“Yes.”
“You need to put antiseptic on it, then a bandage. When am I supposed to take another pill?”
She looked at the packet. “It’s two to start, then one a day for four more days.”
When she finished taking care of the wound, he lay back with a soft grunt.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Getting caught.”
She made a dismissive sound. “There was no way to know he had a roommate who would be coming home.”
“Should have checked the other bedroom.”
She would have protested, but sapping his strength by getting into an argument was a dumb idea. If anyone should be sorry, it was her. For dragging him into this in the first place.
“Give me your gun before you go to sleep,” she said.
“You know how to use it?”
“Yes. My dad thought that knowing how to use a weapon correctly was an important skill.”
Zane upholstered the weapon, and she took it with her as she made another trip around the boat, dousing the few lights she’d turned on.
Returning, she pushed back the curtain that closed off his room and secured it with the tieback. He was still shivering, and she found blankets in the drawers under the bunk and laid them over him.
“Thanks,” he murmured without opening his eyes. She longed to get in bed with him and lend him her warmth. But the surface was small and she didn’t want to crowd him.
Instead she opened the curtain on her own cabin so she could see him. Really, they were only a few yards away, and she’d be able to get to him quickly if he needed her.
She thought she should stay awake, but that was impossible. Despite the unease she was feeling, she dropped off quickly—only to awaken, she wasn’t sure how much later, feeling disoriented. It took only a moment to remember she was on the boat Zane had rented, and he’d been shot.
That reality was brought home when she heard him moan. Leaping out of bed, she crossed the companionway and hurried to his side. In the dim illumination that came in from the overhead lights on the dock, she could tell he was lying on the bunk with his eyes closed. His head was rolling from side to side, and he was saying something. It sounded like “Taranis, Epona, Cerridwen,”
The words were strange, not English. They might have been some kind of otherworldly chant, and they gave her a shivery feeling.
“Zane?” she whispered.
He didn’t seem to hear her, and the strange syllables coming out of his mouth grated along her nerve endings. It was too dark to see him clearly, but did his face look somehow different? Were the contours changing? To what? Oh Lord, what was happening?