Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
But his subconscious was still aware of what was happening to him and of his pain levels. That was all I needed to know he would be okay. I could get him through this.
Gently laying him back down, I went into my bathroom and got what I needed to patch up his head. Once that was done, I draped a towel over one of my pillows and then laid him down, covering him up with the comforter. Grabbing my electric blanket from the closet, I plugged it in and draped that over him, too. And just for good measure, I plugged in an old heater and turned it on low, aiming it toward the bed.
I brushed my hand over his forehead, frowning down at him. He was so… little. My heart clenched in my chest. “You’re gonna be okay, boy,” I murmured. “I’m gonna take good care of you. I promise.”
I didn’t get an answer—not that I expected one. His long, dark lashes didn’t even flutter. But that was okay. If he wasn’t making progress within the next few hours, I’d venture off the mountain and take him to the hospital.
I just hoped it didn’t come to that.
A loud, pained groan reached my ears just as I was turning off the stove eye. Quickly, I turned and rushed up the stairs. It’d been about four hours since I’d brought the boy home with me, and every fifteen minutes, I’d been checking on him, waiting with bated breath for him to open those eyes and look at me so I could see what color they were. So I knew he was okay. So I could determine if he needed more care than what I could give him.
In mere hours, I’d become extremely protective of him, despite not even knowing his name. I’d memorized every feature on his pretty face, and now, I was desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Know if he was sweet or bratty.
When I emerged into the loft, blue eyes stared back at me, filled with pain and confusion, and he was cradling his head in his palm, looking a little green.
Those eyes were my fucking undoing.
“Hey,” I rasped, easing down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Good to see you awake.”
“Where am I?” he croaked, his voice rough with sleep and a lack of water. Reaching over, I grabbed the glass of water I’d made a couple of hours ago and held it to his lips. He grimaced and pulled the glass from me, holding it up to his mouth with a shaky hand. Some of the water spilled onto the blankets piled around his hips, but I didn’t say a word. I did have to bite back a smirk though.
He was a little brat. Just my fucking type.
“You’re in my home. I was out hunting and found you on the ground. You were unconscious, hypothermic, and bleeding from a head wound.”
He frowned like he was trying to remember what happened, but it was clear he was drawing a blank. He glanced around the loft before looking back at me. “Where is your home?” His voice was a bit standoff-ish and rude, but it didn’t bother me. He was in pain and confused. Who would be nice in unfamiliar settings? Especially when part of their memory was gone?
“It’s in the mountains.” I wanted to touch him—comfort him—but kept my hands to myself. “Do you remember anything about last night?”
He shook his head, then grimaced, his already pale face paling even more. He moaned low in his throat, his eyes shutting. I gripped his arm when he swayed, and he snapped his eyes open, staring at my hand until I dropped it, worried about his reaction. But then, surprising me, he snapped his hand forward and latched onto mine, holding it, something akin to wonder residing in his eyes as he stared at our joined palms.
I frowned, running my eyes over his face as I slowly took the glass from him. His other hand immediately clamped around my wrist, and he stroked it and my palm with reverence, like touching someone was an entirely new and foreign concept to him. And something in my chest broke. What had this boy gone through?
“I can touch you,” he breathed, looking up at me with a mix of wonder and trepidation. Like he was both excited and terrified at the prospect of touching someone.
“Yes, you can touch me,” I said gently, trying to sort out whatever was going through his head.
He licked his lips, and my gaze dropped to them before flicking them back up to his eyes. He shook his head, then winced. “I just… normally, I can barely stand to touch anyone,” he explained. “Or have anyone touching me. But you…” He shrugged one shoulder, letting his words trail off.