Chapter 4 I'm Not a Doctor!

Bailey

“You have got to be shitting me!”

My cloak is covered in red, sticky blood, mixed with vomit. Thankfully, the outer garment covered most of my dress, so when I shrug it off, I’m relatively clean. The same cannot be said for Rian. The vile substance stains his tunic, dripping onto his trousers, and creating another pool of bodily fluid on the ground next to us.

He doesn’t respond, only slumps backward, and part of me thinks this is it, his last hurrah, that he’s basically dead now. I should get up, make my way to his house, and try to figure out how the hell I’m going to get back home.

But I can’t do that, and I know it. However I got to be here, there has to be a reason that I ended up right in this spot, next to Rian as he’s dying. The only logical conclusion could be that I’m meant to help him. How I’ve gotten so lucky, I have no idea, but there can’t be any running away from this.

I shift sides, sliding away from the puke and lift the remains of his tunic. Not only is it covered in blood and vomit, it’s shredded on one side, the side he had turned away from me, the one he was trying to protect. Now that I can see his injuries, I don’t blame him. 

He’s got several slash marks all down his left side, from his rib cage almost to his hip bone, and they’re deep. It’s clear that they were made by the claws of a massive animal–a wolf no doubt–possibly more than one. If I don’t find a way to stop the bleeding soon, Rian’s not going to have anything left to bleed.

Obviously, I have no medical supplies with me. “Next time you drop someone into a book, maybe throw them a bone and give them something useful, and not just an outfit that matches the time period,” I mutter to anyone or anything that might be listening in some other realm. I’ll have to use what I do have and work quickly, or all of my efforts will be in vain.

At least I have the cloak. While the entire right side is covered in yuck, the other side isn’t–yet--and the fabric is easy enough to tear. I rip it into strips and cover the deepest gash first, applying some pressure in the hopes of starting the blood clotting process. Rian groans beneath me, obviously in intense pain from my actions, but he’s too out of it to protest, and I can’t let up if I want to save his life.

After a moment or two, I get the sense that his wolf shifter healing abilities are starting to kick in. When I gently pull the fabric away, I see far less bleeding than before. Using another strip of the cloak, I carefully lift him and wind it around his torso, covering the wound the best I can and then tie it tight. Then, I move on to the next deepest claw mark. I haven’t had any professional training to help guide me, but watching all that true crime seems helpful. At least I know a lot about blood and what not to do when one is bleeding out.

It takes several minutes, but eventually, he’s all bandaged up. I pull his disgusting shirt down and then take a deep breath, wondering what else I can do. He’s still unconscious, but his face isn’t quite as pale as it was before. A few moments ago, he looked more like a vampire than a wolf shifter.

Even in this disheveled state, it’s impossible not to notice how incredibly handsome he is. His strong jaw is covered with a bit of stubble, making him look rugged and tough. His cheekbones and nose are perfectly proportioned, and his caramel brown hair frames his face in such a way that my attention is drawn to all the right places. I’ve already had a chance to see his eyes, which are a stunning shade of jade. It’s difficult to believe he’s not the hero of this book. How much more handsome could Alpha Lukas possibly be?

If I don’t hurry up and get Rian out of here, I’m certain to find out, and that won’t be a good thing for either one of us.

It seems ridiculous that I’m worried about a bunch of characters from a fictional book doing something to hurt me, but well, here we are.

With Rian’s major wounds all wrapped up, I decide to check over the rest of him. I feel a little invasive, feeling him up while he’s passed out, but if he’s bleeding from somewhere else, we need to know that. 

It’s easy enough checking his limbs. I find lots of cuts and scratches–my true crime obsession tells me these are defensive in nature–but nothing that’s bleeding anymore. Checking the area a bit lower than his torso but higher than his thighs is awkward, but I see no evidence of injury there, so I don’t linger. Then I check his shoulders and neck and see only the same kind of scratches I found on his arms.

That’s when I decide to check his head, and holy hell, do I wish I would’ve done that earlier.

He’s got a huge gash in the back of his head, like a four inch cut that’s deep enough that I think I could probably see his skull if I wanted to.

I do not want to.

He probably needs stitches–or at least that glue they sometimes put on cuts like this in the nurse’s office at school. For now, all I can do is tie a piece of my cloak around his head and press on it to make it stop bleeding. I’m shocked he’s not waking up from the pain, but his head is limp in my lap, and the rest of him isn’t moving either.

I’ve done all I can. Now, I have another problem I need to consider. In the distance, I hear voices and the sound of footsteps, and I know I’ve pushed my luck too far. We’re right off the road. People will start walking by any moment. I need to move Rian–but to where?

And how the hell am I going to drag the dead weight of a guy made of solid muscle who probably weighs at least a hundred and sixty pounds?

I don’t have any idea–but I need to figure it out quick–because someone’s coming!

Something tells me whoever it is will be big trouble if they find us.