The fire in the hearth cracked softly, the only sound in the large bedroom. The air smelled of blood and pain.
Marissa pushed the needle through the skin. Derek's muscles bunched, hard as stone, but he didn't make a sound. She pulled the thread tight, closing the jagged edges of the entry wound.
She worked carefully.
Stitch. Pull. Knot. Stitch. Pull. Knot.
She finished the front. It was an ugly, angry red line, but the bleeding had stopped.
"Turn," she instructed gently.
Derek shifted his weight. He turned his back to her. The exit wound was messier, uglier. Marissa took a deep breath to steady her stomach. She cleaned it again with the herb infused water and remove all the debris around it. Derek hissed, his back arching involuntarily.
"I know," she murmured. "I know it hurts. Almost done."
She stitched the back. Every time the needle pierced his skin, she felt a phantom pain in her own body. She felt his pain.
