shirt over his head. I drop it to the floor. Leo puts his hands back on the edge of the tub and stares at the ceiling.
The cut isn’t as deep as I feared, but it’s longer—a slash. “Do you think we should go to the—”
“No,” he barks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I glare at him, and he glares back, but it doesn’t last. His face softens. “I’m not going to any hospital in the city. People will talk.”
I’m guessing that means he doesn’t trust anyone to come to him, either. A beast doesn’t need civilized things like doctors and hospitals. He’d only go if he had no other choice. “Okay. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Top shelf of the closet.”
I find it, then come back with towels and washcloths. I kneel next to him on the bench and lean into the tub to run more warm water. Leo makes a low sound.
“What?”
“Your towel’s coming off.”
It is. It’s almost halfway off one breast. “Thank you,” I tell him.
For the first time, he doesn’t sneer, or taunt. I dip a clean washcloth in warm water, then settle onto the bench next to him. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but we should clean it.”
“Do it, then.” Leo’s knuckles go white on the edge of the tub. An ache drills itself into my chest. I wish I could cry to untwist that knot, but it seems wrong to cry. Disingenuous.
He’s the one in pain, not me, and it’s sketched in every tense angle of his muscles. He doesn’t let his back make contact with the stones. It’s so subtle, the way he keeps his skin from touching. So obvious to anyone who bothers to look. My heart beats like soft, frantic wings in an erratic pattern. I’ve never been this close to him. Not like this.
“Haley,” he says, and I could cry.
I brush my fingers over the curve of his shoulder, where there are no scars. “Is this okay?”
Another nod.
“I’m going to start here, then.” Direct pressure on the wound would be too much. I can tell from the stretched-tight tension in every single line of Leo’s body. One more dip in the warm water, and then I press it to that spot on his shoulder and rub in gentle circles.
A person bracing for pain will feel more pain. I don’t want that for him. I curve my hand over the washcloth and slide it down to his bicep.
His shoulders let down a little. Leo says something under his breath, so quiet I can’t make out the words. I don’t ask.
I repeat the process on the other side. Slow, even breaths. No shaking hands. I’m too far past his defenses for any wrong move. Leo breathes, his eyes closed, dark eyelashes skimming his cheeks. One fist opens, flexes, closes again. I take his hand in mine and move it to my waist. If he asks why, I’ll tell him that it’s because I want him to be able to feel what I’m doing.
I will not tell him that it’s because his hand there steadies me, too.
Fresh water on the washcloth. I put it on his shoulder above the wound and his hand tightens on my waist. “Just my hand.” I lift the washcloth away and bring it back, slowly, slowly, and press it against the broken skin with the flat of my hand. Leo hisses, turning his face away. Rivulets of blood run down from underneath the washcloth. I can feel the wild thrash of his heart. “One more time.” More water. The lightest pressure I can manage. His jaw works and my heart leaps outside my body. I wish it was easier. I wish, I wish.
The bleeding is less when I take the washcloth away, and then it’s time for a dry towel. Leo’s eyes catch mine the moment before I lay it over his skin and some inner part of me collapses. He doesn’t show fear, but sometimes it flashes through his eyes anyway. “Hold it there while I get the Neosporin.”
He laughs, anguish in the sound. “Why bother?”
I’m already rummaging through the first aid kid, plucking out a long bandage with a soft center, some gauze, and yes, the Neosporin. “So you don’t get a blood infection and die.”
“You’re right. The second one would probably kill me.”
I return to the business of taking off the towel and dispensing Neosporin. Leo puts his hand back on my waist. “Second? I thought Morellis had invincible blood.”
“They don’t.”
I hold up one