Page 182 of Fangs
“We need you back at the clinic,” he said, his eyes still sparkling merrily, “but I’m thinkin’ you might be too inebriated to heal?—"
“I can heal just fine.”
I slid off the stool, and the room tilted. Lee caught my arm as I listed to the side, trying to steady myself.
“Yeah, I’m doubtin’ that.”
“Oh fuck you,” I said, jabbing a finger into his chest.
“Whassgoinon?” Mist asked, slurring the sentence into one indistinguishable word.
“We need Freckles at the clinic,” Lee answered.
Mist squinted at him. “Freckles?”
“Your drinkin’ buddy,” Lee grinned.
Mist glanced at me, realization dawning across her face. “Freckles!"
“Don’t you start.” I glared at her, but she just giggled drunkenly.
“You need a hand gettin’ home?” Lee asked, and it took me a second to realize he was talking to Mist.
“I’m not goin’ home yet,” she threw her arm around the older woman she’d been singing with.
Lee laughed, “Alright. Have fun.”
He wrapped an arm around my waist and steered me toward the door. It felt like we were moving far too fast, the world around us blurring.
“If you can’t heal, that’s okay. Sable can stitch the kid up.”
“What kid?” I demanded.
“Uh… one of the older ones? Colt?”
“What happened?”
“He said he was practicing knife throwing.”
“The fuck?” I stumbled over something, and Lee’s arm tightened around my waist.
“Don’t worry, I already volunteered to teach him.”
I came to an abrupt halt, glaring at him. “Don’t give my kids knives.”
He grinned at me. “They already have knives. I’m just gonna teach ’em how to use ’em right.”
I scowled and shoved him away, wobbling, but stayed on my feet. “I can walk just fine by myself.”
“Can you?” he chuckled.
I started moving, concentrating hard to go in a semi-straight line. Lee walked next to me, looking increasingly amused.
“Quit smil?—"
My foot went into a small hole, and I went down on my ass. He didn’t even try to catch me, watching with a shit-eating grin.
“Fine, huh?”
