Moonsong (7 page)

“Where do you have first aid supplies?” she asked, tearing her attention away to more immediate matters.

“You did your good deed, la… Amelia. I’m home, you don’t have to fuss over me,” he scowled, pulling a bottle Jim Beam closer and taking a long drink.

“That won’t do you any good, you need that arm bandaged up better, probably even stitches,” she frowned at the amount of blood that had seeped through the makeshift bandage.

He pointed to the cabinet next to the sink. “There should be a box of stuff in there, knock yourself out.” Cutter took a long drink, and then another.

Amelia found the first aid supplies inside an orange tackle box in the cupboard and drew it open by the light of the kitchen window. It was surprisingly well stocked with enough bandaging to do a decent job of wrapping his arm. “You don’t have any antiseptic, would it be in another place?” she called out over her shoulder, pulling out the scissors and gauze and leaving the rest on the kitchen counter.

“There’s a bottle of vodka in the cupboard next to it; that should work in a pinch.”

Frowning over that as an option, Amelia retrieved the bottle and went to wash her hands, noticing for the first time that the water was operated by a hand pump which meant no hot water.
Charming.
“I don’t suppose you have any antibacterial soap?”

“Sorry, fresh out, used up the last of it with the bubble bath,” his grin slid to one side as the bourbon started to take hold of him.

“Apparently I have slightly masochistic tendencies,” Millie returned, loosening the knots of the bandage and unwinding the blood soaked flannel.

“Welcome to the club, I can’t think why else I would have jumped that mountain lion like that. I should have just let him eat you; it would have made for a much more peaceful afternoon.”

“Ha, ha,” Amelia muttered sarcastically, worried about how fast the blood welled up again once she took the pressure of the bandage off. Hastily she clamped the shirt back down over it, eliciting a hiss of pain from Cutter. “Sorry… look, there’s no way I can talk you into going into town to see a doctor is there?”

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” Cutter grinned, “I may be well on my way to getting drunk, but I ain’t that drunk,” he punctuated his statement by taking another swig.

Amelia frowned over the declining level of the bourbon in the bottle. Cutter was fast working his way towards passing out, and that couldn’t be a good thing. “This needs to be stitched up.”

“So stitch it. Or is that a little squeamish for such a pretty little thing?” he challenged her with a grin.

He thought she was pretty? Funny how that was the only thing she picked up on, until she shook herself back to reality. “Do you have a needle and thread? You don’t exactly strike me as the needlepoint type,” she smirked back at him, and he waved the bottle in the general direction of the couch.

“There should be a sewing basket on the far end of the couch, if memory serves.”

“Hold this tight if you can let go of the bottle for a couple of minutes.” Amelia pulled the bottle out of his hand and pressed his palm to the wound to keep the pressure on.

“Don’t be too long at it.”

The old fashioned basket opened up to display a dozen spools of brightly colored thread affixed to the lid and various sewing implements jumbled inside. Selecting a cardboard packet of needles, she withdrew one and on a whim, picked a spool of hot pink thread. Soon enough she had the needle threaded and liberally doused with vodka.

“Okay, this is gonna hurt…” she promised, holding the bottle of vodka over his shoulder. Amelia flinched as he tensed, hating the thought of inflicting pain on him when she was trying to help. “Sorry, I’m so sorry…” she murmured over and over, putting pressure on the wound again with a clean gauze pad.

“I’ll take that bottle back now,” he said, his face ashen.

Millie passed it over without argument, feeling like she could use a drink herself. “Ready?” Another deep drink and he was able to give her the go ahead. Not wanting to draw it out any longer than she had to, Millie delved right in, pushing the needle through the sliced flesh, her movements precise as she sewed him up with small, even stitches.

“You look like you’ve done this before,” Cutter remarked, watching her handiwork.

“My brother Luc, he came home torn up all the time, he didn’t like doctors either, he…” Millie added up two and two and came up with five, her brows drawing together as she made the connection.
Of course
Luc always came home with such horrible wounds. Always with a crazy story, each one more far fetched than the last. Always with some sort of plausible explanation and he’d always been so quick to heal. It must be a common occurrence for a shape shifter. Which meant that Cutter…

“One of
them
… you know, shifters. Or crap, I guess one of us, I keep forgetting they’re my family too,” she sighed, resuming her stitching.

“You said them, you’re not one yourself?”

“Me? God no, but my brother was and my parents. I was sorta out of the loop, you know? I guess they didn’t want me to freak out about it. But they should have told me.” A wistful note entered her voice that she’d never gotten to share that entire facet of their lives.

“Yes, they should have,” he answered solemnly and she looked up to catch his gaze for a long moment before she returned to his task.

“Is that how you killed that mountain lion? Are you abnormally strong?” she wondered aloud. He seemed to be more talkative and less standoffish even if it was the liquor talking.

“I’m strong, but not strong enough to crush an animal that size with my bare hands. I cheated.”

“Cheated?”

Setting down the bottle, he lifted his hand between them and while Millie stared, the end of his fingers elongated, nails thickening into wicked looking claws. “Cheated.”

“Sweet Jesus…” Amelia’s voice came out in all but a whisper, the needle falling from her nerveless fingers to dangle from the wound as she reached up to touch the tips of his fingers.

“Don’t…” Cutter pulled his hand away, the claws disappearing in a matter of seconds.

“I’m sorry,” Millie dropped her gaze, reaching for the forgotten needle, unsure quite what to say to that. Knowing someone could shift wasn’t quite the same as watching the molding of flesh right before her eyes. “Does it hurt?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

“No, you’re doing a bang-up job.”

“No, not the stitches, I mean when you… change. Does it hurt?” Millie kept her gaze on her work.

“Oh… It’s hard to explain. A little shift like that, it’s uncomfortable, but doesn’t hurt too much if you’re careful and do it right. If you’re rushed, then yeah, it can hurt like a sonofabitch. Shifting all the way to your true form… it hurts, but it also feels… I dunno, right somehow.”

Millie nodded, not sure what to say to that either. “Thank you. All kidding aside, I would have been in serious trouble out there today if you hadn’t happened along.”

“Don’t mention it, kid,” he shrugged away her thanks with his good shoulder.

“No, I mean it, you were right. I had no business being out there alone today, it’s the first rule of hiking, right?” She’d come seriously close to dying that afternoon and only then did it start to sink in as things calmed down.

“Hey, it was one of those coincidences. Most days I don’t ever see anything that big around here, he must have been really hungry to try and bring down something so large,” he gave her shoulder an awkward pat.

That wasn’t exactly a comforting thought as it brought to mind those teeth and claws rending and tearing. If it had been her shoulder the cat had gotten a hold of, she would have been a goner. “You spend most of your time out in the woods alone?”

“A fair amount of time.”

Finishing the final stitch, Amelia knotted the bright pink thread and snipped off the end, leaning back to admire her handiwork. “Not too bad if I do say so myself. Another shot of vodka now…” she warned picking up the bottle.

“Hey, not too much of it, that stuff ain’t cheap.”

“You drank way more than I poured out, so you should take some of your own advice and slow down,” she pointed out, dousing the wound carefully. Blotting him off with another square of gauze, Millie wrapped his shoulder with more fresh bandages.

“Yeah, yeah…”

Finally done wrapping his shoulder with the ace bandage as an outer covering, Amelia reached for the bottle of Jim Beam herself and took a long drink, making a face as soon as she swallowed. “How can you drink that stuff?” she gasped; throat feeling like it was on fire.

“It’s an acquired taste,” he grinned over her reaction, capping the bottle and shoving it farther down the table. “Well, Miss Amelia, you’ve done your doctoring, you’d best be on your way.” Lurching to his feet, he nearly lost his balance as he’d forgotten about the wrenched knee, crashing into her.

“That’s gratitude for you,” Millie grunted, staggering under his weight. “Where’s your bed?” She’d have to get him off his feet before he keeled over and really hurt himself.

“First trying to get my shirt off and now trying to get me into bed… the day is looking up,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, that was my whole seduction plan, to get you drunk and into bed. You have no idea how hard it was to get that mountain lion out there and coax it to attack on command.” He hadn’t answered her question but she led him towards the only other door in the room besides the front door.

“I knew it; it’s my animal magnetism, draws ‘em in every time,” Cutter laughed again and Amelia gave an inelegant snort.

“That’s it alright. Come on then, Romeo; let’s get you into bed so you can dazzle me with your amazing passing out skills.” The bedroom itself was marginally cleaner, the bed covered with fresh linens.

Plopping down heavily on the edge of the bed, Cutter immediately stretched out with a groan as he lay back onto the pillow. “Just need to get my second wind,” he murmured drowsily.

“Yep, you’ll be up and running marathons in no time, I’m sure,” Amelia replied in a soft voice, stepping back from the bed to consider if she should leave him like that. Thinking better of it, she tugged his boots free. “Can I get you anything? Some water? A blanket?” The room felt chilly, not much of the warmth from the fireplace in the other room reaching the bedroom. His skin was warm though, almost hot to the touch, and she worried about the possibility of fever and infection. Would it set in that fast? When he didn’t reply, Amelia pulled up the blanket from the other side of the bed and folded it over him like a cocoon, which he immediately pushed off with a drowsy grumble. Millie smiled down at him; even in his sleep he was ornery and stubborn.

Now that he was settled, she really had no reason to linger, but Amelia found she couldn’t bring herself to leave yet. The house begged for a little tidying up and once she started, it was hard to stop. A brief search through the cabinets found few cleaning supplies, but she did find an old t-shirt of his that she used to start dusting and getting rid of the ancient cobwebs, save for one that was still occupied by a fat little spider.

Cutter gave no sign of stirring by the time she was done. He looked a little younger without the perpetual scowl on his face, though even in sleep his forehead didn’t lose the crease of worry, as if he was afraid to completely let go. What kind of man lived out in the woods all alone, she wondered? Peace and quiet she could understand, self enforced solitude? Not so much.

Her stomach rumbled noisily, reminding that she hadn’t eaten much before the attack. Helping herself to some cheese crackers, Amelia wandered through the cabin, pausing to look at the photos on the mantel she’d dusted off earlier. There were old black and white pictures of what she assumed were family members from the 30’s and the 50’s in front of a big white house, several of two little boys playing together, big goofy grins on their faces as they mugged it up for the camera. There was also a picture of a stunning blonde, surrounded by a sea of male admirers.

At the end of the mantle sat a small wooden carving of a flower, its petals unfurled, surrounded by leaves and tendrils of vine all carved from a single piece of wood. The wood had been sanded so that it was velvet soft and delicately stained to give the flower real depth of color not usually seen in an unpainted piece. Incredibly detailed, the texture on the leaves had been painstakingly done to mimic the organic, and she reached out to touch the piece in wonder, surprised at how sturdy the delicate looking little piece proved to be. It seemed out of place in such a masculine surrounding, as did the faded curtains at the windowsills that once sported a bright yellow gingham pattern.

For some reason it never occurred to her to feel guilty about going through his things. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d rifled through personal papers or gone through his underwear drawer. She was just getting a measure of the man who leapt to her aid with no regard for his own personal safety. So far, all she could tell was he lived alone, and wasn’t all that big on creature comforts.

That driving sense of curiosity led her back to the bedroom door to peek in on Cutter. Amelia gingerly reached out to touch his good shoulder, alarmed to find it hot and moist with perspiration. Fever had taken hold of him, and as she touched the side of his face his eyes fluttered open, hand snaking out to clamp around her wrist with much more speed than she would have imagined capable from a feverish man coming out of a sleep.