"You need to get to a hospital." He reached for his phone, but she stopped him. The strength of her hold was surprising, given she looked like hell.
"Just take the stake out then wrap the arm and take me back to Gran. It's really not as bad as it looks."
"I've been a cop long enough to know a bad wound when I see one, and this — " "Is not what you think. Just take the goddamn stake out and stop arguing."
"If that stake has hit an artery — " "Look, will you just pretend I know what I'm talking about for five minutes and take the stake out?"
Her voice rose and cracked, and the desperation and pain in her eyes grew. He swore under his breath, but turned his attention to her wound. The stake appeared to have pierced the fleshy part of her upper arm and had gone right through. The section visible near her breast was barbed.
"I'm going to have to thrust it right through," he said.
"Otherwise the barbs are going to take half your arm as they come out."
She nodded and closed her eyes. "Just do it."
"It's going to hurt."
"Imagine that," she muttered.
If she could manage to be sarcastic, she obviously wasn't as bad as she looked. He took off his coat and ripped off a shirt sleeve to use as a tourniquet. Then he lifted her arm and carefully gripped the end of the stake. "Ready?"
She bit her lip and nodded. Sweat dribbled down her cheeks and fear touched her eyes.
"One. Two. Three." He ripped the wood from her skin, and she screamed, a sound of pain that tore right through his soul. Blood poured from the wound, but it didn't pulse, indicating that at least he hadn't ruptured an artery. He grabbed the sleeve and wrapped it tightly around her arm.
Somehow, she stayed conscious through the whole thing, though her breath was shallow gasps and her skin was pasty.
"Back to Gran," she said between clenched teeth.
"This needs stitching at least, and — " "Trust me. Just this once," she muttered and fell sideways.
He caught her before she could whack her head on the ground, gently lowering her the last few inches. He took a deep breath then got out his phone and, against his better judgment, dialled Gwen.
"What's happened?" she asked immediately.
"Kat's been injured. She's had some sort of stake thrust through her arm and — " The old bird's swearing cut him off. He raised his eyebrows and wondered if she'd been in the Navy. She was using words that would make old sea-dogs proud.
"Where?" she asked eventually.
He glanced at the signpost and gave her directions. "But you'll have to catch a cab because the keys to the rental car are in my pocket."
"That won't stop me," she said. "Be there in five."
She hung up. He checked the tourniquet on Kat's arm, and then her pulse. It was a little thready but reasonably strong. He rose and walked a little farther up the road.
The source of the smell was easy enough to find. There were three that he could see, and at least one other farther up the road he could smell. Somehow, she'd beaten four of them.
Shaking his head in amazement, he squatted beside the first two. She'd called them zombies, the walking dead, and that was exactly what they looked and smelled like.
Bodies that had been dead for some time. As he watched, the skin on their faces seemed to be sucked closer to the bone, giving them a gaunt, skeletal appearance. An advanced rate of decomposition is what she'd said they'd go through. It looked like she wasn't kidding.
Lights swept across the trees, approaching fast. He rose and walked back to Kat. The car skidded to a halt and Gwen climbed out.
"You take the stake from her arm?"
He nodded. "But she's bleeding pretty heavily — " "That doesn't matter." Gwen lowered herself beside Kat and checked her pulse then her arm. "Good job, lad. Pick her up, and we'll get her back to the cabin and tend that arm."
"But shouldn't we — " "No. Believe me, we know what we're doing."
He bit down on his annoyance, but knew he had to trust that both Kat and her grandmother did know what they were talking about. If only because they might be his only chance of getting Janie back safely.
As Gwen turned the car around and sped back to the cabin, he cradled Kat's head on his lap. She looked absurdly young, innocent almost — which she very obviously wasn't. He brushed the dark strands of hair from her eyes and wondered why someone like her was still single. Granted, she had an attitude she wasn't afraid to use, but she was a stunning-looking woman. A good catch, by anyone's standards.
Except his. Because he didn't have standards. And had no intention of ever being caught.
When they got back to the cabins, he carried her inside.
Gwen pushed him gently toward the second cabin. "You strip her and put her into bed, and I'll go fetch my medicines."
"I don't think she'd appreciate — " "Don't go getting shy on me, Ethan. You've seen all there is to see anyway, haven't you?"
He stared at her, at a loss for words. He'd never met anyone as forthright and open about sex as these two seemed to be. Maybe he just had to get to the big cities more often. "This is different than sex." It was more personal.
"Rubbish. And watch that arm doesn't bleed all over the sheets."
She walked away, leaving him with no option but to obey. He carried Kat into the other cabin, stripped back the comforter and laid her down. He grabbed a couple of towels from the bathroom, placing them under her arm before he began removing the tourniquet. Amazingly enough, the wound didn't seem to be bleeding anymore.
He stripped off her clothes, trying to ignore her warm scent, trying to ignore his own reaction to the sight of her naked body.
Gwen came in and sat down on the bed. "Here," she said, thrusting a bowl of what looked like dried herbs at him.
"Hold this."
He did as ordered, watching as she washed down the wound with a soft wet cloth. When the wound was clean, she grabbed the bowl and began packing the herbs in it.
He couldn't ever remember seeing this step in any of the first aid manuals he'd read over the years.
"What is that you're using?"
"My magic mix. Kat heals fast naturally, but this will ensure no infection gets into the wound over the next couple of hours."
"Hours? It's going to take a week, if not more, to heal a wound like that."
Gwen smiled. "By the morning this will be nothing more than an annoyance. Hand me that bandage, will you?"
Werewolves could heal that fast, but he'd never known a human to do so. Maybe it was simply a matter of magic — and that was something he would never have even half believed before meeting these two.
Still, time would tell which of them was right. He grabbed the white roll off the side table and handed it to her. She quickly bandaged the wound, her movements deft and fast despite her gnarled hands.
"There," she said, rising a little stiffly. "That should do.
Make sure she takes it easy for the next couple of hours, but after that, you both should be all right."
He chose to ignore the twinkle in her eye. "Are you going to be okay alone in the other cabin?"
"Safer than you are, Detective."
"Because of the stones?"
She nodded. "To ease your wondering, when the stones are placed in certain sequences they can provide protection against either magic or evil."
"Oh."
She patted his arm. "Don't worry, my boy. By the time this week is over, you're going to believe in a whole range of things you never have."
He didn't trust the sparkle in her eyes. He watched her leave, then grabbed the comforter and drew it over Kat.
She stirred, murmuring something he couldn't quite catch.
He let his fingers brush her cheeks, then ran them down to the lips he wanted to kiss and keep on kissing.
He snatched his fingers away and walked into the next room. It was going to be another long night without sleep.