Page 32 of The Knotty Clause
But his protective instincts roared to life, drowning out everything else.
“No, it’s not nothing.”
He swept her into his arms. The weight of her in his arms felt precious and terrifying. Her protests barely registered as he raced through emergency protocols.
“Put me down, I can walk!”
She squirmed in his grip, but he held her firmly.
“Be still,” he growled, already striding back into the house. There was a medical kit in the kitchen and more supplies in his workshop—bandages, antiseptic, everything he needed forminor injuries. But his mind kept flashing back to the image of her blood, so red against her skin.
He had a full medical bay in the ruins of his ship but he’d never bothered to retrieve it and it was currently buried under mounds of snow. As he carried her through the house he tried desperately to calculate how long it would take him to dig it out if the wound proved more serious than it appeared. He couldn’t lose her.
She must have realized how upset he was because she stopped arguing and tried to reassure him that she was fine. Her voice was calm and soothing, but his chest was still tight with anxiety. He carried her to the living room, setting her gently on the couch before grabbing the med kit from the kitchen. His hands threatened to tremble as he opened it.
“Let me take a look.”
He carefully peeled away the torn fabric. The wound underneath was jagged but not deep, most likely from the ricocheting bullet. Fury boiled through him at the thought of her being injured by the worthless scum of a human.
“We need to clean this up,” he said, keeping his voice gentle despite the fear clawing at his throat.
“It’s just a scratch,” she insisted, but he caught the flicker of pain across her face as she shifted position.
“It’s not. You’re hurt and you need to be taken care of.” His voice shook. “I can’t lose you.”
“You’re not going to. I’m fine.” She put her hand on his cheek, her touch grounding him. “We’re safe now. It’s over.”
He forced himself to breathe slowly, steadying his nerves. She needed him to be calm and focused. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her—not now, not ever.
Liam’s worried face peeked around the corner of the kitchen doorway.
“I heard your voices. Is Mama okay?”
“She will be,” he assured him, projecting more confidence than he felt. “Can you bring us some clean water?”
Giving the boy a task would help keep him calm.
Liam nodded eagerly, returning a short time later carefully carrying a bowl of water. He put it down on the table next to the couch, his eyes wide and scared as he looked at his mother.
“I’m fine, baby,” she said quickly. “It’s just a little cut. Just like when you fell and skinned your knee.”
“Okay,” Liam said, his voice small and doubtful. He looked at Yede. “Can I help?”
“Why don’t you sit on the other side and hold Mama’s hand? I’ll take care of the rest.”
Liam obeyed immediately, clutching her hand. He suspected it was as much for the child’s comfort as for Gemma’s but it would be good for both of them.
He worked carefully, cleaning the wound and applying the antiseptic, his hands steadier than before. The wound wasn’t as bad as he’d initially feared—the bullet had only grazed her shoulder. Still, his heart ached at the thought of how much closer it could have come.
As soon as the bandage was in place, he picked her up again.
“Now what?”
“I’m taking you back to bed. You need to rest.”
She sighed but didn’t argue as he carried her through to the bedroom, Liam trailing silently behind them. He perched anxiously on the edge of the bed, his small face pinched with worry as Yede carefully placed Gemma back against the pillows.
“Are you all right?” he asked the boy gently.