Page 8 of Infernal Hearts

I walk him to the operating room, pointing to the table in the middle. The thought of calling in my assistant for reinforcement briefly crosses my mind. But I can handle this on my own, not to mention that it would only prolong the process if I had to wait for her to get here. The sooner I get this over with, the better.

The fact that he’s willing to manipulate people really doesn’t surprise me. Magic often has flexible morals, to say the least—abusing the fact it can do things normal humans don’t. Just another reason it’s usually more dangerous than not.

He limps over and sits down, taking in the details around the room.

“Take your shirt off.”

His chin lifts, and his chest puffs out. “I like where this is going.” He winks and shuffles his sleeves over his shoulders but winces as soon as his torso twists.

I pull on a pair of latex gloves with a hard smile. “I already turned you down once, and that was with magic. Not sure why you keep trying.”

He sets his bloody shirt to the side, sighing in satisfaction. “I like a challenge.”

I’ll never date again, and even if I did, it sure as fuck wouldn’t be with someone like him. Even considering what Michael did to me, Michael’s a huge step up from this guy.

I try to get a closer look at his ribs, wrapped in tight muscle. The gash is still trickling blood, and a dull green tinge spreads across his tan skin from where the cut was made. He flinches when my fingers graze the wound.

The tightness in my chest dissipates as I go into medical mode. “Sorry.” This doesn’t look good at all. “Scale of one to ten?”

“A solid ten from where I’m sitting.”

I glance at his face, and he peers down at me with a mischievous grin. If I just ignore it, he’s bound to take the hint. “It’s a deep cut. How did this happen?”

He shrugs, looking away with perfectly even breathing. “Some bastard slit me good when I wasn’t lookin’. I managed to get away. Simpleas that.”

He’s full of shit. It’s never that easy. He must have been up to no good, so of course he doesn’t want to talk about it.

I press some gauze over the wound, motioning for him to hold it there. My voice softens with a tone that might make him answer my questions easier if he feels less tension. “And did you happen to see what he cut you with?”

He lets out a half-hearted laugh. “’Course not. It’s pitch black outside.”

I feel my teeth grind, but I immediately relax again. “How far away did this happen?”

His lips purse, and his jawline goes hard. “I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. “A couple miles? By the way, do you know how hard it is to run when your side is split open? Hurts like a bitch.”

“You don’t say.”

If this were a normal cut, stitches would work just fine. But this is something mystical. It needs way more care than something I’d give to a cat or a dog. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I have a good enough hunch. Still doesn’t leave me with many options.

My chest expands, and I firm up my voice. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news.” I step back, removing my gloves and tossing them into the trash. “Bad news is that whatever he cut you with was coated in poison. Something magical. It’s already infected and spreading to your heart.”

“Oh good. And here I thought it was a papercut.” He huffs and smiles weakly before wincing again and holding his side.

I frown and narrow my eyes, crossing my arms and standing tall. “You’re obviously not getting how serious this is. It’ll probably kill you within the hour.”

He raises his voice. “Then what’s the good fuckin’ news to go with that?”

I nonchalantly put my hands on my hips. Glad I’m finally getting my point across. “Luckily, I can treat it.”

He splutters. “For fuck’s sake, then, let’s get a move on! I wasn’t planning on dying tonight!”

“I’ll be right back, then.”

I told myself I would never do this, but something deep down in me knew a day like this would come eventually—even if it’s only been a few months. It’s like I won’t ever be able to escape the life I left. All I wanted is a fresh start, but I can’t even go a hundred days without getting sucked back in.

Even though every fiber of my being is screaming at me not to go backward, I still head upstairs to grab the supplies I told myself I’d never use again.

…

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