Page 152 of Her Wolf

Put some ice on it

Christ, everything hurt. It was like the worst hangover he’d ever had, multiplied by that time he’d gotten sunburn in the Caribbean, squared by every time he’d ever stubbed his toe.

For a while—an eternity, it felt like—Lars just lay there staring up at rough wooden boards. Somewhere in the distance he heard waves crashing on a shore.

It should have been a peaceful sound, but the waves crashed seemingly in rhythm with the agony pulsating through his body.

He groaned when his arm twitched of its own. Then he heard the faint patter of rain — first isolated drops, and then a light but steady stream.

None of those drops landed on him, much the pity, but he had a feeling they would hiss if they did. Was this how lobsters felt the moment before their brains boiled out through their carapaces?

He would never eat lobster again.

Footsteps, uneven but light, made him turn his head.

Cora appeared from the gloom of the beach house’s front entrance. She hobbled a little, and wore a very un-fetching grimace on her face.

Fuck…if that’s what she looked like…

He groaned at her. She pivoted, squinting like she couldn’t see him. When her eyes eventually focused, nothing changed on her face.

His entire body sparkled.

Was that a good thing? It kinda hurt.

She stumbled closer, walking wide of Kane’s body, and half-fell, half-collapsed next to Lars.

He wanted to say something, but just breathing took enough out of him. Somehow, he thought she wanted to say something too, especially since her lips kept moving.

Then he realized she was trembling. Crying.

“Wha—?” he managed. He could have made a fucking excellent demon; he had the right voice for it.

A broken sob tore from Cora. She sat back, lifting her hands before letting them fall down again.

“I d-don’t have enough b-b-bandages.”

Lars laughed. And then coughed. And then almost fucking died from the pain. “Rip up something,” he suggested in a croak worthy of any Stephen King novel.

So she pulled off her shirt, and ripped up what was left of it.

And he had no intention of complaining.

. . .

Finn opened his eyes a crack, and then quickly closed them again. They felt grainy and puffy. In fact, everything felt grainy and puffy—his eyes, his skin, his head.

Voices bickered above him, swarming in and out of earshot.

“…didn’t think to mention that?” came Lars’s voice.

“I did!” Kane yelled. “Soon as I’d figured it out!”

“Yeah, a second before the explosion is always the best time to figure these things out.”

“Fuck you, man.” Kane sounded raspy; in fact, they both did.

“I suppose you think you saved my life or something.”

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