Page 20 of Dragon's Flame
She climbed into the van, only to lose sight of the dog—until she realized it had flopped over in front of the van’s tires.
“Move!” she yelled, leaning out the window. “C’mon!”
The dog didn’t budge. And she hadn’t even pulled the keys out of her pocket yet.
“Fine!” she shouted, throwing open the van door and stomping forward. “Dramatic much?”
It leapt to its feet, tail wagging as it darted back toward the building, barking eagerly.
Kenna leaned against the van’s hood, staring after it. This was stupid. She wasn’t a doctor yet. She was just pre-med, and she’d never sworn a damn thing to Hippocrates.
But her legs were already moving.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered, stomping back into the building.
17
KENNA
“Hello?” she called, stepping inside. Just in case someone—or something—had taken up residence. Or worse, the man had disappeared, like some fucked-up horror movie.
But it was just her, the dog, and a slowly breathing man. She saw his chest rise and fall, framed by firelight.
“You’re an idiot,” she muttered—possibly to herself, but also to him, because who kidnaps someone else when they’ve been mortally wounded?
Then she knelt down and hovered her hands above his chest. More of his dark blood covered the shirt he was wearing—there was probably more out than in at this rate. She gritted her teeth, wishing desperately for gloves, and unbuttoned it.
Not that she made a practice of looking at bleeding people—but his blood was so dark by the firelight that it didn’t look right. Then again, he’d been bleeding for so long, maybe half of it was clots by now?
But not clotted enough to change things for him, she realized, as she grabbed the V-neck of his undershirt and tore it to get it off of him. The wet fabric ripped, exposing his chest—broad, muscular, and slick with blood, slowly oozing out of a puncture wound the width of her pinkie finger’s tip, every time he breathed.
“Well, fuck,” she whispered, not entirely sure what to do next. Apply pressure? She took off his jacket and bunched up a sleeve, placing it over and leaning in—but that wasn’t going to fix anything. Then again, it wasn’t like she could muster up a blood transfusion out here, in the middle of nowhere.
Maybe the little dog shouldn’t have stopped her—he’d probably have been better off if shehadmanaged to call nine-one-one.
But—maybe he had a phone?
It wasn’t in his jacket, but she patted down his pants and got her hands behind him for a pocket grope. Success!
She yanked out a shiny new top-of-the-line iPhone—only to find out that there wasn’t any signal.
The dog started whining repeatedly, and Kenna noticed the man’s slowing chest rise.
He was actually dying. Right now. Right in front of her.
For reals.
And—she realized belatedly—that whatever strange-as-fuck reason he’d had for kidnapping her—he’d been totally committed to it.
He could’ve kicked her out of the van and driven himself to a hospital.
Or at least to someplace that might’ve had a first aid kit.
And as thrilled as she was to possibly be on the far side of thesecondworst day of her life—that didn’t mean she wanted him to die for it.
“Hey,” she said, leaning into his chest, tapping his cheek with her hand. “Mister,” she said, then corrected herself. “Tarian—Tarian—you still with me?”
His eyes fluttered open, and the corners of his lips lifted into a smile. “Seris,” he breathed.
