Page 33 of Resurrection

I get into the back seat, and he grabs the first aid kit from the trunk. He opens the door and settles beside me. For a moment, he sits with the red bag wedged between his hands. His gazetrails over me, assessing. As he unzips it, he says, “Take off your shirt.”

“You can put a bandage over it if I slip my shirt off my shoulder.”

His fingers skim my shoulder, and he shakes his head. “’Fraid not. I’ll do a shitty job.” When he shifts in the seat to bandage my shoulder, a wince escapes him.

“What about you?” My brow furrows, remembering his injuries and the way he moved in the house. “You could have torn stitches.”

“Oh, I’m sure something is torn.”

“Let me see.”

He smirks. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Not the best line I’ve heard.”

He eyes me with amusement. “Well, you’re sober now. I suppose I should have known I’d have to up my game.”

I find the hem of my shirt and hesitate. Should I take it off? “And you thinkI’mconfusing.”

He eases away from me, giving me space. When he ruffles the hair at the back of his head, he winces. “I won’t touch anything but your wound. I swear.”

His promise is both what I’m hoping for and what I’m afraid of. His hands on my body are enough to send other parts of me into overdrive. Steeling myself, I remove my shirt in one swift motion. True to his word, he homes in on the gouge in my shoulder. He works in silence for a few moments, cleaning the wound and then finding the right dressing for it. As his fingers dance across my skin, my body heats, minimizing the sting from my injury.

“Might scar,” he says.

“I have people who can fix it if it does.”

He indicates the scar on my chest as he packs up. “Why didn’t you fix that?”

The knife that pierced my heart.

I brush my fingers against it. “Feels like an old friend now.”

He squints and then frowns. “What the fuck kinda friend is that?”

“One who reminds you of the places you don’t want to go again.” An asshole thing to say when he’s been so kind. Instinct drives me to draw him to me but also to repel him as far away as possible. I open my mouth to apologize when his jaw tightens. I may not know what I want, but I know what I need. The responsible choice. Distance. The closer we inch together, the closer sober Carys is to sayingfuck me, please. There’s still enough of me that cares about the consequences.

He forces the zipper on the kit. The metallic sound of the teeth clicking together is loud in the tense silence.

“You should let me look at you.” I try to take the bag and our fingers brush.

The driver’s door pops open, and I yank my shirt back over my head in a fluid, frantic motion. Finn chuckles beside me.

Jay’s gaze connects with mine in the rearview mirror, and he raises his eyebrows. His eyes flick between me and Finn but he says nothing about the blush raging across my cheeks. “You hurt?”

“A graze.” Finn settles deeper into the seat near the door, far from me. “A brush with danger.”

Satisfied, Jay shifts the vehicle into drive.A brush with danger. If only that was it. But his flames lick at me from across the car, enticing me, biding their time until they can burst into an inferno, consuming me whole.

Chapter Thirteen

Finn

Carys insisted on going to a Russian doctor she has on call to get me patched up before venturing to Valeriya’s again. I let him check me over while Carys and Jay are out in the waiting room.

“All clear?” I ease my shirt back over my head.

“Minor issues,” the doctor says. “Be more careful. You’re not healed yet.”

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