Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(72)

“He stopped bleeding before we were halfway here.”

“Not that kind of pain.”

“Help with Sawyer, will you?” Bran scooped Sasha off her feet. “Let’s heal the flesh, then deal with the spirit.”

“I’m okay. Just a little . . .” Sawyer swayed in Annika’s hold. “Rocky.”

Since he was pasty white, and his pupils wide as saucers, Riley realized he was far from all right. “Gotcha, dude.”

Grateful for the support, he swung an arm around her shoulders, felt the wet. “That’s not my blood, Doc. It’s yours.”

“I took some hits. Anni?”

“I have some hurts, but it would be worse. Sawyer blocked them from me, and one dug into his back. Then Doyle . . .”

“Yeah, saw that part.”

They dragged themselves in, and back to the kitchen where Bran already tended wounds on Sasha’s leg, her arms with Doyle’s help.

“Want a beer,” Sawyer managed as he slid onto a chair.

“Who doesn’t? Get his shirt off, Anni. I bet you know how.”

Annika sent Riley a wan smile as she gently drew off Sawyer’s torn and bloody T-shirt. “Will you help me . . . Oh! Oh, Bran, it’s very deep.”

Riley took a look, hissed. “Looks like a raging infection already.”

“One moment. Drink this, a ghrá.”

“It’s already easing.” She drank. “Honestly, it’s better. Deal with Sawyer.”

“Annika, work with Doyle—and, Doyle, help Annika treat herself as well. She just needs the balm now, Anni,” Bran told her. “Even the small cuts. There’s poison.”

He stepped to Sawyer, sent Riley a grim look over his head. From his kit he took a knife, a vial, three candles. He lit the candles with a thought, then reached for a small bowl.

“I have to drain the poison first.”

“He’s shocky,” Riley said as Sawyer’s teeth began to chatter.

“Hold on to him, as this is going to hurt like a thousand hells. You brace yourself, Sawyer.”

“Right. Yeah.”

“Look at me.” Riley gripped both his hands. “I’ve got a question. Iron Man versus Hulk. Who wins?”

“Iron Man.”

Riley shook her head. “Hulk smash.”

“Yeah, sure. Stronger, but no strategy. Iron Man’s got the smarts, the intellect.”

“Hulk’s got the instincts. Primal.”

“That doesn’t— B’lyad. Holy fuck. Fuck!”

“Hold on.” Bran spoke between his teeth as he used the treated knife to drain poisoned blood into the bowl.

On a sob, Annika broke away from Sasha, threw herself down beside Sawyer.

His hands clamped so fierce on hers Riley imagined bones crushing, but she kept talking. “Intellect versus instinct. It’s a hard call.”

“So says the—fuck me, fuck me—the werewolf.”

“Yeah, so I ought to know. Think about it. You put Mr. Spock against the Hulk.”

Breath labored, body shaking, Sawyer set his teeth. “You’re crossing the streams. Motherfucker!”

“Nearly done,” Bran promised. “It’s washing clean now.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Riley watched Sawyer’s color come back, felt his crushing grip ease.

“Just the balm now.”

As Bran applied it, Sawyer closed his eyes, breathed out. “Oh, yeah, that works. Don’t cry, Anni.” He drew a hand from Riley, stroked it over Annika’s hair. “I’m okay. You let Sasha finish fixing you up now.”

“It’s all right.” Annika raised her head, lifted drenched eyes to Bran.

“It is, I promise you. You’ll use the balm on the wounds every two or three hours for now, and I’ll check again before bed. But it’s clean and already healing. I can tell you it would have been worse, a great deal worse, if that bastard, buggering thing had gone any deeper or dug in any longer.”

“Thanks.”

Doyle jerked a shoulder at Sawyer. “No problem. Beer?”

Sawyer just gave a thumbs-up.

“You’re my heart.” Annika stood, bent down to kiss Sawyer softly. “And you are all my heroes. I have only little hurts now, Sasha. Riley has more.”

“Shit. She’s got a bad one on her shoulder.” Sawyer got, a little shakily, to his feet. “Switch it, pal.”

Resigned, Riley took his seat, yanked off another sweatshirt that would never be the same, and sat in her black tank and jeans while Bran studied the wound.

“I’m happy to tell you it’s not nearly so serious as Sawyer’s, and I won’t need to use the knife to drain it.”

“Yay.”

“Beer?” Sawyer asked her.

“Tequila. Double shot.”

“You got it.”

It hurt, and hurt enough that once she’d knocked back the first shot, she held up the glass. “And again.”

As it eased, she downed the second, sat while Bran treated her lesser cuts and gashes.

“All right now, your turn.” Sasha pointed at Bran. “Now you sit. Anni, let’s heal the healer.”

“Wouldn’t mind a beer myself.”