Page 35 of Captured By the Scaled Outlaw
“Oh, no, I got this from trying to get your stupid crossbow out from underneath a rock.” He pulls up the corner of his Gaia 4 jacket from where it lay across his waist, revealing a massive wound underneath. “Thisis what I got from the fall.”
A gash runs from Lowell’s hip bone to the inside of his thigh, so deep it could be mistaken for a partially severed leg. His slight removal of the jacket causes the wound to resume hemorrhaging, the bundled leather a poor choice of fabric to stanch the bleeding or sop up the spillage.
“Lowell, what the hell!” I exclaim, aghast, crawling to retrieve the strewn-about medical supplies. “I thought you said we’d be alright?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was only trying to calm you down. I mean, Iwillbe fine without food or water…” He pauses, hissing through his teeth. “But I, uh… I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it during the few days we’ll be trapped here. I’ve been losing a lot of blood, and that med kit is only for small cuts and bruises,” he says, his weakening voice poorly masked by indifference.
I droop my head, my forehead wrinkling with concern. “Then why did you bother retrieving my bow? Especially with injuries like that, I—”
He cuts me off, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. “Because you’d kill yourself out there looking for it, May. We’re allies right now, remember? And it wasn’t that hard to find, so don’t give me too much credit.”
In the middle of the sandstorm, he still went outto find my crossbow.
My heart swells. He had no reason to do that, given our relationship, or lack thereof. For a fleeting moment, I forget our dreadful situation.
“Thanks,” I say, becoming alarmingly aware of how close our bodiesare to touching. I can’t sit, breathe, or even look at him without feeling embarrassed. It’s like a spotlight is shining on me, every movement meaning something that it didn’t before.
I place my hand on my chest.
When did it become like this? For him, of all people?
Sweat builds on Lowell’s brow as he groans, pressing down on the wound with shaky arms. His jacket is soaked with blood.
“With the little time we have, I need to teach you how to dispose of my body properly — so you won’t have to breathe in the decomposition.” He grunts in pain, again, this one more guttural. “You could eat me, forsaking your beliefs and all, but I don’t recommend it. Lizardfolk taste like shit.”
Instinctively, I grab Lowell’s shin comfortingly. “Don’t say things like that. You are not going to die. Don’t be dramatic.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. Beneath my grasp, I feel the slightest shakes of quivering.
“Denial isn’t going to help,” he says, staring at where we’re connected.
My throat tightens at the vulnerability of his words. He’s no longer hiding the terror in his voice, fear falling from his lips like a broken dam.
He’s afraid. He’sactuallyafraid.
It’s an unnerving sight to see, but his fears are not unwarranted. We are alone in a sandstorm with one of us badly hurt and hardly any supplies. Never mind getting my old job back in Nilsan, or facing the consequences of committing a major crime. It all seems so inconsequential now. Lowell took the brunt of the fall at his own expense, and now he is dying right in front of me.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, willing away any tears that threaten to form.
I’m not helpless. I know what to do.
Grandma had been through much worse injuries and survived withminimal damage. Because of her limited access to city doctors, she taught (or rather, forced) me how to handle dire medical situations. Although I’d never had to put it into practice on arealperson before now. Poorly drawn diagrams and miming surgical procedures with her hands certainly seem less convincing as applicable experience as they did back then.
I rifle through the med kit, gathering as many supplies into the crook of my arm as possible.
“What’s your blood type,” I say, not as a question.
Lowell narrows his eyes at me. “Why…?” He questions this as though I’m trying to trick him.
I disregard his skepticism, pulling an empty blood bag from its compartment. Undressing my upper body, I wipe an iodine pad over my exposed arm to prep it for a hefty needle.
“Woah!” Lowell exclaims at a poor attempt to remain lighthearted. “Keep stripping and my blood will pump out twice as fast.”
“Better to your dick than to your wound,” I quip despite my concentrated frown as I carefully insert the needle into my vein.
He snorts at my comment, eyes going wide when he sees my blood flow through the tubing. “Does it not matter that I’m Lizardfolk?”
I shake my head. “With the amount I can provide, no.”
