Page 104 of A Dagger in the Ivy

“The rest will have to be done the hard way.” I dip my hands in the basin to wash the blood off.

“Feels a bit better,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Well, I’m afraid the next part is going to hurt like hell.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

The gash needs to be sewn, but I don’t want to frighten him. Elevating his heart rate might start the blood to flow heavily again. Scanning my surroundings, I search for something to dull the pain. When I spot the bottle of brandy on the sideboard, I rush toward it. When I return to him, I’m discouraged by the amount of blood that seeps from the wound. I can’t waste time searching when he can just tell me where to find the supplies I need.

“Dante, do you have a needle and thread?” I shove the bottle in his hand.

He eyes me with skepticism. “Kitchen drawer. I’m guessing it can’t be avoided?”

“What’s the matter?” I tease. “Afraid of a little needle?”

He lets out a chuckle, then immediately winces, bending slightly to the side.

I rush to get the sewing supplies, then set them down beside him. I grab the bottle from him and open it. “Drink.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t hesitate, downing about five gulps before extending the bottle to me.

I splash some brandy on the needle, hoping the liquid makes it sterile enough, and then swallow some myself. My nerves are a wreck, and I need to steady myself somehow.

I shake my head and hand the bottle back to him. “You’re going to need more than that.”

He complies, nearly emptying the bottle.

I blow out a shaky breath, and it takes me a minute to thread the needle. Once it’s ready, I kneel on the floor beside Dante’s chair. It’s difficult to access the wound without getting close, so I nudge myself betweenhis legs.

Dante’s gaze darkens as he watches me.

I place my hand on his exposed skin, positioning the needle. “Try not to move too much.”

I pierce his torn flesh, and he hisses.

“Don’t go weak on me now,” I say, trying to keep him alert.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “You fucking pirate.”

I smirk, despite the sheen of sweat coating my brow.

After a minute, he peeks at my progress. “I think he missed my heart.”

“Not a hard feat, considering you don’t have one.”

When I glance up at him, his eyes are filled with longing. “You saved me. I guess you don’t hate me after all.”

“I never said I hated you.”

“But you did threaten to stab me.” The corner of his mouth inches upward. “You must be disappointed that someone else beat you to it.”

I almost laugh, but the direness of the situation sobers me. The wound is sewn shut to the best of my ability, but it needs to be bandaged. I scoot back and tear strips of cloth from the sheet, then return to my spot between his legs.

“I’ll need to wrap it.” My voice is so low and soft, I’m not sure he hears me.

Nodding, he shifts his upper body enough so I can get the strip of cloth behind his back. My arms encircle him as I wind the cloth around his torso. The movement brings our bodies together once, twice, and a third time as I bind his wound. Our eyes lock as I work. Every time our skin touches, it’s as if a small current of lightning charges through my body.

“My healing magic is still working, but the stitches help. You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

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