Gigi didn’t know. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was going to do. She didn’t know what she needed or wanted, justthatshe needed and wanted. She started stalking back toward town, then stopped suddenly.
Because there he was in the shadows. Like she’d summoned him out of thin air.Mattias Slater.He stood beneath an old and twisted tree, and there was something about the way he stood there that hit Gigi with full-body force, like a tidal wave.
There you are, she thought. And then she realized how very still he was.Too still—even for him.
“Slate.” Gigi slowed as she approached him. “Mattias?”
“Hey, sunshine.” Slate took a single, haltering step forward. “I need your help.”
My help?Gigi’s heart thudded in her rib cage, half because Slate was scaring her and half because no one ever neededherhelp.
“Ohhell no,” Knox said behind her.
Gigi ignored him. “Why would you need help?” she asked Slate.My help.
“Eve.”
“What about Eve?” Gigi reached Slate just as Knox reached her.
“You’re dripping,” Knox told Slate flatly.
Dripping?Gigi’s gaze went to the ground beneath Slate’s feet and saw red liquid dotting the grass. “Blood.” Gigi’s eyes darted back up to Slate’s side—to the hand he had pressed to it. “What happened?”
“Got shot.” Slate was clearly not one for lengthy explanations.
“What do you mean yougot shot?” Gigi stared at Slate in horror. “Who shot you?”
“Eve. It’s just a nick. In and out. I bandaged it myself.”
“Shit.”Knox moved in to support Slate’s weight with his own. “You’ve bled through the bandage?”
Gigi fumbled with her phone, trying to get it out of her pocket so she could dial 911.
“No hospitals, sunshine.” Slate reached for her hand. “No police.”
“I’m going to need a little more than that,” Gigi told him, sounding only a teensy bit hysterical.
“Eve wanted in. She wanted an invitation.” Slate shrugged, then winced. “She got one.”
Not Nora, Gigi realized.Even after I said no—Calla didn’t choose Nora.
“Eve said yes?” Gigi barely managed the words.I said no. Eve said yes.“And then sheshot you?”
“She nicked me, that’s all.”
He wasdripping blood, but now was not the time to argue semantics. Slate had come toher. He’d needed help, and he’d come to her.
“I can sew,” Gigi declared, raising her chin. “More or less. And I’m not squeamish.” She turned to Knox. “Got any medical supplies hidden out here somewhere?”
“Son of a bitch,” Knox muttered, which Gigi took to mean:I’ll help.
Chapter 44
GIGI
Knox insisted on doing the actual sewing-up-skin thing, so Gigi settled for holding Slate’s hand the whole time. Hers was small. His was big.
That big hand squeezed Gigi’s small one, and Gigi squeezed back.