Page 25 of Craving Chaos

I berate myself while collecting a bucket of snow to set by the fire, then open a can of beans and a can of mandarin oranges.

“We need to be judicious with the food,” Renzo says gravely. “No telling how long we’ll be here.”

My gaze locks with his, but it seems neither of us wants to discuss or even think about the matter since we both let it drop. I put the beans in a pan and put them onto the stove, then bring the can of mandarins with a fork to the table. While I get the first-aid supplies off the floor, Renzo helps himself to the oranges, then spears a couple of slices and hands me the fork. I pull over a polished stump that doubles as a stool and slip the fork in my mouth, trying to ignore the feel of his eyes watching my every movement but forget myself and moan when the sweet ambrosia hits my tongue. I haven’t eaten in so long that the sugary fruit tastes like heaven.

When I swallow and open my eyes, Renzo has the fork extended toward me with two more slices ready and a heat in his eyes that shouldn’t be possible in this arctic hellscape.

This time, I down the oranges without a show and begin diligently organizing the supplies. “You’re lucky I can do this sort of thing.”

“You couldn’t be squeamish if your life depended on it.”

“Glad you noticed.” I preen with exaggerated pride, sitting taller as I squirt a line of antibiotic ointment on my finger. I stand and do my best to gingerly spread the cream along the two smaller cuts, then wipe the excess blood from the larger one before adding ointment to it.

Now comes the fun part. I glower at the simple sewing needle and thread, wishing I had real suture tools. It’s only about an inch of the top of the cut that is deep enough to need stitches. The tail end isn’t so bad. The worst part is where the claw first dug in.

“This isn’t going to be the most aesthetic stitching job,” I warn him. At least there isn’t any ink on that arm. Any design under the cuts would be lost.

“Scars tell a story the same as a tat. I’m good with either. Now get this over with.”

See, bossy.

I take a slow, steadying breath and begin my first stitch.

CHAPTER 13

RENZO

“Tell me a story.” I have to force the words through tightly clenched teeth.

“A story?”

“Anything, Shae. Just do something to fuckin’ distract me.” I swear, I’d rather endure a gunshot—a more serious injury in one fell swoop—than deal with the grating torture of something slowly picking me apart. Death by a thousand cuts. That’s something you reserve for only your worst enemies.

“Um, okay.” She thinks for a second. “When I was six, I was out on a walk with my family. It was spring, so the tree trimmers were out trimming branches from trees on the sidewalk. The trees were huge on that street, branches arching over the street and meeting in the middle. I walked under where the trimmers were working, and a branch fell at the same moment. Landed right on my head.”

“That explains so much.”

“Don’t make me hurt you more than I already am,” she quips lightly. “I ran over to my mom, scared but not crying or anything. I didn’t even notice the pain until she told me I’d cracked my head open. A family that we knew who lived one house away saw the commotion and came out. They called EMS and brought a towel for all the blood. I was told to hold the towel on my head until EMS could check me out. When they arrived, they told me to move the towel so they could get a look. I refused. Between everyone saying I’d split my head open and the loads of blood, I thought if I let go, my head would fall apart like two halves of a melon.”

The amusement in her tone tells me she has a fondness for the memory. I bet it’s a story that’s been told a million times in her family. I like that she still finds humor in it.

“Did you need stitches?”

“I did. Ten of them.”

“I bet you demanded to watch them do it.”

Her teeth nip her bottom lip, fighting back a smile. “Two nurses had to hold hand mirrors to get the right view for me.”

The image of a feisty little Shae coaxes a weary smile from me.

“It gets better. I normally shied away from anything girly because I wanted to be just like my big brothers.”

“Remind me which ones are your brothers.”

“Oran and Cael.”

“Not sure I know Cael.”

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