Read Online Three Days To Dead by Kelly Meding - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kelly Meding
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elbow, avoiding the gaping flesh. I looked away, sickened by the sight of it. White hot pain lanced through the shredded muscle and bruised bone. My head spun. I wanted to lie down.
“Hell, Evy,” he said. “That’s going to need more than just stitches.”
“Do you have something to wrap it in? We need to get off the road before another one shows up.”
He stood and looked at the car. I didn’t care if he used a blanket or a greasy rag, as long as I didn’t have to look at that arm. He bolted to the car and yanked open the rear door. He rummaged in the backseat until he found what he wanted. The shoulder holster came off, and he tossed it inside. He returned to me with a bottle of water and nothing else.
He crouched down as he unscrewed the bottle cap. “Hold your arm out and try not to punch me when I do this.”
I did as asked, hissing through clenched teeth when he poured the water over my arm. The pain was indescribable, but it washed away the hound blood irritant until only my red, human blood oozed from the torn flesh. Wyatt put the half-empty bottle down and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“You just got that,” was my meager protest.
“I’ll get another.”
I decided to focus on his abdominal bruises while he ripped the shirt down the middle. Something thin and hard had made those, and they were too precise to have been an accident. I battled away the pain-induced mental image of a faerie one-third his size whacking Wyatt with a pencil. Really not funny. The makeshift bandage from earlier was still there, relatively unbloody. One half of the shirt went around my arm, and I hissed as he cinched it tight. The dark material darkened further. My vision blurred.
He wrapped the other half around my thigh. It hurt less. Those twin gashes were superficial, less serious. Strong arms curled beneath my armpits and lifted. I tried to stand, slipped, and fell back against his chest. He grunted—probably because I stank to high hell. I stepped on his feet three times on the trip back to the car.
“Where are we going now?” I muttered, eyeing the backseat. It looked so comfortable. Nice to lie down on.
“My place.” He put his hand on my head and guided me into the car. Like a cop arresting a suspect. So nice he didn’t want me to bop my head.
Still, his place sounded like a bad idea. “They know where you live, dummy.”
“I have a new place, dummy.” He slammed the door shut.
I settled into the backseat, tempted to stretch out and take a long nap. My entire borrowed body felt numb, worn to the bone. My head thumped against the seat as Wyatt peeled onto the road. I closed my eyes, appreciating the new position.
“Evy?” Wyatt asked, his voice distant. Muffled. “Stay awake, you hear me?”
“Wanna sleep,” I said. At least, I thought so.
Even as the rumble of the car rocked me to slumber land, I felt the lancing pain in my forearm and thigh turn to an intense itch and hoped it was a good sign.
Chapter Six
58:01
The warm, pungent aroma of frying bacon roused me from darkness. I peeled apart sticky eyelids and took quick stock of my new—and exceedingly unfamiliar—surroundings. I was on a bed in one corner of a studio apartment. At the foot, an open door peeked into a tiny bathroom. Beyond it was the living space. A small sofa shared room with a fridge, stove, and a freestanding cabinet. The front door was directly opposite the bed, secured with two dead bolts and a chain.
Wyatt hovered over the stove—the source of the bacon smell. He’d changed clothes again, this time into black jeans and a black T-shirt, and seemed oblivious to my presence. Two things felt immediately out of place: the stink of the hound’s blood was missing, and I no longer felt funky and damp. In fact, I felt downright clean.
My left arm was still blessedly numb, wrapped up in white gauze and medical tape. I flexed the muscles in my left thigh and felt the familiar twinge of healing flesh. My hair was damp, as
“Hell, Evy,” he said. “That’s going to need more than just stitches.”
“Do you have something to wrap it in? We need to get off the road before another one shows up.”
He stood and looked at the car. I didn’t care if he used a blanket or a greasy rag, as long as I didn’t have to look at that arm. He bolted to the car and yanked open the rear door. He rummaged in the backseat until he found what he wanted. The shoulder holster came off, and he tossed it inside. He returned to me with a bottle of water and nothing else.
He crouched down as he unscrewed the bottle cap. “Hold your arm out and try not to punch me when I do this.”
I did as asked, hissing through clenched teeth when he poured the water over my arm. The pain was indescribable, but it washed away the hound blood irritant until only my red, human blood oozed from the torn flesh. Wyatt put the half-empty bottle down and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“You just got that,” was my meager protest.
“I’ll get another.”
I decided to focus on his abdominal bruises while he ripped the shirt down the middle. Something thin and hard had made those, and they were too precise to have been an accident. I battled away the pain-induced mental image of a faerie one-third his size whacking Wyatt with a pencil. Really not funny. The makeshift bandage from earlier was still there, relatively unbloody. One half of the shirt went around my arm, and I hissed as he cinched it tight. The dark material darkened further. My vision blurred.
He wrapped the other half around my thigh. It hurt less. Those twin gashes were superficial, less serious. Strong arms curled beneath my armpits and lifted. I tried to stand, slipped, and fell back against his chest. He grunted—probably because I stank to high hell. I stepped on his feet three times on the trip back to the car.
“Where are we going now?” I muttered, eyeing the backseat. It looked so comfortable. Nice to lie down on.
“My place.” He put his hand on my head and guided me into the car. Like a cop arresting a suspect. So nice he didn’t want me to bop my head.
Still, his place sounded like a bad idea. “They know where you live, dummy.”
“I have a new place, dummy.” He slammed the door shut.
I settled into the backseat, tempted to stretch out and take a long nap. My entire borrowed body felt numb, worn to the bone. My head thumped against the seat as Wyatt peeled onto the road. I closed my eyes, appreciating the new position.
“Evy?” Wyatt asked, his voice distant. Muffled. “Stay awake, you hear me?”
“Wanna sleep,” I said. At least, I thought so.
Even as the rumble of the car rocked me to slumber land, I felt the lancing pain in my forearm and thigh turn to an intense itch and hoped it was a good sign.
Chapter Six
58:01
The warm, pungent aroma of frying bacon roused me from darkness. I peeled apart sticky eyelids and took quick stock of my new—and exceedingly unfamiliar—surroundings. I was on a bed in one corner of a studio apartment. At the foot, an open door peeked into a tiny bathroom. Beyond it was the living space. A small sofa shared room with a fridge, stove, and a freestanding cabinet. The front door was directly opposite the bed, secured with two dead bolts and a chain.
Wyatt hovered over the stove—the source of the bacon smell. He’d changed clothes again, this time into black jeans and a black T-shirt, and seemed oblivious to my presence. Two things felt immediately out of place: the stink of the hound’s blood was missing, and I no longer felt funky and damp. In fact, I felt downright clean.
My left arm was still blessedly numb, wrapped up in white gauze and medical tape. I flexed the muscles in my left thigh and felt the familiar twinge of healing flesh. My hair was damp, as
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