I need to change and get back in there.”
“What?” she screeched, the sound not unlike a barn owl.
They’d reached the black truck parked just off the main road. Hopefully, it was his since he opened the back door and was rummaging through a duffle bag inside. “I need food. It will help me heal.” Instead, he grabbed a handful of painkillers, unscrewed the top of a whisky bottle, and downed them. Amber’s stomach hurt just watching it.
“So now you’re Superman? You have super healing?”
He put the whisky away and pulled out another long-sleeved T-shirt, this one a faded salmon color, one of her favorites. “Something like that.”
Holy cow. She hadn’t been dreaming. Or hit on the head. Well, yes, she’d been hit on the head, but it hadn’t caused a hallucination. His eyes had really turned black. Her knees weakened, and she leaned against the door for support. “Does your healing have anything to do with what’s inside you?”
He stopped, his jaw flexing in annoyance. “Something like that.”
She slammed her lids shut, every scenario imaginable running rampant through her mind. When she opened her eyes again, she looked around and saw Kyle and Dora standing close by, their expressions worried as though unsure of what to do.
Quentin opened a first-aid kit, found a roll of bandages, and gingerly lifted his shirt over his head.
Another wave of lightheadedness washed over her. The slashes on his back were so much deeper than she’d thought they were.
He took the bandage roll and started to wrap it around his torso without a single drop of Neosporin.
“Stop.” She took the gauze out of his hands and stepped around him to look in his kit. She found antiseptic spray. It wouldn’t feel good, but he seemed perfectly able to work past the pain.
She turned to him and finally saw his stomach. His rock-hard abs, the muscles ripped. But she could’ve sworn she saw a rib peeking out of his side.
The world spun. She fought off the wave, took a towel and a bottle of water, and started cleaning the blood off him, readying to apply the spray.
He sucked in a sharp breath when the cold water hit him, then signed, “I don’t have time for this.”
“Make time. This must be disinfected, at the very least.” She could only pray he hadn’t been lying about his ability to heal quickly. Charley had been like that. The last time Amber had seen Quentin, he had been nowhere near Charley’s caliber of being. Clearly, a lot had changed.
Thankfully, the only people who would be able to see them were the ones in the house immediately to their left. The door blocked the other side well, but it would be a small miracle if the police weren’t called.
Amber cleaned his wounds the best she could, her hands shaking. Whether from the chill in the air or the fact that her ex had been ripped to shreds by a demon, she couldn’t say. She finished by drying Quentin off, then reached up and cleaned the gash in his cheek, as well. The bleeding had stopped, even from the deepest cuts. She’d never felt the demon’s claws. It didn’t escape her how lucky she was.
He watched her from beneath thick lashes, his blue eyes trained on her face as she sprayed the gashes with the antiseptic. He sucked in another sharp breath. For the one on his face, she took a piece of gauze, sprayed it, and blotted his cheek.
He shouldn’t even be standing, and yet he stood there as if he’d barely had his bell rung. Whatever—whoever—was inside him was powerful. At the moment, she decided to be grateful for that fact. But still, watching him in pain, in such agony, was almost more than she could bear. A lump formed in her throat as she thought about it, and she fought the quivering of her lower lip.
“This is so bad, Quentin.”
“I’ve had worse,” he said, his voice barely audible.
That was when she saw the thin scars across his back, chest, and arms. Were those once like these had been? Did he really heal so well that his scars were almost imperceptible? She motioned for him to hold up his arms. He lifted them, and she began wrapping the bandage around him, tight enough to hold him together but not so tight that it cut off his circulation. He needed about a thousand stitches, but this would have to do for now.
“Do you have extra pants?” she asked when she finished