His Healing Grace

R'S

days ago, stands amidst the ambush, injured but still trying to fight h

men aren't just fighting him. They're all scrambling to grab something. Mr. Blue Eyes is

he gun, being as careful as possible. My hand vibrates as I pick it up. It is the fi

cted by their fight, but

!" I

aces. I grip the gun tighter, hoping they

, trying to sound more confident than

oss his face, looks between me and the

will be back," he says, spitting the name li

name

roperly if you want to scare so

l day, I would have brush off this rudeness, b

m supposed to get?" I fir

" he growls, his voi

e I'm still holding the gun?" I point it at hi

ught possible with his injury. Before I can reac

se cowards to take you down," he says dark

rts limping away from me,le

.That was foolish. There were seven of them. If they had been smart, th

notice how much he is struggling to take a step. Yes, he i

ke I'm some kind of curse he needs to avoid. I tap

bulging with the effort of keeping himself up. I

before you go on your way," I offer, trying to sound che

p," he bites out, cont

that easily. I jog to catch up again. "But yo

. He pauses, and after a long, re

-

close,those blue eyes, now dark with pain. He grits

d stop staring at me?" he snap

the fact that his blood is soaking into my sheets. I

e else, I would think they were being a pervert. But this man? N

ate position we are in, and my body reacts against my will. I feel a warm pool gathering in my pants. Great Ri

isinfecting the wound, sewing it up, and bandagin

bulge pressing against my th

racted to m

supplies and head to the bathroom to clean up, giving him a chance to rest. As I wash

my tracks. Shocked at what I'm seeing now, the bed, left dry, my sheets are nowhere to b

is