She swallowed her retort and exhaled through her nose in frustration. After a moment, she nodded. Without another word, she helped him into the house and onto the sofa.
“Kit’s in the closet,” he said, but she was already heading toward it. She remembered it from when he’d looked after her the first night he had brought her here.
Hauling out the bag, she turned to face him again and grimaced. “All right. Let’s start, I guess.”
He slipped off his shirt. She sucked in a breath. She hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of him the night he had woken her up from her nightmare. She had known that he was fit, of course, but she hadn’t realized just how muscular he was. Even through the blood, she could see each perfectly defined muscle. Scars ran along his skin, but they only seemed to enhance his features. Her eyes roamed along his body for the briefest of moments before she forced herself back into action, hoping that he couldn’t see the bright blush spreading across her face.
“There are some painkillers in there,” he said. “Mind handing me a couple?”
She found the bottle, opened it, and shook out white pills into his hand at his request.
“Just so you know, once these take effect, I get a little loopy,” he said, then popped them into his mouth. “Give it a few minutes.”
She nodded, pulling out a pack of wipes before turning back to him. “What were you doing, exactly?” she asked, beginning to wipe off the injuries. Cillian hissed, his muscles flinching at the sting of the antiseptic.
At first, he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until she looked up at him that he finally spoke.
“I was going after the Night Pack,” he said. “I got a lead on one of them, and I decided to check it out.”
She stopped cleaning and gaped at him. “On your own?”
When he nodded, she glared. “Are you an idiot?” she snapped.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve gotten that comment once or twice.”
“Why would you go after them on your own?” she demanded. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
He shrugged, then winced at the gesture. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
She glared, waiting for a better answer. When he only shrugged and didn’t respond to the glower, she huffed, shook her head, and started working again. The two of them stayed silent for a long while as she continued, trying to keep a steady hand as she cleaned his wounds.
“You really are incredible, you know that?” he murmured.
She snorted, extracting needle and thread from the kit. “Why don’t you tell me that after I’ve finished mangling your stitches?”
“You’re not going to,” he said, and she noticed a distant, faraway tone to his speech, as if he were drifting. “You’re way too hard on yourself. You need to be nicer to yourself. You deserve it.”
She paused, hesitating for a moment while she studied him. “Those drugs already kicking in?” she asked, keeping hertone light, almost playful, but she couldn’t ignore the nervous stutter that kicked in at the way he was looking at her.
“Maybe,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t change what I’m saying.”
She raised an amused eyebrow, her lips twitching. “You’re delirious,” she said. “I’ll believe it when you’re not drugged and injured.”
“No, you won’t,” he muttered. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
This time, she blushed and glanced away, focusing on stitching. He patiently guided her through the steps, and she worked in silence, moving quickly, grateful that she already knew a bit about sewing. She’d always repaired her own clothes instead of purchasing new ones. She had never expected she’d be using that skill to knit someone’s injuries together.
Glancing up, her heart stuttered at the way Cillian was watching her work, an intensity there despite his injuries. He looked at her, his eyes hazy and slightly out of focus. He reached for her.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asked, not quite slurring his words but not far off, either. “Because you are. You’re really beautiful.”
She grasped his wrist before he could caress her face, though that didn’t stop the heat from creeping up her cheeks. Lowering her hand, she turned to fiddle with his bandage. She took a second to compose herself, then turned back to him.
“That’s just the drugs talking, Cillian,” she muttered, continuing to work. “You’re delirious.”
“No, it’s not,” Cillian said. “I should have told you ages ago. I’m a jerk for not mentioning it sooner.”
She bit her lip despite herself. She wasn’t sure what startled her more: Cillian saying any of those things, or that he was saying them while he wasn’t fully in control of himself.