Page 111 of Inception

I looked down at his sultry eyes, and those perfect lips, and that chiseled jaw from the gods, and prayed for the strength not to throw myself at this man like some unworthy peasant.

“Sit,” he whispered, pulling me to the floor again.

“I don’t have a steady hand.”

“I can’t do this on myself.”

“I’m going to butcher you—turn you into Frankenstein!” A hot one for sure, but a Frankenstein nonetheless.

“I’ll walk you through it. You’ll be fine.” He bent forward to pick up the first aid kit from the floor and let out an audible grunt.

I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain like this.

“You need painkillers,” I said, taking the first aid kit from him. I cracked it open and searched through its contents for the contraband. “Here, take these,” I ordered, handing him a packet of over-the-counter painkillers.

He tossed two in his mouth and swallowed sans water.

Without waiting for his prompt, I pulled out some gauze and a bottle of antiseptic and started cleaning the area around the wound until I had a clear view of the puncture. I may have been a novice at stitching flesh together but I certainly knew how to clean out a wound. And itdefinitelyneeded stitches.

“Lean back,” I told him, standing on my knees now. “We can’t close the wound until we flush it out or it’ll get infected.” I’d scraped enough knees and elbows in my younger years to know that much.

He slid back onto his elbows, exposing his washboard abdomen and causing my core body temperature to rise even higher than it already was. I bet they outlawed bodies like his in certain parts of the world. I bet it was downright illegal. And for good reason, too. I was a hop and skip away from going into cardiac arrest.

Leaning over him, I poured the antiseptic liquid into the wound until I felt (in all my infinite medical wisdom) that it was sterile enough to be sealed. “I think that should do it,” I mumbled, trying to keep my eyes from roaming.

“Thanks.” He offered a bleak smile and straightened out.

When he pulled out the needle and a spool of string that bore an alarming resemblance to a fishing line, I decided that it was the perfect time to distract myself with a phone call. I grabbed my phone and checked for service.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looping the string through the needle head with ease. It was obvious he’d done this before. With his short fuse and propensity to brawl, he probably stitched himself up every other day.

“I’m calling Gabriel to let him know where we are. Maybe he can help us—”

“No way,” he said, taking the phone from me quick as a thief. “How do we know he wasn’t the one who sent the Runners?”

“Are you high?” I snatched the phone back. “Gabriel would never do that. Ever. He’s a good guy.”

“He’s a Rev—”

“You don’t know him!” I snapped, cutting him off. “He would never do anything to hurt me. It’s not him, Trace. Trust me.”

He stared back at me, his sublime blue eyes taking me in.

“Besides, I think I know who’s behind this,” I added, fingering the Amulet under my shirt. “But I need to speak to Gabriel first. He needs to know what’s going on.”

“Fine,” he said, though the tension in his jaw never gave.

My phone call with Gabriel was short and to the point. Even though he presented his usual calm and reassuring facade on the exterior, I could hear the anxiety undertones in his voice. We were both thinking the same thing: that this was probably related to Engel and the Amulet. So what now? Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything he could do until sundown, for obvious reasons, so I was ordered to stay with Trace until he got there and not to answer the door to anyone but him.

As if I’d planned on doing otherwise, I thought, hanging up the phone and turning my attention back to the beautiful boy sitting before me.

This was going to be a long day.

After a brief crash course in sutures that didn’t cover nearly as much as I would have liked it to, Trace handed me the sterilized needle and cocked an eyebrow. “Are you ready to do this?” he asked, knowing full well I wasn’t.

My hand shook. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“That’s okay,” he smirked. His dimples flashing as though they were winking at me. “I’m pretty enough.”

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