear, and manipulation. There was nothing normal or sane about my upbringing.
The only healthy relationship Leo and I have experienced is with her, and we’ll kill anyone who threatens it.
Sensing our unease, she looks up and quickly lifts her hand from his chest. “Everything is fine. Monty and I just have different ways of seeing things.”
“He upset you.” I crack my knuckles.
“Okay, but I upset him, too. Our disagreements don’t involve kin punishment or any kind of violence.” She makes a face. “The hole in his neck notwithstanding.”
“Yeah, I get that.” I feel a pang of something I can’t quite identify.
Respect, maybe. They butted heads without drawing blood.
“Emotions are all over place.” Her hands are steady as she opens the kit and gathers the supplies. “We’ve been dealing with detectives and reporters for three days. I haven’t really faced what happened over the past nine months, and I guess…” She shrugs. “I freaked out.”
“You had a panic attack,” Monty says quietly yet firmly.
“Hold still. This will sting.” She applies the antiseptic.
He lets out a sharp hiss.
“Butterfly bandages won’t work on this.” She cleans the cut with gentle precision, her laser-sharp focus telling me she compartmentalized her own pain to deal with Monty’s. “It’s still bleeding. The edges are jagged, and it’s so deep I can see down to your shriveled-up heart.”
“Then you can see the scars you left there.”
“Not through all the ice around it.”
His face hardens. “Use the bandages or fuck off.”
“Watch the way you talk to her.” Leo stalks forward.
“No.” She points at him. “Stay back. We’re just bickering.”
“You don’t need this, love.” Leo takes another step. “You took a huge emotional hit downstairs. You can barely sit up. You’re white as a ghost, and he’s fighting with you.”
“We’re arguing.” She sighs.
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
Monty glances at Leo. “The woman loves to argue.”
“I do not.”
“See?”
“Arguing is a productive form of communication.” She takes a breath. “As long as there’s respect on both sides, it helps everyone express their differing perspectives and clear up misunderstandings.” She meets Monty’s eyes. “And maybe find one thing we agree on.”
“Was any of that directed at us?” Leo asks me.
“No.” I cross my arms. “That was her passive-aggressive way to keep arguing with him.”
She flips us off.
Monty chuckles.
“Laugh it up, jackass.” She tosses aside the butterfly bandages and snatches the medical kit. “You’re getting stitches.”
16
Kodiak
—
The tension in my chest constricts as I watch the energy slowly drain from Frankie.
She’s been through too much today, yet here she is, stitching the stab wound in Monty’s neck.
Her fingers move with practiced ease, guiding the needle with swift, sure motions. She bends in close, her breathing stable, her focus unshakable. Pulling the wound’s edges together, she places each stitch with a gentle touch.
“I was only a few millimeters off from nicking your carotid artery.” A shiver runs through her, leaving goosebumps on her arms.
“But you didn’t.” Monty angles his head, making the wound more accessible to her. “It’s like some part of you didn’t want to kill me.”
“Monty…” She lines up the next stitch. “No part of me wants to kill you.”
“The letter you wrote to me disagrees.” Eyes closed, jaw clenched in silent endurance, he remains still under her careful ministrations.
An impressive effort, given his apparent aversion to needles.
“I wrote that letter the night Denver…the night he raped Wolf.” Her fingers brush over the edges of his bruised face, lingering on the features that look so much like Wolf, as though she’s imagining him instead of Monty.
“I know.” Monty’s voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
She blinks, sucks in a shaky breath, and adds another suture.
Despite the conversation and circumstances, there’s undeniable beauty in her dedication. It’s in the way her brow furrows in concentration and the murmur of reassurances she offers Monty as she works.
Flexing my hand, I stare at the scar that runs through it. She didn’t trust me the night Denver stabbed me. She didn’t trust any of us. Rightfully so. Still, she stitched my wound with a kindness I didn’t deserve.
She’s so strong, so capable, so damn caring, even after everything. It’s something I’ve always admired about her, even if it makes me insanely protective.
There’s a raw, unspoken bond between healers and protectors.
She’s a hellion on the outside, full of fire and fight. But beneath the ferocity, she’s a tender-hearted soul, drenched in empathy, her heart forever open, giving away her healing power to anyone in need. She bleeds energy, tangled in the pain and need of others until she’s hollowed out.