Chương 45: Ch 26b - Aid

"Hold still," Draig demands for the third time as he works at cutting away the material of her jumper so that he can examine the entry and exit points. After the initial gush her bleeding has slowed, quelling the immediate concern that she could lose too much blood. The three projectiles, having easily detached from the handle, remain firmly embedded in her arm, their pointed tips needle-sharp and still issuing the occasional drop of blood. She is sat on a tall examination bed in the cramped medical room.

Between her and Draig is her arm, propped up on her elbow on a rickety wheeled tray. Through half-dried tears she watches him slice as close to each thin metal rod as he dares. The pain, though unwanted, is a manageable burning throb but adrenaline shakes her hand with gusto making it hard for him to avoid accidentally brushing against one of the rods. Any touch releases a wave of lightning thrashing up her arm.

To limit the disruption to his concentration and cause more unwanted touches, she holds a sleeved hand over her mouth to muffle any screams. Even though the door is closed, sounds from next door make their way into the room. She cringes for Flavitt who is, at that moment, under a barrage of abuse being hurled at him by Wyndeer. Meanwhile clangs and thumps can be heard as Crathsun searches the room for any other dangerous tools Flavitt has squirrelled away.

First to arrive, Wyndeer's anger had been immediate, his face a red explosion of narrow eyes, deep lines, and snarling lips. Swearing heavily and holding her arm agonisingly high above her head he had ushered her into the medical room. His chastisement had been withheld, perhaps in sympathy to her injury or perhaps because he would not have been able to control it at that moment had he unleashed it. She has no doubt she will be the recipient of a full debrief of his thoughts later.

Magse, it transpired, was still at a far fence section, urgently repairing damage. It is Draig who has stepped in to take the role of medic. Cara, just wanting the rods out of her arm at any cost, hasn't offered any protest. With a final cut the bulk of the material falls away, leaving small tufts of thread around the base of each rod. Carefully, Draig teases each tuft up the length of each rod, then discards them on the tray.

Her forearm is covered in streaks of red fed by slowly oozing pools at each puncture point. As the tremors in her arm start to escalate he curls his large hand gently over hers.

"Deep breaths," he soothes, locking his indigo eyes with hers.

"Take this hand away so you can breathe clearly." He tugs gently at the moist sleeve clamped at her mouth, guiding her hand down to the bed.

"Good," he says in recognition of the slow rise and fall of her chest.

"Now hold your arm straight out like this." He guides her wounded arm out straight. Pushing the wheeled tray table to one side he takes a step closer, resting her hand on his shoulder, keeping his hand on hers to keep her arm steady. Cara keeps her eyes on his face, knowing that looking directly at the three rods will release a new wave of shock for her body. The bridge of his nose is broad. It has a small bump. She wonders if he has broken it in the past. She wonders what his past is.

What has led him to being a body contractor, a role so despised by Wyndeer. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He selects a device from the tray and begins slowly moving it up and down her arm.

"There's no bone or artery damage," he concludes.

"I'll proceed with removing the rods." Her eyes widen in alarm, quickly filling with fresh tears at the thought of even the lightest touch on the rods.

"Unless," he suggests, "you think a shard might be of use?" She stiffens, involuntarily flexing the muscle in her forearm. Her arm responds to the small movement with a searing pain. She squeezes her eyes shut, releasing a dam of tears as she waits for the pain to subside. The healing energy from the shard would ease her pain, but it would also confirm Draig's suspicions and alert Wyndeer to the phenomena. She opens her eyes, blinking away the tears that still cling to her eyelashes.

"I don't see how a shard could help," she says shakily. He says nothing, his gaze flickering across hers as if she is a puzzle he cannot figure out. She raises her sleeve to her face to wipe away the wetness on her cheeks and across her eyes, grateful that the action gives her respite from his indigo stare.

"Removal then," he says at last, reaching for a small vial on the tray.

"This is going to help with the pain. Open your mouth and lift up your tongue." He flicks the lid off the vial with his thumb and pours its contents under her tongue. A cold, sour liquid pools in her mouth.

"It will be a few minutes before it starts to activate; you won't feel the full benefits for probably an hour. Unfortunately, it's all I can offer; I don't think you will be able to tolerate localised numbing." He tucks a finger under her chin to gently push her mouth closed. A lingering tear dislodges, leaking a trail down her cheek. Sadness falls across his face as he wipes it away with his thumb.

"You're going to be alright, I promise," he soothes. He looks like he wants to say more, and she wonders if he is referring to her injury or something else. She opens her mouth to ask him, but he softly pinches her lips shut.

"Has the taste gone yet?" he asks. She gives a tiny shake of her head.

"Keep your mouth closed, it shouldn't be too much longer." His finger traces a line across her lower lip in the way she has seen him doing on his own mouth when he is deep in thought. Despite her injury, the sensation brings a heightened awareness of his closeness erupting across her body. He drops his hand to reach around behind her. For a second she thinks he is going to embrace her, but he pulls out a fold of fabric.

With one hand he spreads it out across her lap, his other hand remains clasping the hand of her injured arm to his shoulder.

"I will do it quickly," he assures her confidently, "and use this to wrap your arm up to stem the fresh bleeding. I need you to not pull your arm away until I have finished." His hand on his shoulder gives hers a squeeze, perhaps knowing that she already wants to pull it from his grasp to avoid the procedure.

"I will count to three. Are you ready?" She nods, scared that opening her mouth will release the scream that is already building inside her.

"Good," he says, then pauses, "Oh wait, perhaps I should use an infused bandage instead." He frowns as he looks across the tray.

"Perhaps they are up there," he ponders.

"Can you see a purple box anywhere?" She follows his gaze to a shelf in the corner. She can see two transparent containers filled with-. Her scream tears through her as her entire arm erupts in a blazing inferno. She turns back to watch Draig wrapping the fabric tightly around her arm. He cradles her bundled arm to his chest, stemming any surge of blood and preventing her from ripping the arm away from him. Her heart thumps hard in her chest, pulling blood from across her body and pushing it towards her arm.

Nausea rises in her throat. The room begins to spin. Draig pulls her into his chest, her head falling heavily into the cup of his shoulder.

"It's done," he says into the top of her head. She lets out a whimper into the warmth of his chest. His arm squeezes around her, tightening his embrace.